Save Her Child

by CJ Lyons

  That made up her mind. She stepped forward to join Harper, making certain that she was on the opposite side of Harper’s gun hand so she wouldn’t risk crossing the detective’s line of fire. “Let me try.”

  Harper shot her a glare but blinked and swallowed her reflexive distrust of any non-law enforcement professional. It helped that she’d seen Leah defuse a number of volatile situations during the six months that Leah had been working as a liaison between the police and the Crisis Intervention Center. “Okay, but don’t get any closer. And don’t block our line of fire.”

  Leah nodded and fixed her gaze on Darius. “Mr. Darius?” she called in a soft tone. If he was forced to listen harder, he’d also be focusing more on her words. “I’m Dr. Leah Wright. I’m not a police officer. I work at Good Samaritan’s ER.” As she spoke, she sidled away from Harper, not getting closer to Darius and his knife, but also distancing herself from the police physically as well as psychologically. “I want to help.”

  “Good. Get these cops away from me. Nothing here is any of their business.”

  “I’m worried about Macy. Do you think she’s okay? She looks like she might need medical attention.” Leah kept her voice low and steady, using an inflection that implied that Darius was in charge. “If you drop the knife, I can examine her, get her the help she needs.”

  “I drop the knife and these cops gonna shoot me dead.”

  “I’ll guarantee your safety—as long as you put any weapons on the ground. Besides, you have all these witnesses.”

  “Like that’s gonna stop them. Who they gonna blame for this? The stupid white girl?” He shook Macy, hard. Her eyes barely fluttered. “Or the Black man?” Someone in the crowd cheered at that and he glanced past Leah to his audience.

  Leah needed to get his attention back on her. But before she could think of what to say next, Macy jerked her head up, her body shuddering. “Darius, I think she’s going to be sick—”

  Too late. Macy vomited all over herself and Darius, causing him to fling her away from him. She stumbled against the car, then sagged to the ground. Darius shook his leg, trying to shed some of the noxious liquid. He still held the knife, though, so the police maintained their alert posture. In fact, a second patrol unit had arrived, its red and blue lights bathing the scene from behind Leah.

  “Darius,” Leah tried again. “Is she breathing? I think Macy needs help. Would you please put down the knife so I can come over and check her?”

  He frowned at his hand as if he’d forgotten the knife. Then he glanced at the crowd, but the newly arrived police officers were shepherding them back inside the mission. Macy’s dramatic projectile vomiting wasn’t exactly the fun they’d signed up to watch.

  Leah inched forward, keeping the car between her and Darius. “What did she OD on, Darius? Help me, please. You don’t want her to die, do you?”

  “No,” he muttered, and she wasn’t sure if he was answering her question or simply responding to the overall situation. He took a step forward, leaning over, but Harper shouted, “Stop there, Darius! Don’t take another step.”

  He jerked back, the knife at his side but still clenched in his fist. Leah tried again to regain the ground she’d lost. “Is she breathing?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think she’s dying.” He raised his gaze to meet Leah’s. “Can you really help her?”

  “I can try. But only if you put the knife down. Can you do that for Macy? Can you save her life?”

  He squinted at the knife in his hand like he was surprised it was still there. Then he stepped back and with careful, exaggerated movements, he lowered it to the pavement and backed away from it.

  Harper and the other officers instantly swarmed him, tackling him to the ground. “Help her!” he cried out, his face pressed against the pavement, eyes pleading with Leah. “Save Macy like you promised!”

  Twenty-Six

  After Luka did what he could to help with the search for Beth at Good Sam, he returned to his office at the police department, his plans for the day already delayed by several hours. He called Krichek and asked him to bring an update on the search for any footage surrounding Spencer’s office, gathered what information he needed to prep for the interviews of Tassi and Dean Foster scheduled for later in the day, and finished his paperwork left over from the weekend.

  Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Leah’s missing patient. The hospital hadn’t upgraded its security systems in decades, he’d learned to his chagrin when he’d stopped by before leaving Good Sam. The security chief, a retired cop from Pittsburgh named Ramsey, was working to organize the morning’s security footage to make reviewing it as easy as possible. But it would take time before the hospital had the footage ready, and Luka had had other open cases that required his attention.

  He glanced at his office clock: 11:48. Surely by now they’d found something.

  “Because of patient privacy, there are no cameras inside the Labor and Delivery ward,” Ramsey explained when Luka called to ask for an update. “And going through all the rest—we’ll need to do it manually. Do you have a picture we can work off, yet?”

  Thanks to Leah—well, actually Nate, and his curiosity and eagerness to try his portraiture skills—they had a photo from the fair where Beth’s face was somewhat clear, although distant. Luka forwarded the image to Ramsey. “We need this as soon as possible.” They had to consider every scenario. If there was any sign that Beth and her baby had been abducted, then precious time was slipping away.

  “I already ran through the camera outside the ward and there’s nothing unusual at all. Definitely no signs of a kidnapping or anything like that. And no single woman carrying a baby, only couples. My next step is to verify their identities with the nurses, but they were all accompanied by staff, so that shouldn’t take long.”

  Luka was torn. If Beth left on her own and had no signs of mental impairment that might lead her to harm her baby, then he had no case to pursue. The most he could do was to file a missing persons report with the NCIC database so that any law enforcement officer who happened to come in contact with her would perform a welfare check, ensure that she was safe. As it was, Commander Ahearn would be incensed that Luka had wasted as much time as he had on something that wasn’t even a real crime.

  But… Luka trusted Leah’s instincts. If she thought Beth and the baby were in danger, he owed it to her to follow up as best he could. It wouldn’t be the huge manhunt that Leah would have liked—it almost never was, but civilians didn’t understand that adults had every right to walk out of their lives; it wasn’t a crime. And Amber Alerts for children required definitive information: detailed descriptions, makes and models of vehicles used, etc. All Luka had was Beth’s first name and a blurry image. “You’re sure, no signs of coercion?”

  “Nope,” Ramsey replied. “Which is why I canceled the code indigo.”

  “And there’s no way Beth or the baby could still be on the ward?”

  “My men and the nurses searched everywhere.”

  Luka glanced at the binders on his bookcase. All open cases, waiting for his attention. So many victims, the majority killed by people they loved—and who they thought loved them. “I hate to even think this,” he said. “But what if Beth left on her own? Without the baby?”

  “Told you, we looked—” Ramsey stopped himself. “Damn. You mean, what if she did something to the baby? Killed it?”

  “Him,” Luka corrected automatically. “Newborn. Tiny. Opens up a lot more potential search areas.”

  “We’re on it. But I really hope you’re wrong.”

  “Anything we could do to help?” A true search would mean closing down the hospital floor and anything accessed from it like trash chutes, drains, elevator shafts—it would be a time-consuming, logistical nightmare. “Perhaps a cadaver dog disguised as a service animal? A handler could take it on a quick stroll around the floor without attracting undue attention.”

  “Geez, and I thought I’d seen everyt
hing.” Ramsey was silent for a moment. “Let me work with our people, see what we can do on our own. I’ve still got a dozen other cameras and hours of footage to review, but now that we have a photo, I’ll also check the ward footage again, looking for a woman alone. Maybe we can get a handle on where she went.” He paused. “But why? I mean, if you don’t want your kid, just walk away, leave him with the doctors. It doesn’t make any sense that she’d hurt the baby.”

  “We need to rule out every possibility.”

  “Well, I’m hoping like hell you’re wrong.” Ramsey hung up.

  A knock came on Luka’s open office door. Krichek.

  “Got some good stuff from the Standish financials,” he started. “Still working on the security footage from the strip mall and surrounding businesses. Generated an initial list of license plates. Sent them to Harper to follow up.”

  If Luka’s attacker were any kind of professional, he would have made certain that his vehicle couldn’t be traced back to him. Still, the job needed to be done if only to cross it off the list of possible leads. Scut work, Krichek called it, and the detective was obviously happy to pass it on to the newest member of their team.

  Krichek swiped his tablet’s screen. “I’ve sent the bank documents to you,” he told Luka. “Bottom line is that, in addition to the funds Standish funneled through the charity to offshore accounts that we’ll never be able to touch, there’s also over six million missing. Cash.”

  “Any idea where it went?”

  “I figured we’d never find it, not with Spencer’s computers all wiped clean.” He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. Luka nodded at him to continue. “But then Sanchez found a memory card in the printer/scanner. Kept a record of every document that went through it. Turns out Spencer’s been converting the cash into gold.”

  Gold. The universal currency and in many ways more untraceable than cash or even Bitcoin. While actual gold was heavy and cumbersome, there were a variety of anonymous services that would exchange it for even more untraceable bearer bonds, which could be funneled into any financial account.

  “Six million?” Luka repeated as he pulled up the summary report and squinted at it.

  “And change. I’m guessing the wife has it—along with all the offshore account information for the rest of her payout. The stock fund and the foundation are both zeroed out.” He pointed to Luka’s screen. “Standish’s last transactions, closing out all the accounts. On Friday.”

  “And then he meets with his pastor-slash-lawyer to compose his confession, making sure to exonerate his wife.” The date on Spencer’s confession was Saturday.

  “You’re thinking the widow did it?” Krichek’s voice upticked. “She killed him for the money?”

  Ray appeared in the doorway, not bothering to knock. “Is anybody invited to this coffee klatch?”

  “What do you have?” Luka asked, noting his smile.

  “Got the details on Standish’s previous so-called death, the one he faked in Colorado three years ago. Did you know he was married to Tassi back then as well? Divorced her, gave her a pile of money, then a few months later Standish supposedly drowned during a fishing trip. Body never found.”

  “They were in it together.” Krichek rocked on his heels, unable to contain his excitement.

  “Only this time Standish ended up dead for real,” Luka reminded him.

  “Denver also confirmed that the Zapata crime family lost money in Standish’s Ponzi scheme.”

  “Good reason to fake your death,” Luka said. The Zapata family ran one of the largest crime syndicates in the United States. “I like how he protected his wife—excuse me, ex-wife—and his money at the same time; it set him up with enough cash to lay low until the heat was off.”

  “Then he re-emerged a few years later,” Ray added. “New name, new town, same wife, same con. Guy should have quit while he was ahead.”

  “And alive,” Krichek put in.

  Luka’s phone rang. Ford Tierney.

  “You need to get here right away,” the medical examiner said before Luka could offer a greeting. “I can’t deal with these people. There’s a widow demanding I not perform the postmortem I’ve already finished while also insisting on an expedited death certificate and some DEA guy wanting a photo of the deceased—”

  “Are you talking about the Standish case?”

  “Yes, of course the Standish case. I told security to keep them all in the waiting room, but I have work to do and this isn’t—”

  “We’ll take care of it. Thanks, Dr. Tierney.” Luka knew Ford would respond to his use of his formal title and a dash of politeness. “I very much appreciate your patience.”

  “See to it. We have grieving families here and important work that can’t be disrupted with these—”

  “I’m on my way.” Luka hung up. Ray was sidling back out of the door while Krichek appeared intrigued. “Both of you, we’re headed to the morgue.”

  “A hysterical widow and you need back-up?” Ray kidded him. Ray hated the morgue—although at least he didn’t get queasy like Krichek did at the sight of a dead body. “Or is it Tierney you might need help with?”

  “I’m thinking divide and conquer,” Luka said. “We were set to interview Tassi and Dean anyway. Why not catch them while they’re emotional, get as much out of them as we can before they calm down and start thinking?”

  “What about Dr. Wright?” Krichek asked. “Could she help?”

  Ray nodded his agreement. “After meeting the widow yesterday, I think she might get more out of her than either you or I could. I can’t decide if Tassi Standish is complicit and the best actress I’ve ever met, or if she’s as dumb as a load of bricks.” That was Ray, never one to couch his opinions in politically correct terms.

  “We can use the CIC interview rooms, if they aren’t already booked.” The Crisis Intervention Center was part of the ER and had interview rooms equipped with video and audio recording capacities. Using them would save bringing Tassi and Dean back here. Plus, Luka could see if Ramsey had found anything about Beth and her baby.

  “What’s Foster Dean want with a photograph of Standish?” Krichek asked.

  “Proof that he’s really dead,” Ray answered. “And the only reason he’d need that—”

  “Is if he’s working for the Zapata family,” Luka finished for him. Foster Dean intrigued him. Last night he’d gotten a few details from a phone call to a friend on the regional drug interdiction task force. It seemed Dean’s retirement hadn’t been entirely his own idea, from the rumors Luka’s friend had shared. According to her, Dean had been suspected of feeding intel to the Zapata family, but nothing had been proven and he’d resigned under a cloud of suspicion.

  If Dean was working for the Zapatas, it would explain why he’d been tenacious enough to follow Spencer from Colorado to Pennsylvania after Spencer had been desperate enough to fake his own death back in Denver.

  Which made Tassi, as the only person involved with Spencer back in Colorado as well as his new life here, even more important as a witness. It was vital that Luka find a way to get her talking.

  She hadn’t responded to him or his team. Perhaps she really was too traumatized by her husband’s death. If so, there was one person who could not only help ease the widow’s pain but also help Luka get the answers he needed: Leah Wright.

  Twenty-Seven

  As soon as the uniformed officers had Darius restrained, Harper rushed to her car and grabbed the OD kit from the trunk. Leah rolled Macy onto her side and was monitoring her pulse.

  “Heroin overdose?” Harper asked as she unwrapped one of the special nasal syringes of naloxone. She’d had to use the OD kits so many times while working patrol that she didn’t even wait for Leah’s answer, simply handing her the syringe.

  “Definitely some sort of opiate,” Leah said, shoving the reversal agent up Macy’s nose and depressing the plunger. Harper kept back and noticed that Leah did as well. Naloxone immediately negated the effects of opioi
ds, canceling an addict’s high so fast that their first action as they woke was often to take a swing at whoever was closest.

  Macy merely fluttered her eyes and released a groan. “Give me another dose,” Leah ordered. “How far out is the ambulance?”

  “Pulling up now.” Harper prepped the second dose and handed it to Leah. This time they were rewarded with Macy jerking upright, looking around in confusion. But then she slumped back against the car, muttering incoherently.

  “Are you guys seeing any fentanyl or carfentanyl?” Leah asked Harper as the medics took over. “I haven’t heard of any cases from the ER, but she definitely took something higher grade than what we usually see.”

  “I’ll ask, but the only cases of high-end stuff like that that I’ve heard of have been out of Philly and Baltimore.” Harper stepped back so that the medics could push their stretcher past. “She going to be okay?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Lucky you were here when it happened.” Harper wondered how Macy had got enough cash to OD on high-grade junk—maybe that was what she and Darius were arguing about.

  “I’m going to ride with her,” Leah said, trotting after the medics.

  “I’ll be right behind you.” Harper watched the ambulance leave, made sure the patrol officers were also taking Darius to Good Sam for a medical eval before they booked him, then walked back to her car. She used a liberal dose of hand sanitizer and made a note to replace the OD kit before signing the car back into the vehicle pool.

  Jonah approached from the mission and rapped on her window as she was getting ready to head over to Good Sam. “I saw what happened. Is Macy going to be all right?”

  “Hope so. Can you spread the word among your clients to be extra careful? Whatever she took, it was a lot more potent than regular street junk.”

  “Will do.” He stood, then lowered his face again so that they were at eye level. “You did good today, sis.”