by Janet Rebhan
“I didn’t think it was safe just to leave her alone in the car since the driver appeared to be dead and it’s a pretty deserted area. There were no houses within walking distance, it was cold, and I wasn’t sure how long it would be before another car came around. It’s not like I only had to drive a hundred feet to get reception.” Caroline continued to recount the evening to the detective, who took copious notes and looked up often to watch her as she spoke. His eyes squinted periodically, scrutinizing her demeanor for clues.
Jake sat, calm and professional, dressed in a suit. Caroline wore a casual sundress and flats. The baby slept in her carrier on the floor at Caroline’s feet.
“What I’m having a hard time understanding, Mrs. Martin, is why you kept the baby so long,” Witkowsky said.
Caroline began to answer, but Jake cut her off.
“Sheriff Brady had my wife’s driver’s license information and had all of her details, including her telephone number and home address. He informed her someone would be in contact with her. He told her to go home and take care of the baby. Now, whether this was because he was unaware that the baby belonged to the woman involved in the accident or because he wasn’t following procedure, is beside the point. My wife thought she had permission to leave with the baby so that she could tend to the infant’s needs. When she didn’t receive a call from Sheriff Brady, she phoned the station every day and left detailed messages for him. But he never returned her calls.”
“Well, Brady’s a beat cop anyway. He just jumped the call that night because he was in the area. He probably thought it was going to be a routine accident. He wasn’t the one who wrote the report up because it turned into a death investigation. Didn’t you receive a follow-up call from Detective Ramsey?” Witkowsky said.
“Who the heck is Ramsey?” Jake said.
“He was the on-call detective that night. Brady would have passed your wife’s information along to him. And now that I’m thinking about it, he should have then passed that same information along to me, but I don’t see anything written down here in the file. I mean, I knew there was a passing motorist who saw a motorcycle leave the scene. Ramsey told me that much directly. He also told me the passing motorist, that I now know was you, Mrs. Martin,” he said looking directly at Caroline, “didn’t actually witness the accident itself. So I assumed he found nothing of any real significance there, and that the guy on the motorcycle came upon the scene and left the same as you had. But he didn’t want to get involved for whatever reason. Maybe had a warrant out for his arrest. I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand,” Jake said. “I thought you were the detective on the case.”
“I am now. It’s been assigned to me.” Witkowsky leaned back in his chair. “So here’s how things work. The deputy in the vicinity that jumped the call, Brady, would have passed things along to the on-call detective once the paramedics confirmed the driver was deceased. In this case, the on-call detective was Ramsey. As late as it was that night, Ramsey would have come from his home. And for all I know, he may have had a few beers in him already, I don’t know.”
Jake and Caroline exchanged a look.
Witkowsky continued, “The on-call detective handles the preliminary investigation. Then the case gets assigned to another detective. That’s where I come in. I follow up with the coroner’s report. If there are no signs of foul play, it’s case closed. If there are signs of foul play, it changes from a simple death investigation to a homicide investigation.” Witkowsky sighed heavily. “Now, you’re telling me a suspicious motorcyclist was stopped at the scene and left quickly once you arrived, and I have it in the file that a passing motorist saw a motorcycle leaving the scene. But I don’t have any name or contact info for this passing motorist so I can only assume Detective Ramsey already checked that lead out and made the decision there was nothing of any significance there. But apparently he didn’t do this. Apparently, since you never received a call from him, he just arbitrarily decided we didn’t need to do more follow-up. Or perhaps he lost the piece of paper with your contact information on it. I don’t know. And I sure as hell don’t have anything about a baby being taken from the car involved in the accident by said passing motorist!” Witkowsky’s voice grew loud and agitated. He leaned forward and placed both elbows on his desk. He hung his head low, cradling the back of his head in his hands, and mumbled. “This is a major screw-up.” He looked back up at Caroline who stared back at him. “Sorry,” he said in a low voice.
“I mean–,” Caroline said. She looked back at Witkowsky, then at her husband.
Jake shook his head from side to side and brought his hand up to squeeze his forehead.
Witkowsky continued to look at Caroline. “So you’re telling me you never once thought to yourself you would just keep the baby.” Witkowsky directed his question to Caroline.
“Detective Witkowsky,” Caroline said, sitting upright in her chair, “I am not going to lie to you and tell you that I have not grown quite attached to this baby. But we always intended to do the right thing and turn her over to the authorities.”
Witkowsky shifted in his chair. “But three days, Mrs. Martin? And it never occurred to you to speak to someone else other than Deputy Brady, or drive down to the station with the baby like you did today?”
“Look, Detective,” Jake said. “My wife had major surgery just prior to this incident. I have been traveling out of town, wrapping up a large case where I was lead council. She thought she had permission to leave with the baby. She did the compassionate thing. And she phoned every day. This is your screw up, not hers.”
“Okay, okay,” said Witkowsky, waving his hand in the air. “I’ll have a talk with Brady tomorrow. He’s been off the last few days. It’s probably why he didn’t return your calls. I’ll have a talk with Ramsey too. I have to admit, this is all highly unprecedented to say the least.”
“To say the least,” Jake said. “So what’s the next step?”
“Well, first I am going to have to call DCFS.”
“DCFS?” Caroline shot a concerned look at Jake.
“Department of Children & Family Services,” Witkowsky replied. “They’ll assign a social worker to take the case, and he or she will place the baby with a local foster home until extended family can be located. Apparently the agency was never called by either the first responding police officer or Deputy Brady the night of the accident.” Witkowsky sat forward in his chair and clasped his hands together in front of his face as if to pray, then pointed them toward Caroline. “And the 9-1-1 operator?” he said. “I’m just curious, did you mention to them that you had to take the baby with you in your car? I mean, you should have stayed on the line with them until first responders arrived.”
“My phone cut out on me again after I told them the address of the accident and gave them my location as well.” Caroline said. “At that point, rather than trying to connect again, I decided just to wait until an officer arrived to explain the rest. My phone was almost out of juice anyway.”
Witkowsky made a face. “Okay,” he said, looking directly at her. “Okay,” he said again, squinting his eyes. “Now,” he paused, leaning back in his chair again, “tell me more about this motorcycle you saw driving away from the scene.”
Witkowsky’s phone rang. He sighed, paused, and leaned forward to answer it on the second ring.
“Witkowsky here.” He leaned back once more in his chair as he focused his eyes directly on Caroline. She heard the squawk of springs as the chair heaved a sigh under Witkowsky’s full weight, and she felt a quiver from deep within her chest as she caught his gaze. He kept his attention only on Caroline as he listened to the person on the other end of the telephone, his brows knitting together slightly as he did so. Then he replied solemnly in his deep, authoritative voice, “Yes, Detective Coffey. How can I help you?”
CHAPTER 10
Detective Coffey pulled into the driveway of his modest ranch-style house in Northridge. As soon as the automatic garage doo
r opened, his yellow labs began to bark from the side yard. Before he was out of his car, they had charged through the doggie door and were waiting for him at the front entry.
“Hi-ya, kids. Hi-ya! Hi-ya!” Mitch tucked his mail under one arm before squatting to pet the dogs, whose backsides wagged as much as their tails. “Yes, yes, I know, I know . . . Daddy’s home.” He placed his briefcase on the table and grabbed a bottle of organic root beer from the refrigerator, twisting the top off and taking a long swig. Then he sat down on the leather sofa, the labs lying at his feet. He let his head fall back on the edge of the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. He was still putting all the pieces together. It had been an emotionally draining day. He couldn’t get Caroline Martin’s face out of his mind. Her expression when the representative from children’s services came and took the baby away from her. The way the baby had cried when she was taken from Caroline’s arms. But in particular, the way Caroline had seemed so stunned to find out the baby’s name was Rachael and that she had met the baby’s mother briefly while in the hospital. And then when she learned the baby’s father had shot the mother when she was still pregnant and he was most likely responsible for the car crash that had killed her. That information had caused her to turn ghostly white before excusing herself to the women’s room. When she returned, her face appeared almost distorted. He thought of his own mother and how it would have crushed her to lose him or his brother. Yet Caroline Martin was not this baby’s natural mother. What was going on here anyway? Why was Caroline Martin so attached to this baby she had come across accidentally? Okay, so she had bonded with her for three days. So the baby was adorable and beautiful, with big brown eyes that pierced through to your heart when she smiled at you. So what? Perhaps it was just a woman thing, this bonding that had taken place. Still, the detective in him could sense something more. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what. At that moment, he remembered something Nancy Kelley had said to him in their telephone conversation just before he drove over to meet with Detective Witkowsky and Caroline Martin at the county sheriff’s station. He reached near his belt buckle, withdrew his cell phone from its case, and selected Nancy’s number. When she didn’t answer, he left a voicemail message:
“Hey, it’s Detective Mitch Coffey. Just wanna thank you again for your phone call today. It was very helpful. Ah, there’s something you said in our conversation I had some questions about, and I was wondering if you could meet me tomorrow for lunch, my treat. Ah, say, Wyld at Heart, one thirty? I can either meet you there or pick you up. Call or text me back. Thanks. Bye.”
Nancy walked through the health food store to the back, where the café was located. Mitch saw her immediately and waved to her from his booth.
“I haven’t eaten here in a while,” Nancy said as she slid into her side of the booth. “I forget this place is even here.” She reached out her hand to shake Mitch’s.
“It’s convenient, organic, and air conditioned,” Mitch answered, smiling as he returned her handshake. “Thanks for coming. You were pretty easy to spot in your scrubs.”
Nancy looked down at her top, then back at Mitch. “And you were pretty easy to spot as well, seeing as you’re the only guy in here.”
Mitch looked behind him. Only four other people sat in the café, all of them women. “Well, what do you know?” he said, laughing. “This place clears out fast after one o’clock.”
Nancy smiled. She had remembered the detective as cute, but today he looked downright handsome. He had been in slacks and a tie the day she first met him at the hospital when he came in to investigate Mary Anne’s shooting. Today he wore faded jeans and a pale-blue cotton shirt that buttoned down the front and matched his sky-blue eyes. His skin was tanned, his hair longer than before and streaked by the sun, and he didn’t appear quite as serious as he had the first time they had met. She glanced quickly at his left hand—still no band on the ring finger. She found herself wishing she had put off the meeting until her day off so she could have worn a nice sundress. He was definitely worthy of her shaving and tanning her legs. In fact, she would have gotten a fresh pedicure for this one. At least she had washed her hair and put a little make up on. “Will you excuse me a minute?” she said. “I should probably wash my hands real fast before I touch any food. If the server comes by, can you order me an organic root beer?”
“Sure, no problem,” Mitch said. “That’s my favorite too.”
“Well, what do you know?” Nancy answered as she slid out of her side of the booth. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
“No rush,” Mitch said. He watched her movements closely as she disappeared behind the vitamin aisle. Then he caught the eye of the server. “Two organic root beers?”
“Sure, be right there,” the server answered.
Nancy washed her hands and took a good look at her face in the bathroom mirror. She tried to imagine seeing herself for the first time. What would the detective notice? Her large almond-shaped eyes? Her full lips? Or would it be her skin, which was not currently in such good shape? Or the dark circles under her eyes from having just switched from the night shift back to the day? She reached in her pocket and pulled out a tube of gloss, dabbing some lightly on her lips. Then she took her long, unruly hair out of its low ponytail and ran her fingers through it to plump it up around her face. It cascaded across her shoulders and down her back in waves she hadn’t bothered to style that morning, but she felt pretty. If he noticed when she returned that she had made herself a little more appealing, she didn’t care. It might even send a signal to him that she was interested. She was not one to ask a man out. Men usually asked her, and she preferred it that way. But she knew sometimes they needed a little sign or they might assume she didn’t see them in that way. It had been a long time since she had even met anyone she could be remotely interested in dating. She was an independent woman with a career she loved, and she could take very good care of herself. She didn’t need a man, but like most people, she preferred to be partnered. Ah hell, I’m attracted to the guy. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She thought about the last long-term relationship she’d had, how she’d struggled to maintain her independence, to resist the urge to let her fiancé be the take-charge kind of guy he was for fear she would somehow lose herself in the relationship. But now she was ready to let passion consume her without fear of the consequences. She had been alone long enough; she finally trusted herself to make good choices with men. She wanted a strong man, and she no longer felt she had to sacrifice any part of her intelligence or autonomy in order to allow the right man to sweep her off her feet. Despite her age, she still believed it was possible to have it all, including children, so long as she wasn’t too picky about the details. And right now she had that familiar feeling she always got when her life was about to change for the better. She took one last look in the mirror and took a deep, slow breath before walking back to rejoin Mitch in the booth.
The server brought the root beers to the table and smiled sheepishly at Mitch. “Do you know what you want to order yet, Detective?”
“Not yet, Emma. Can you give us a minute first?”
“Sure, no problem, just call me when you’re ready.”
Mitch opened his root beer and looked up to see Nancy walking back toward the table. He thought she looked pretty with her hair down, and her demeanor had softened. He guessed she was about thirty-five or so. Didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. She probably never wore jewelry when she worked. He noticed she was tall—at least five foot eight, maybe five foot nine. He pictured her long legs in a short dress with high heels and wondered if she liked yellow labs.
“I’m starving,” Nancy said, sliding back into her side of the booth. “So, what’s good here, Mitch?”
He continued admiring her openly, feeling confident now she was interested too. “Do you trust me to order for you?” he asked. “Since you like the root beer, maybe you’ll like the same food I like too.” Mitch raised his eyebrows and smiled
.
“Surprise me.” Nancy shrugged her shoulders and smiled back.
They feasted on organic tempeh tacos, veggie ceviche-stuffed avocados, gluten-free vegan cheese scones, and carrot cake with organic decaf coffee for dessert. By the time they finished, Mitch learned Nancy was an only child, had never been married (although she had been engaged once to another doctor), was a huge Lakers fan, and hated her middle name, Loraine. She had never had a broken bone, although she had set quite a few. He, on the other hand, had broken, and thus given, both an arm and a leg in the line of duty. She was not particularly religious but had learned to trust her instincts, as she often had strong intuitive hunches. Mitch related to the intuitive hunches—in fact, that was a big reason why he had become a detective. He had been raised Presbyterian but now found himself drawn more to Hinduism, if anything. He thought the idea of reincarnation made as much sense, perhaps more, than any of the other far-fetched beliefs most religions embraced. They both liked their respective professions because they liked helping people. He forgot to ask her about dogs, but at this point it no longer mattered. He was hooked. The beauteous Nancy Loraine Kelley had seduced him with her wit and charm, but most of all with her tenderness. And this tenderness, Mitch was sure, was something of which Nancy was completely unaware. It oozed out of her every pore, and it smelled to him like orange blossoms, or what tenderness would smell like if it had a fragrance. At this point it didn’t matter whether the legs underneath her medical scrubs were straight or shapely, because Mitch had already fallen for her heart, her mind, and her spirit. She was the most unadulterated woman he had ever met.
Nancy completely lost track of time, as well as her reason for meeting Detective Coffey in the first place. She had been caught off guard by the intense attraction she felt for the man sitting opposite her in the booth. It didn’t cross her mind to question why this attraction had not been as strong from the beginning when they first met. She only knew she now felt like a bit of a schoolgirl in his presence. The attention he paid to her was intoxicating. On a very distant level, she knew this was due to the endorphins her body produced in response to the pleasant visual and emotional stimulation he elicited from her. But on a more direct and immediate level, she didn’t care, didn’t want to know. She was being swept away, and she liked it. She liked it so much she would have forgotten all about going back to the hospital were it not for her habit of setting regular alarms on her cell phone. Unfortunately, the alarm she had currently set was conspicuously disturbing, so much so that they both broke into laughter when the dogs-barking-jingle bells song erupted from her purse at two thirty.
