This Little Baby

by Joyce Sullivan

  Gil ground his teeth and squirmed in his chair, hoping the creaking leather would drown out the details of whatever they were arranging. Gil didn’t want to know what Karl had said that made Paulina’s eyes glow with satisfaction, nor did he want to speculate what Paulina owed Karl big-time. Gil absolutely did not want to dwell on the possibility that Paulina’s legs had ever been wrapped tightly around another man’s waist, especially not when her slightest touch—or one look at her soft lips—made Gil hard with wanting her.

  She hung up, beaming. “The RCMP Missing Children’s Center has found out that one child was the victim of a stranger abduction in a town along Tweedie’s work route.”

  Gil stared at her, confused. She hadn’t been arranging a date with her ex-husband? His momentary sense of relief was replaced by the sobering awareness that Paulina didn’t want the home life Gil had spent years carefully planning.

  “How old was the child?” Gil asked.

  “Nine months old. He was taken from a stroller during a church picnic. Now, it could be a coincidence,” she cautioned, “but it’s a promising lead. It may indicate that Jean-Luc found Cindy’s body—maybe they’d arranged to meet somewhere—and took his own life in his grief. Damn, we need those autopsy results.”

  As if on cue, the phone rang again.

  Gil felt his heart twitch when Paulina put her hand over the receiver and mouthed Robbins’s name. He gripped the edge of the desk waiting for Jean-Luc’s autopsy report. But to Gil’s disappointment, the conversation was short and sweet. Paulina agreed to a meeting at the police station in half an hour.

  “Why do they want us to go there?” he asked when she’d terminated the call. “Do you think they’ve found Mikey?”

  “No. If they’d found Mikey they’d tell us or come see us—particularly if the news was bad. My guess is the autopsy results are very interesting,” Paulina mused.

  Gil abandoned his lunch, feeling distinctly ill at ease. The way she’d said interesting, made him think interesting was definitely not good. Hell, was Robbins planning on interviewing him again?

  ROBBINS’S EXPRESSION didn’t give anything away, Paulina thought as she and Gil were shown to seats in an interrogation room. Detective Zuker looked slightly more relaxed as he offered them a drink.

  “Have you received the autopsy results?” she asked Robbins, impatient with his intimidation ploys. He was seated at a large wooden table, his hands folded neatly on top of a tan file folder.

  “Yes, we did, Ms. Stewart, but we’ll get to that all in due time,” he replied calmly. His tone intensified the discomposing jingle of alarms sounding in her head. She knew darn well that Robbins had something major to report or he wouldn’t have summoned them. “First, the Edmonton police have interviewed Cindy’s parents. Apparently, they haven’t heard from her in years. They didn’t know she had a baby. And I’m sad to say they frankly didn’t care.” Robbins cleared his throat.

  Paulina mentally crossed that possibility off her list and glanced anxiously at Gil.

  “We got a report from the GRC in Quebec City. They searched the home of Jean-Luc’s mother. There’s no sign of an infant. Madame Deveau claims she hasn’t seen or talked to her son since Christmas.”

  “What about Jean-Luc’s father?” Paulina asked.

  “There’s no contact there. The father deserted the family when Jean-Luc was three years old.” Robbins opened the file on the table and an uncomfortable silence multiplied in the room as he scanned the top page as if reacquainting himself with the information. “As for the autopsy report, I have some disturbing news.” Robbins raised his cold gray gaze from the autopsy report and zoomed in on Gil.

  Dread clawed at Paulina’s skin. She saw what was coming like a lob pitch. Instinctively, she reached for Gil’s arm.

  “The coroner concludes Jean-Luc Deveau was murdered,” Robbins stated in a deceptively factual tone. “Would you happen to know anything about that, Mr. Boyer?”

  Chapter Eight

  Before Paulina could stop him, Gil bounded out of his chair like a panther in pursuit of a meal. Anger radiated from him as he leaned over Robbins, the muscles in his neck standing out like thick ropes. His massive fists looked capable of splintering the table and Robbins’s smug expression in a single blow.

  “Listen here, Detective. I didn’t do it,” he said, barely controlling his contempt. “So, why don’t you stop wasting the taxpayers’ money and look for the person who did?”

  Zuker put a restraining hand on Gil’s arm. Gil had the good sense not to shrug it away.

  Paulina stood. “Detective Robbins,” she said coolly. “If you’re prepared to lay charges against my client, then inform him of his right to counsel and caution him. You may not have any worthwhile leads to pursue, but we do. In fact, we’re prepared to share that information with you, in the interests of finding Mikey as expediently as possible.”

  Robbins’s irises narrowed to pinpoints. He gestured with his hand. “Sit down, Mr. Boyer, and keep a lid on your temper.”

  Gil’s jaw hardened into a granite ledge, but he resumed his seat. Paulina breathed an inward sigh of relief. Men and testosterone. “When was Jean-Luc killed?” she asked, flipping to a blank page in her notebook to jot down the specifics.

  “Saturday night. A neighbor saw him arrive home about nine-thirty. The autopsy report indicates Jean-Luc was lefthanded, but the gun was found in his right hand. The location and the angle of the entry wound make it extremely unlikely the injury was self-inflicted. The forensics lab is determining whether the strap of the diaper bag was the ligature used to kill Cindy.”

  Paulina raised her eyebrows in surprise, puzzling over the information.

  “What about the luggage you found in the trunk of Jean-Luc’s Mustang?” Gil asked, his voice hopeful. “Were Mikey’s belongings there?”

  “Actually, no,” Robbins admitted. He extracted a list from the file and ran a finger down it. “There was clothing for a man and a woman. But the only items suitable for an infant were a rattle and one newborn-size outfit. Of course, there were diapers, a bottle of juice, two cans of baby formula and such in the diaper bag.” He passed them a copy of the list.

  “So whoever has Mikey has his clothes,” Gil commented as Paulina held the list where they both could see. He pointed at the description of the outfit—a baseball uniform with a matching hat. “Ted bought that the day Mikey was born,” he said quietly.

  Paulina glanced up at Robbins. “It says there was a packet of photos. Of what?”

  “The baby mostly. Newborn stuff.” He gestured at his partner. “Zuker, get the photos.”

  Zuker left the room and returned almost immediately with several sheets of bristol board on which the photos had been mounted. He laid them on the table.

  “There were none of Jean-Luc, the murder victim, but we’d like to know who this man is.” Zuker’s beefy finger indicated a man bearing a strong resemblance to Gil.

  “He’s my brother,” Gil said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “And he died about two months ago?” Zuker inquired.

  “Yeah.”

  Zuker nodded, his black eyes opaque. “Look at the pictures carefully, Mr. Boyer. Were any of them taken at places you’re not familiar with or with people you don’t recognize?”

  Paulina noticed there were several photos of Ted holding Mikey. Gil identified his parents—Gil had inherited his size from his dad and his indigo eyes from his mother—and explained three of the photos were taken at their residence in Kingston. The rest were taken at the hospital or Ted’s apartment.

  Robbins seemed disappointed. “I’ve had a team of investigators combing the location where Cindy was found, but so far we’ve drawn a blank. No one saw anything. We’ve had a few calls about possible sightings that we’ve checked out thoroughly. But there’s been nothing solid. However, forensics found some carpet fibers in the doormat at Jean-Luc’s place that matched the fibers found on Cindy’s body. So, it’s likely the same person kil
led them.”

  “Have you had someone interview Edison Tweedie, the salesman we talked to in Winnipeg?” Paulina asked.

  “Yes, I spoke to him by phone. He told me basically what he told you in your report. Why?”

  “I think we should delve deeper into Tweedie’s background,” Paulina replied. “He was the last person to see Cindy alive.” She told him her theory that Tweedie might have abducted Mikey to sell him. “I’ve learned from the RCMP Missing Children’s Center that a nine-month-old boy was abducted July third of last year from a stroller during a church picnic at a park in Swift Current, Saskatchewan, which is along Tweedie’s route. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out where he was that day. He follows a regular schedule.” She crossed her legs. “It’s possible Tweedie killed Cindy and Jean-Luc and planted the diaper bag in Jean-Luc’s home to throw off the police.”

  Gil leaned forward, his hands on his thighs. “Cindy talked to Tweedie for quite a while that morning. She told him all about her problems, maybe even mentioned the trip she and Jean-Luc planned. She probably made it easy for him. They were leaving town, anyway. Who would miss them? Is it possible Tweedie helped himself to Mikey’s clothes while he was at Jean-Luc’s?”

  Robbins rubbed his narrow jaw thoughtfully. “Maybe. But that still doesn’t explain the three-day time delay between Cindy’s murder and Jean-Luc’s.”

  “Unless it took three days for Tweedie to locate JeanLuc,” Paulina suggested. “He’d been seen at the diner talking to Cindy. He knew he’d be suspected. He probably jimmied the patio door of Cindy’s apartment, thinking Jean-Luc lived with her.”

  “I’ll put some manpower on this right away,” Robbins promised. “Was there anything else?” He looked at Paulina expectantly.

  “Actually, I’ve found out the name of a counselor whom Cindy spoke to recently. This woman may be the only person who knows what was going on inside Cindy’s head—and about her relationship with Jean-Luc. She works at a private counseling clinic. I tried to talk to her earlier today, but no dice. She was aware that Mikey was missing and Cindy and Jean-Luc were both dead.”

  “Let’s see what she has to say to me. Have you got the clinic’s number?” Robbins reached for the phone.

  “Yes, but she’s gone for the day—supposedly on holidays. I do have her license plate number.” Paulina felt a blush graze her cheeks. “I happened to have a pen handy when she drove away from work. It might save time if you contact her directly at home.” She read him the number from her notebook. “By the way, you might want to run a criminal-records check on her. I’m fairly certain Elva Madre isn’t her real name. I looked it up in a book and it means ‘good counselor to mothers.’“

  Robbins whistled. “Could I offer you a job, Ms. Stewart?” he said.

  “No, thank you. I already have a job,” she replied crisply. Though, it never hurt to win a little respect. Maybe Robbins would be more forthcoming now.

  “Zuker, don’t stand there with your mouth hanging open. Do as the lady says. Run the plate and get me the woman’s home phone number.”

  Paulina snuck a glance at Gil; he was smiling at her. She smiled back, feeling a giddy warmth bubble in her chest The admiration in Gil’s eyes meant a whole lot more to her than Robbins’s grudging acceptance.

  “Could I have a look at Cindy and Jean-Luc’s autopsy reports while we’re waiting?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He passed her the documents.

  She and Gil were still reading when Zuker hustled into the room several minutes later. Perspiration shone on his broad forehead and formed rings on his white shirt under the arms. “Looks like Ms. Stewart is on to something,” he puffed. “The Volvo’s registered to a Karen Louise Jamieson, who was convicted of forcible confinement in Vancouver five years ago for holding a pregnant woman against her will. She served three years’ probation.”

  “Sounds like Ms. Jamieson changed her name and came to Ottawa for a fresh start,” Paulina observed.

  Beside her, Gil suddenly snapped his fingers. “I admit this is a stretch…but could Elva Madre be the mother Cindy was referring to?”

  Paulina sucked in her breath. She hadn’t thought of that. She was going to have to stop charging Gil extra if he kept making brilliant suggestions like that.

  Robbins stood up. “Under the circumstances, we’ll pay Ms. Jamieson a personal visit”

  “Mind if we tag along?” Paulina asked, rising with the detective.

  He gave Paulina, then Gil a long, measuring gaze. “No. Just don’t get in the way.”

  Paulina wouldn’t dream of it. She recognized a privilege when it was handed to her. She just hoped Elva hadn’t cleared out of town with Mikey.

  KAREN JAMIESON LIVED in a faded white cottage on Broadway Avenue just off Bronson. A scarlet-leaved ivy obscured the front screen porch and made it difficult to tell if anyone was home—particularly from their vantage point down the block. Gil tightly gripped the steering wheel of his car, feeling knots of tension cramp in his biceps. Robbins could have let them park closer to the action. Gil watched as a team of officers wearing police vests crawled through the overgrown shrubbery like beetles and surrounded the house.

  “Do you have binoculars in your car?” Paulina asked, fidgeting. “I don’t see Elva’s Volvo, but it might be parked in the back lane.”

  He shook his head, trying to ignore the fact his stomach felt as though someone wearing cleats had kicked him in the gut. Was Mikey in there? “Who keeps binoculars in their car, anyway?”

  “I do. And I thought you might. You probably have season tickets to the Rough Riders’ games.”

  He flashed her an unsteady grin. “You’re half right. My tickets are on the fifty-yard line. You like football? You don’t strike me as the type.”

  “My father was a Buffalo Bills fan. I rooted for the opponent just to bug him.” A wistful expression appeared in her silvery eyes, making Gil wonder if she worked so hard just to keep the loneliness from gnawing at her—the way he did. “What’s your team?” she asked.

  “Northwestern’s my alma mater. Other than that, I’m a Chicago Bears fan.” Gil straightened and broke into a cold sweat as Robbins opened the screen door and entered the porch.

  A moment later, Robbins reappeared. His arm movements suggested he was ordering the officers to peer in the windows for movement inside the house. Gil tried to fend off a crushing sense of disappointment.

  “She’s not home,” Paulina said decisively. “Look, he’s dispatching officers to go door-to-door. Maybe one of the neighbors noticed something. The houses are close together. The cry of a baby would be easily heard.”

  Gil nodded.

  Minutes passed at an excruciating pace. Five. Ten. Twenty. Had Robbins forgotten they were here? Forty minutes later, as dusk settled over the street, Robbins approached their car. Gil let out an explosive sigh of relief.

  The detective rested his hands on the open window. “Here’s the situation. Karen’s not in the house. A neighbor across the back lane spotted her around two this afternoon, loading her car with luggage. No sign of an infant. The neighbor to the east says Elva—that’s what she called Karen—notified her she’d be going out of town for a week and asked her to keep an eye on the house. That neighbor also said Karen had visitors on Sunday last—a man, a woman and a baby.”

  Gil’s jaw shot up as hope welled anew in his heart. “Do you think the baby was Mikey?”

  Robbins wet his lips. “Hard to say. The witness couldn’t provide a description because the infant was wrapped in a blanket. All we got on the couple is the husband looked like a university professor—tall, skinny, receding hairline. Hair light brown or blond. Wire-rimmed glasses. The woman is medium height, shoulder-length red hair. We’re doing everything possible to find out where Karen Jamieson went. We’ve got reasonable grounds to obtain search warrants for the house and the files of the counseling clinic. But it’ll take a few hours. We’ve got someone working on the Tweedie angle, too. Why don’t you go home and get
some rest, Mr. Boyer? We’ll keep you posted.”

  As the detective walked away, Gil dropped his chin to his chest and banged his fist against the steering wheel. Damn, so close. And yet, Mikey still felt woefully out of reach.

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU don’t want to come to my place?” Gil asked, taking Paulina’s hand in his after he swung his sports car to the curb outside her Clarence Street office. The glow from the streetlight illuminated his fatigueridden features. Paulina’s heart squeezed with empathy as she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.

  “Robbins might call with news,” he continued, “and, I’d like my parents to meet you. It’s only seven-thirty. I could drive you home later.”

  Paulina waffled, torn between her common sense and an irrational desire to be with him. They’d stopped for pizza, but neither of them was hungry. Paulina could smell the sausage and mushrooms in the box on the back seat. It was strange sitting in the car with him, with the engine humming impatiently as though urging her to make a decision. But she knew there was more to Gil’s invitation than handholding support. They’d come perilously close to sleeping together the previous night—not that there was any chance of that happening tonight with his parents occupying the guest room.

  But meeting his parents would be another step toward the intimacy she was trying to avoid. She already knew too much about Gil—liked too much about him. She didn’t want to be in the position of knowing what his parents were like. Didn’t want his mother sizing her up as prospective daughter-in-law material. If Cindy’s friends could pick up on the attraction humming between her and Gil, then Gil’s mother could, too.

  Paulina decided it would be best for both her and Gil if they didn’t get any more involved than they already were. They were holding hands now, for heaven’s sake, and her insides were melting to honey.