Grievous Sin (11 page)

“Not that I can remember.”

“Did Marie ever mention going away very soon?”

“Marge, Marie hardly talked to me unless it was to say
I
was getting
too attached
to Hannah. When Marie was around, I minded my own business. I didn’t pay much attention to anyone except Hannah.”

“Your dad better be appreciative,” Jack said.

“Grandpa, he’s very appreciative.” Cindy looked at Marge. “I wasn’t much help to your case, was I?”

“Of course you’ve been a help, Cindy. The fact that Marie was talking about the baby’s mother…hey, that’s something we didn’t know about. It shows that Marie had prior interest in this particular patient.”

“But you’re not any closer to finding the baby.”

“Things take time, Cindy.”

The room was silent. Cindy stood and placed her hands in her pants pockets. “I’m kind of tired. Is there anything else you need me for?”

“No, Cindy, you did great.” Marge folded her notebook. “Thanks for your help. Now kick back and go home. Rina and Hannah will be needing you to take care of them.”

Cindy sighed. “You know what I’m thinking? Who’s taking care of Baby Girl Rodriguez? And who’s going to take care of that poor mother?”

Marge looked at her partner’s daughter and saw some
thing familiar in her eyes—the fire of determination. Decker’s expression to a T. That kind of passion to solve a crime was great for a career detective, but deadly for a nineteen-year-old kid.

“Cindy, you
are
going to go home and forget about this, right?”

“I can’t
forget
about something like this, Marge.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Okay,” Marge said. “I’ll be blunt. I don’t want you going out and looking for the baby on your own.”

Once again Cindy’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

Her expression seemed genuine. It was then and there that Marge realized she had planted a seed inside Cindy’s brain. She stuffed her notebook in her jacket pocket and silently cursed her big mouth.

Decker said, “How’d it go?”

“Your elder daughter’s a doll,” Marge answered. “But I’m worried she’s going to get carried away. You can’t very well say to her, don’t get involved. She is involved. It’s how to turn her off.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Let me handle her, Pete. You and I could say the same thing. Coming from me, it’ll be different.”

“You’re right about that,” Decker said. “How’d it go with the Rodriguez brothers?”

“They were angry—angry at me, the hospital, authority in general. Real anger. Bottom line is, I don’t think they were involved. Back to the obvious—Marie Bellson.”

“Search warrant on Bellson’s place finally came through,” Decker said. “Do you want to come?”

“I’ll meet you there in about an hour,” Marge said. “I want to stick around here for a while. See what I can pick up.” She lifted up Marie’s personnel file. “Have you had a chance to go through this?”

“Just had time to skim it. I’m having a copy made for my files.” Decker ran his hands through his hair. “From what I’ve seen, there’s nothing much to write home about. Woman worked here for eleven years, had several complaints registered against her. A few noncompliances filed against her by two different doctors; once a patient mentioned she was rude to her. Another patient thought she was cold and uncaring.”

“Any complaint dealing with Marie stuffing God down the throat?”

“Cindy told you about Marie praying with the patients.”

“That’s weird, Pete.”

“Yes, it is. I wish to hell I had followed up on it. Maybe she heard Jesus tell her to grab a baby.” He slammed his right fist into the waiting left palm. “Damn it, I shouldn’t have brushed it aside.”

Marge looked at her partner. He was so genuine in his self-flagellation. “Pete, religious people—even fanatics—don’t generally go around snatching babies.”

Decker knew a lot of religious fanatics—his mother, his wife. And what Marge said was true. Believing wholeheartedly in God—
any
God—had nothing to do with snatching babies. But lots of troubled people
used
God to excuse their impulsive or inappropriate behavior.

“If Marie had complaints about her excess religiosity,” Decker continued, “they were probably handled off the record. What exactly did you learn from Cindy?”

Marge filled him in, then asked, “What do you think about Marie counseling Lourdes?”

“Lourdes didn’t mention that to you?”

“No. And she didn’t mention Marie praying with her. But that doesn’t mean anything. She was hysterical when I spoke to her. I’ll press her on it, find out exactly what Marie told her.”

There was a pause.

“What are you thinking?” Decker asked.

Marge said, “If Marie felt Lourdes wasn’t able to handle
her child, maybe she snatched the baby out of concern for the kid’s safety.”

“Did you get the feeling that Lourdes was unusually irresponsible…or maybe she had an addiction problem or something like that?”

“No, but our conversation was superficial.”

Decker said, “I’m sure Marie has seen hundreds of young teens just like Lourdes Rodriguez. Why’d she choose this baby?”

“Maybe something snapped. Maybe God told her to do it.”

“But the profile I’m getting of Marie is not one of a woman slowly going down the tubes. She wasn’t showing any overt signs of cracking up.”

“
Overt
signs, Pete.”

“Yeah, there could have been some subtle signs that no one picked up. Nobody seemed to know her well.”

“Maybe you’ll find something at her house.”

“Maybe.” Decker heard someone call his name. He turned around. “What’s up, Sergeant Harlow?”

“Detective Sergeant Decker, we’ve found something of interest in the parking lot.”

“Marie’s car?” Marge asked.

Harlow pressed his hands together. “No, Detective Dunn. It’s more like fresh blood.”

Too much rush,
Tandy thought, had to slow down. Remember the words of the guru—to build the shape, do fewer reps with heavier weights.

That was the key. You can’t lose sight of the key. The shaping, the sculpting. Otherwise, you lose control. Never lose control.

Never,
ever
, lose control.

Fewer reps with heavier weights.

Gotta get the control back.

Don’t lose it, Roberts, don’t lose it.

Fewer reps, heavier weights.

That
would bleed off the excess entropy.

No entropy, only enthalpy.

Controlled
energy.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then pulled the pin from the one-twenty weight and slipped it into the one-thirty. Wiping sweat from her face, she felt her cheeks, skin as smooth as fine brandy. When she was modeling, people used to smother her pores with poison. All that base makeup to give her the
appearance
of flawless smooth skin. Why not live right, eat right, exercise right, and have the real thing?

Never lose control.

Otherwise they’d come back.

Only enthalpy.

Controlled energy.

Can’t slip up this time, Roberts. Can’t slip, can’t slip, can’t slip.

She clenched her teeth as she slid under the shoulder press, fingers gripped around the handle.

Check the position.

Arms parallel, small of the back secured by a rolled towel, feet planted firmly on the floor.

She felt her heart race.

Inhale, then let it out on the exertion.

One.

The loud, metallic clank of the weights slapping together.

No good. Not
controlled. She
needed to lower the weights down. They should never fall by themselves.

Again.

Inhale, exhale.

Two.

Muscles shaking with the effort, perspiration tracking her face, belly, and armpits.

Weights down slowly.

Better, much better.

The control was there.

Bleed it off, girl. Turn the entropy into enthalpy.

Only enthalpy.

Controlled.

You can do it.

Again.

Inhale, exhale.

The bunching of her muscles, the quivering of her limbs. She let go with a roar that would make a lion shrink.

Do it, girl.
Do
it!

Bang! Three!

The clank so loud it hurt her ears.

You’re losing it, Tandy. You’re losing it, you’re losing it—

“You’re in early.”

Eric’s voice.

Thank God. Someone to turn off the demons.

Softly, she said, “I came straight from work. Aren’t you proud of me?”

“Atta girl!” Eric cheered. “You’re gonna make it!”

Again, inhale. Exhale the roar.

Then she tried to lift the press.

Too much.

Halfway, her arms gave out.

Crash!

She heard it; Eric heard it. They both heard her
failure
! Sweat began to coalesce on her brow. She made herself take a deep breath.

Take a deep breath.

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” Eric said.

“I didn’t bother.”

“You have to bother, Tandy,” Eric said. “You can’t pump with seriousness if you don’t have gloves.” He held out his hand and helped her off the bench. Stared at her at arm’s length. “You look uptight. It’s okay, Tandy. You’ve got the determination, don’t worry about the roadblocks. Now go help yourself and get your gloves.”

“Eric, I was about to stop anyway.”

“Stop?”

“I’ve been at it for a while.”

“But you were trying to do a press. And you didn’t do that press. Go back and finish that press. You never, ever, end on failure, you know that!”

“Eric, I’ve been working all night—”

“So have I, babe. The old lady I’ve been watching spent hours in the john. Bowel problems.” Eric shook his head. “If I’m ever incapacitated when I’m old, do me a favor, Tandy, and pull the plug. Family deserting her like she’s the plague. Man, she is
lucky
to have found me.”

Lucky as long as the
tips
hold out, Tandy thought. Eric was like the rest of them. Not like her. She worked because she
cared
! It’s why she did what she did. She told herself that over and over and over….

“Tandy, you on this planet?”

“You’re really terrific, Eric, to help the folks like you do.”

“Get top dollar, but I’m dedicated. Whatever you do—even if it’s cleaning toilets—you have to be dedicated. That’s what’s wrong with America. Nobody takes life seriously. It’s all one big joke. Lifting isn’t a joke, Tandy. Now stop dicking around. Go get your gloves and do that press.”

“I’m so tired, Eric. I can’t—”

“Tandy, we don’t say things like ‘I can’t’ around here. The words ‘I can’t’ don’t exist in our vocabulary!”

He had imitated her, using a higher-pitched voice for the words
I can’t.

Making fun of her. Telling her she’s bad. She isn’t bad. She isn’t
bad
, damn it! Working all night saving humanity. Then straight from work to pumping. Too much. Too exhausting. She was going to crack.

She was going to
lose
it!

Unable to move, she watched as Eric stripped off his street clothes until he was down to a G-string, the bulge inside well defined and big.

Eric turned and held her face. “Are you going to
cry
?”

“No…”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No, honestly, I’m okay.”

“Okay?” Eric’s face became mean. “You’re not okay, Tandy. You know what you are? You’re
pathetic
!”

And in an instant, she knew she had two choices—the first to remain pathetic like they told her she was.

Or she could get mad.

Kill him
, said the low one.

Kill him
, said the high one.

A smile appeared across her face. She belted his hand off her face, stinging her own palm in the process. “Do you want to know what
pathetic
is, Eric? Pathetic is you taking only
second
in the Mr. L.A. Dudes at Muscle Beach. Guy who won first made you look like a
shriveled old worm
! So screw you!”

Eric suddenly laughed. “Atta girl! Now
that’s
the Tandy I know and love. So fuck you and go get your gloves. I’ll do watch for you.”

Tandy closed her eyes, felt the wet heat on the palms, the thumping of her heart. She had no choice but to listen. If she didn’t, Eric and the others would make her life miserable. Then she’d start to feel out of control.

She knew Eric was only trying to
help
her. Unlike the
others.
The people who gave her life, then made it hell. Couldn’t call them parents. They were never parents.

Images popped into her brain—the times before the
control.
Lots of food. Piles of food.

Piles and piles—

“Go get your gloves now!” Eric yelled.

Piles and piles and piles—

“Tandy?” Eric asked. “Tandy, you okay?”

She took in a lungful of air, then screamed as loud as she could, her head throbbing even after the sound had vanished from her throat.

Then she went and got her gloves.

The small fresh red stains made abstract art in a pile of grease. Harlow had cordoned off the area with yellow crime tape. Nothing like an old-timer to do the right thing.

Decker said, “What makes you think these stains have anything to do with Marie Bellson, Bri?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story, Sergeant. One of my men comes to me. He’s doing the third-floor interviews. He talks to this nurse, gal’s name is Janie Hannick. Janie says she knows Marie Bellson but doesn’t really know her. My guy asks her what the hell does that mean? Only he doesn’t use the profanity, that’s my addition.”

Decker smiled and told him to go on.

“Janie says she’s never worked with Marie—she works in one department, Marie works in another. But for years they’ve been doing the same shifts, and the same overtime shifts. Soon they notice they’re always parking cars at the
same time and walking into the hospital at the same time.”

Harlow sucked in his belly.

“To make a long story short, as long as Janie and Marie always seem to be together anyway, they decide to walk in and out of the lot together. You know, like protection. ’Cause these underground parking structures are stewpots of crime. So each one waits for the other for about five minutes. If the other doesn’t show up, the one who’s left goes in solo.”

“So it’s an informal kind of thing?” Marge asked.

“Seems that way,” Harlow said. “Naturally, my guy asks this Janie if she and Marie walked in together last night. She says yes. Lucky break with a capital L. My officer tells me, then I ask Janie where’d she and Marie park their cars. I figure we can maybe pull a tire print or something from the empty space. Boom, I find this!”

“Good work, Brian,” Decker said. “Let’s get a lab man down and see if they can get a clean sample of blood.”

“Gonna be hard,” Harlow said. “All sorts of crap on a garage floor—oil and grease with the grime.”

“The lab should have cleaning emollients. Hopefully, they’ll be able to precipitate something decent. If we can find prior blood workup on Marie Bellson, maybe we can do a rough comparison and see if there’s a basis for a match.”

Marge said, “We should see if there was blood work done on the baby, too.”

Decker made a face. It was a horribly gruesome thought, but Marge was right. “Go ahead. And while the lab is out here, try to pick up a tire print. Marie could be savvy enough to change the plates on her car, maybe even spray-paint it a different color. But most people don’t think about tire prints. Also keep an eye out for shoe prints. Lots of grease around here.”

Harlow said, “How’re you going to find blood work on Bellson?”

“I’ll see if she has a private doctor,” Decker said.

“Maybe she’s been a diligent health professional and has had a yearly checkup.”

Marge said, “Maybe she’s had surgery done at the hospital. If so, she’d have a chart here.”

“Good point,” Decker said. “Get someone to check the chart room.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m on my way to Bellson’s apartment. Call me through the RTO after you’re done with the scene.”

“Sure thing.” Marge stared at the blood spots. “I don’t like this.”

“It does get the heart going,” Harlow said.

“So does a good cup of morning coffee,” Marge said. “And without the bitter aftertaste.”