The Baby Squad

by Andrew Neiderman

  After he entered the house, he listened for any sounds of her. She wasn’t rattling on and on over the video phone with one of her squad members as usual. He didn’t hear her moving about in the kitchen, either, and there was no one in the living room or the downstairs bathroom, but he saw that her car was in the garage. She was here. Maybe she was in the bathroom upstairs or lying down, he thought, and went up the stairs to look.

  Their bedroom was empty, and she wasn’t in the bathroom.

  “Hattie?” he called.

  He listened but heard no response.

  “Hattie, I’m home.”

  He waited for even a grunt of acknowledgment, but there was nothing, not a sound in the house.

  However, he did hear some strange noise, some sound coming from the rear of the house, a thumping. Curious, he walked quickly to the bedroom window that looked out on their yard, where they had a pool she rarely used, a patch of elm and hickory trees bordering their property, and the lawn of Kentucky blue. He took some pride in the grass and the hedges and, from time to time, experimented with different flowers and plants. She had no interest whatsoever in their property and, unlike other women he knew, made few suggestions for any improvements in their home, whether it be their furnishings or simply their decor. What was here when they first married was essentially still here.

  But there she was with a shovel in her hand. She apparently had just dug a hole and was finishing filling it and smoothing the earth around it. Hattie? Planting? It brought a smile to his lips. What was it?

  He hurried out of the bedroom, down the stairway, and to the rear door, opening it just as she was returning with the shovel.

  “Hi,” he called. “What have you been doing?”

  “Fixing something,” she said sharply.

  “Fixing? What?”

  “A gopher or something made a hole. I thought someone was sure to step in it one day and maybe break an ankle,” she explained, and walked past him.

  He closed the door and followed. “Who would do that? We hardly ever have people over to use the pool anymore, and…”

  “Someone!” she snapped. “Maybe the pool man. Did you ever think of that? Then what? Then we get sued or something. Why can’t you ever see the most obvious things? Do you know how ironic it is for you to be blind?” she asked, a sardonic smile on her lips. “Really, William. Open your eyes,” she said, and walked on to return the shovel to its place in their garage.

  He stood there watching her.

  I am blind, he thought. And it is to the most obvious truth of all, Hattie. You and I, we don’t belong together, regardless of whatever the computers and the genealogists say.

  Soon, he thought. Soon, I’ll open my eyes wide. And then I’ll be out of here.

  Buoyed by the thought, he went back upstairs to change his clothes, shower, and enjoy the rest of his free afternoon.

  Twelve

  Natalie had fallen asleep again. She didn’t know exactly when, but as soon as she opened her eyes, she realized her food tray was gone. She recalled how tiring the chewing of her rather delicious chicken Kiev had been, how she had paused a number of times to rest and then, having another surge of appetite and energy, continued. Did she finish it all? It was as if her eating had been a dream, an illusion.

  Suddenly, she realized she was wearing the hospital gown, too. She couldn’t remember taking off all her clothing and putting it on. When did this occur?

  Just as she started to sit up, the door opened, and a dark-haired man with a well-trimmed goatee of the same ebony hair stepped into the room. He had a shiny, almost metallic complexion of light rust with lips somewhat on the orange side. His eyes were nearly lime green and very friendly and gentle, she thought. They warmed and brightened his smile.

  “Hello there, Mrs. Ross. I’m Dr. Prudential.”

  He extended his long-fingered, rather soft hand to her.

  “Hello?” she said.

  He placed his bag on the bed and looked at her so intently, she felt uneasy.

  “You’ve been sleeping a lot since you arrived, and you’re concerned about that,” he said as if he were more of a mind reader than a physician.

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Jerome told me. You shouldn’t be concerned. This is a rather emotional experience, and emotional experiences are often more draining than physical ones, especially for someone in your condition.”

  He had a soft, pleasant voice, soothing and reassuring. She smiled back at him and felt the tension easing in her back and legs.

  “Tomorrow you’ll feel a great deal better, stronger. You will be able to go out and enjoy the grounds. Beautiful place,” he continued, opening his bag. “I especially appreciate the lake this time of year. Ducks and geese make it a significant rest stop on their way farther north. I’m actually from Canada,” he continued, “and miss some of that.”

  He put the digital blood pressure cuff around her arm and slipped on his stethoscope.

  “Please excuse the old-fashioned instruments,” he said. “I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy.”

  She smiled. “I remember this,” she said. “When I was a little girl. The doctor in the underground…”

  “Just relax,” he instructed. She looked up at him as he pumped the cuff and listened.

  There was a nearly indistinguishable patch of silvery freckles along the ridges of his eyebrows. His nose was thin and a bit long but perfectly straight. Those orange-tinted lips were thin, nearly disappearing when he pressed them together. She estimated he was at least forty years old and close to six feet tall. Slimly built with long arms, he had a feminine fragility about him.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Were you having any problems of any sort up until now?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been taking prenatal vitamins, watching my diet, avoiding too much alcohol. Of course, I don’t smoke. Neither does my husband.”

  “Terrific. You’ve done some good reading on natural childbirth, then, have you?”

  “No. My mother was…gave birth naturally,” she said.

  “Of course. May I?” he continued, moving to lift her hospital gown.

  “Yes.”

  “Just lie back, Mrs. Ross. Continue to relax.”

  She felt the cool head of the stethoscope on her abdomen. He smiled as he listened. “Strong heartbeat. My guess is it’s a boy.”

  She smiled. “Never thought I’d say I hope so, but I hope so.”

  “Understandable. Well, then,” he said, stepping back and folding his arms. “First, let me assure you that everything we need is right here. Mrs. Jerome will show you to the delivery room tomorrow. You’ll see we have state-of-the-art facilities for such a procedure. Not easy to get together nowadays, either, but we manage,” he added proudly. “Mrs. Jerome is herself a qualified midwife. You know what that is?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll keep you well monitored, make sure you eat and exercise correctly, and I’ll stop by once a week to make sure we’re right on track. Let’s talk dates, and then I’ll examine you and let you know how accurate that all could be,” he said.

  “I figure I’m starting the sixth month,” Natalie said, “despite my size.”

  “Yes, that seems very possible,” he said. “Funny the misinformation that has been circulated about natural pregnancy. I have patients who think once you conceive, you blow right up like a balloon.”

  She laughed and then grew serious. “I don’t want to do anything to speed things up,” Natalie insisted. “I have heard of that, and I don’t want that to be the case.”

  “I understand, and from what I have been told, there is no reason in your particular case to worry about your being away for nearly a three-month period.”

  “No, I can justify it,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Then there’s no pressure on us, no worry. We’re going to do fine,” he said.

  Mrs. Jerome came into the room. “Sorry,” she said. “I had something that needed my immediate attention.”
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  “No problem. We’re just getting acquainted,” Dr. Prudential said. “I’m about to examine Mrs. Ross just to confirm her stage of pregnancy. She’s doing fine otherwise, and the fetus sounds very healthy. Been on prenatal vitamins, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t. That’s very good,” Mrs. Jerome said.

  Natalie felt a bit like a schoolgirl being complimented on her work.

  “When did you take off my clothing and dress me in this gown?” she asked Mrs. Jerome. “I don’t recall a thing. How could I be that deeply asleep?”

  Mrs. Jerome exchanged a strange look with Dr. Prudential and then looked back at her, shaking her head as she did so.

  “What?” Natalie asked.

  “I didn’t take off your clothing and dress you in the hospital gown, Mrs. Ross. You must have done that yourself,” she said, and smiled.

  Natalie stared.

  “What’s the difference?” Dr. Prudential said quickly. “No harm done. Just lie back again, Mrs. Ross. I’ll only be a little while longer.”

  Was she so tired that her memory suffered? Natalie pondered.

  The long delay for the doctor to speak after his physical examination heightened Natalie’s concern about herself. She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked at him and Mrs. Jerome. They seemed to have been whispering.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked quickly.

  “Oh, no, nothing wrong. I just think you’re a little more advanced than you estimate, Mrs. Ross. Actually, could be a good thing. The baby’s in perfect position, too.”

  “How can I be more advanced than I thought? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not an exact science, old-fashioned birthing,” Mrs. Jerome answered before Natalie could finish her thought. “Nature is unpredictable.”

  “Which is what brought about our whole new world,” Dr. Prudential pointed out. He turned back to Natalie and smiled. “But we appreciate spontaneity, unpredictability, don’t we, Mrs. Ross? After all,” he said, widening his thin lips until they looked as if they might snap, “the beauty and the mystery of all that is what brought you here in the first place.”

  Mrs. Jerome nodded. “It’s what has brought us all here,” she said. “Rest some more, my dear,” she instructed. “We can tour the facilities in the morning after I’ve brought you your breakfast.”

  “Can’t I go down for breakfast? I don’t like being treated like an invalid.”

  They held their smiles, but the warmth, real or imposed, evaporated.

  “Nor will you be,” Mrs. Jerome said.

  “Hardly,” Dr. Prudential agreed.

  “Of course, you can come down for breakfast. That was what I meant, my dear. Come down as soon as you are up. I’m usually up and about by six-thirty.”

  Dr. Prudential laughed. “Now, if it were I in that bed, I’d probably take advantage of our Mrs. Jerome,” he said.

  “Thank goodness you’re not, then,” Mrs. Jerome said, moving toward the door.

  Dr. Prudential closed his bag and followed. They both looked back at her.

  “Remember, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, just speak up, and I’ll hear. Any time,” Mrs. Jerome added.

  “See you soon, Mrs. Ross,” Dr. Prudential said and walked out ahead of Mrs. Jerome, who glanced back once and then closed the door after her.

  The silence seemed to rush in under the door and under the closed windows.

  Natalie felt that wave of fatigue wash over her again. She closed her eyes and lay back.

  She tried to fight off sleep. She didn’t want to sleep, but it was as relentless as the tide, sending wave after wave of drowsiness over her.

  Her eyes shut.

  She moaned and drifted.

  Somewhere off in the distance, there was that sound again, the sound of someone crying. She fought to open her eyes and listen harder, maybe to get up and see what that was about. Maybe she was crying herself.

  But her efforts were futile. It was as if a curtain of lead had been drawn over her body. The weight of it all was too much.

  She stopped hearing the crying. She stopped hearing her own thoughts.

  She was like the dead.

  Judge Mason looked like a man with a fire burning inside him. He had a head of thick, almost luminescent white hair that was in stark contrast to his coal-black African-American complexion. There was a wild look in his hazel eyes that widened so dramatically when Ryan explained what he wanted they threatened to pop like overcooked eggs.

  “Preston Ross?” He insisted on hearing it repeated.

  “Yes, your honor,” Ryan said without the slightest hesitation. “As I said, I have good reason to believe the murder weapon is on his property.”

  Mason sat back in his desk chair. He was at least six feet four in his stocking feet. At the moment, he was wearing a pair of leather slippers, a hastily put-on pair of dark trousers, and a white shirt and tie. The office in his home appeared to be mostly for show. The volumes on the shelves looked untouched. There was just a long yellow pad on his oversized dark walnut desk and no other sign of work in the room. Scattered over the two available walls were plaques and pictures.

  Judge Mason looked at McCalester. When Ryan glanced at him as well, McCalester’s eyes shifted quickly toward a plaque.

  “Why would anyone plant a murder weapon in Preston Ross’s home? Especially a murder weapon used to kill a teenage girl.”

  Ryan simply stared for a good two to three seconds of silence. McCalester shifted his weight from his right to his left leg and glanced at Ryan, his eyes asking him if he was so arrogant as to piss off the judge and not bother replying.

  “I’m working on answering that as quickly as I can, your honor. Once I retrieve the weapon, I’ll be able to do that faster,” Ryan said, unable to keep his tone from being condescending. If Mason could blush, he would have, but he was more the type of a man who narrowed his eyes and tightened the muscles in his face. Anger flushed through it with an electric pulse.

  “What is the alleged weapon we’re looking for, Detective Lee?” Judge Mason asked.

  “It’s a specific flashlight, a Raydox, one of their longer models,” Ryan replied.

  “I see.”

  “This isn’t a fishing expedition, sir. I’m certain of that. As I told you…I saw her leave it in there myself. If I am able to get into the garage, I will be able to ascertain whether it was used as a murder weapon. I can do it in a matter of seconds with the bloodhound,” he added.

  Mason was acquainted with most of the modern technology utilized by the CID and the FBI, so he knew that Ryan was not talking about a real dog. He didn’t need any sort of lecture about the capabilities of the equipment, either.

  “I take my search warrants very, very seriously when it comes to members of my community,” he said.

  Ryan nodded. “I never ask for one until I’m sure I need it, your honor.”

  “I’m old-fashioned enough to believe a man’s home is his castle.”

  Ryan just stared.

  Judge Mason looked at McCalester again. “You going along on this search, Henry?”

  “I intend to, yes, your honor.”

  “I am not requesting him to do so,” Ryan said sharply.

  “I am,” Judge Mason snapped back. He opened a drawer and took out a search warrant. “I’m granting the warrant for the garage only,” he said.

  “But I can’t be sure she didn’t get into the house. There is a door into the house from the garage, your honor,” Ryan said.

  “We’ll take it a step at a time. Garage only.”

  “But your honor…”

  Judge Mason looked up at him. The fire intensified behind those eyes.

  “If I don’t find what I’m looking for in the garage, I’ll come right back to you, sir.”

  “Fine. Come right back,” Judge Mason said, and signed the document. “If you go into any other part of this property without permission, you’ll compromise your investigation, detective.”

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nbsp; “I understand, your honor,” Ryan said.

  “Good,” Mason replied. “Good.” He held out the warrant, and Ryan took it.

  “We’re on the same side, your honor,” Ryan said.

  Judge Mason smiled. “We should be, but that’s not always been true, detective, especially with you gung-ho CID officers.”

  Ryan said nothing more. Now it was his turn to feel the blood rush up his neck. He turned and walked out of the office. McCalester followed a moment later, but he didn’t speak until they were out of the judge’s home and back in McCalester’s vehicle.

  “I warned you he’s a hardass,” McCalester said.

  Ryan chose not to reply. He had seen the wagons circle before in communities like Sandburg, and in similar circumstances, too. They liked to take care of their own problems and keep them as quiet as possible for obvious reasons. It was why the baby squads were so popular and, in many instances, so powerful.

  Ryan wasn’t surprised, therefore, to see Preston Ross’s car back in the driveway before they returned from the judge’s home to get the warrant. McCalester’s deputy stepped out to greet them.

  “He just arrived, maybe two minutes at the most,” he reported.

  “Okay, thanks,” McCalester said. “You can go back to the station.”

  The moment they got out of the vehicle, Preston Ross stepped out of his house.

  “I had the impression you had some sort of an emergency at your office,” Ryan told him when he walked toward them.

  “Seems I have one here as well. Let’s see the warrant.”

  Ryan handed it to him but had no doubts the attorney already knew what was in it. He handed it back.

  “I’ll open the garage door for you,” he said, and went to his car to activate the opener.

  Ryan, carrying his bag, walked in as soon as the door went up. He stood for a few moments looking around and then turned back to Preston.

  “Is this your wife’s vehicle?”

  “It’s our second vehicle, yes,” Preston said.