Page 5 of Holmes Is Missing
“Making a point,” said Marple, moving in smooth, gliding steps. She pushed the bassinet quickly toward the exit door and stopped one inch short as Santo caught up to her, scowling and furious.
“Just wait,” said Marple, holding up one hand.
She stared at the door sensor. Listened for a couple seconds. Looked over at Santo.
No alarm.
“Your little green loops are counterfeit,” said Marple, looking down at the sleeping baby. “They might as well be wristbands at Coachella.”
CHAPTER6
DOWN THE HALL, Poe was battling a touch of claustrophobia. The maternity unit’s security annex was way too small for the dozens of law enforcement personnel inside—cops, detectives, and a couple of newly arrived agents from the local FBI office. Squeezed up against a wall between two overweight uniforms, Poe couldn’t shake the image of a clown car.
“Quiet, dammit! I can’t think!” The assistant head of security held up one hand for silence. He was sweating like a weight lifter as he ran through footage from the surveillance cameras. The audience was riveted. But there wasn’t much to see.
Poe was not at all shocked to learn that the nursery cams had been disabled for two minutes—exactly the amount of time it apparently took to walk from the nursery to the supply elevator, then go down five floors to street level. He and Helene had timed the route themselves.
“How many cameras in the system?” Poe called out, still pressed against the wall.
“Hundreds,” said the security guy. “Interior. Exterior. Everywhere.”
“They disabled as few as possible,” said Poe. “Surgical.”
“What the hell are you doing in here?” It was Detective Vail. The room was so packed that Poe hadn’t noticed him.
“I’m trying to solve the case,” said Poe. “You?”
“Shit!Look!” said the security guy. Like the nursery cams, the loading dock views were all distorted with static. Except one. The view from this camera linked to an older CCTV setup. The image was grainy and the angle was not all that helpful. It showed a partial side view of a box truck, parked so that no driver or tags were visible. At 01:00:01 on the time code, the truck was there. By 01:00:15, it was gone.
“It’s a Ford E-Series,” said Poe, “2014 or ’15.”
Helene immediately pulled out her phone and put out an APB on the vehicle, but Poe knew there were probably thousands like it in the tri-state area. And he also knew that operatives this slick wouldn’t be using the truck for long. If the babies were still alive, they were probably tucked away in a soundproof room by now.
A perimeter had already been set up around Manhattan. Highways. Bridges. Tunnels. A diligent step but probably worthless. Poe realized that even without breaking any speed limits, the kidnappers could already be in Connecticut, Massachusetts, or downstate New Jersey. Not to mention at any of the area’s airports.
He needed air. He exited the windowless room the only way he could, by backing out, squeezing past police and security personnel as he went. Loosening his collar in the bright, antiseptic-scented hallway, he felt Helene’s shoulder against his. She let out a long breath.
“We need to talk,” she said. “You and me.”
“Something you couldn’t say in there?” asked Poe, nodding back toward the security room.
“Correct,” said Helene. “It’s private. Your ears only.”
CHAPTER7
THE ELEVATOR DOORopened onto the hospital lobby. At ground level, the police presence was still thick, mixed with doctors and nurses moving around on their wee-hours shifts. Poe walked with Helene across the polished floor and through the revolving door to the sidewalk.
When they stepped outside, Helene nodded across the street to the Cops & Docs bar. “Over there,” she said. They wound their way past idling police cars and entered through the weathered wooden front door.
The place was new to Poe, off the beaten path from his typical drinking establishments in the city. The décor was exactly as the name suggested: walls festooned with vintage photographs of New York police officers and white-coated physicians, and an eclectic collection of memorabilia: nightsticks, badges, wooden crutches, rusted handcuffs, and antique stethoscopes. A large plaque read,SERVING THOSE WHO SERVE SINCE 1885.Poe looked around. Even at this hour the place was doing a solid business. Clearly, building a neighborhood bar around two 24/7 professions was a pretty smart businessmodel, especially when both jobs required a lot of decompression and commiseration.
Poe spotted a booth occupied by a team of uniformed cops and a couple of detectives. Helene steered him toward the bar instead. A plastic candleholder with a fake flame sat in the middle of the bar’s worn wooden surface, marred by tiny scratches and stained with water rings from thousands of glasses.
“Eighteen eighty-five,” said Poe, nodding toward the wall plaque. “Looks like some of this stuff has been here since they opened.”
He was just trying to make conversation. Inside, he was anxious.What is this about?He was worried that he’d offended Helene with one or more of his odd habits. Or maybe she’d found out something about his past. As close as they’d become over the past few months, there were still a lot of things Poe didn’t want her to know. Not yet.
Maybe never.