For the second night in a row, the babies invaded Frank's dreams. Again they stood in a procession as far as his eyes could see, an ocean of tiny bald heads disappearing into a neon blue horizon, a textured carpet of pink flesh laid it out so close together that he as their leader could virtually step out and walk atop them. Mouthless, noseless, they stared up at him, their glowing eyes big and black and wet, suddenly full of leering hatred. The eyes...they looked like...like sunglasses. Suddenly he felt not as their leader, but as their prisoner. He tried to move his arms, but could not. His wrists were tethered behind his back. His ankles too, shackled to the raised flooring on which he had stood so proudly not moments earlier. Now, he cowered, scared, crying like a baby—not like one of these babies, but like a normal one. Like Jaimie had been years ago. No, he said to himself, these babies don't cry. No reason to. They had everything they wanted. Again he tried to move, but could not, and he felt great pains. Then in the distance he heard a cry, perhaps from one of the babies after all. He looked out across the sea of textured flesh and saw a single baby on its back floating across the expanse of heads, coming towards him, legs first. A single baby, unlike the rest, the body small, pink, naked, but the head, although bald, fully grown with bright blue eyes and freckles. Jaimie. Her eyes then rolled up into their sockets, exposing the whites, emotional and physical anguish tormenting her, her hands grasping at the sea of flesh, seeking his help, calling daddy! daddy! just like she did when she was young and needed him in the middle of the night when she awoke from a nightmare.
Frank woke, nearly leaping from the couch. Hector was clutching his shoulder. "Whoa, Frank, you okay? You were moaning out loud."
Frank gazed at Hector's looming face, the fatigue gone from his eyes, a few crumbs of toast lodged within the coarse hairs of his moustache. The aroma of coffee and eggs wafted in from the kitchen. Frank rubbed his eyes with his forearm. "I-I think I was dreaming," he lied, the image of the bald Jaimie riding the sea of baby Harold Grosses still frighteningly fresh in his mind.
"Why don't you take a quick shower," Hector said, "then have some breakfast. I called the precinct this morning. There was a message from Sam Richards at Strong Medical. He's got Gross under heavy sedation, and wants to see me first thing this morning."
Frank sat up on the couch. The small gust from the blanket blew a piece of paper from the end-table onto the carpet. A phone number in his handwriting met his gaze. "Oh no," he whined, retrieving the paper. "Lindsay's father. I forgot to leave a message for him last night." The sound of bacon spattering came in from the kitchen, the aroma of it making Frank's stomach grumble.
"Why don't you get cleaned up, have something to eat, and we'll start our day."
Frank nodded then moved to the bathroom. He dared not glance a look into the mirror at least until he could wash away some of the morning-mustered wrinkles on his face. He showered, using one of Hector's disposable razors to shave, then came out to the kitchen where Hector and Gloria were seated sipping coffee in front of two cleaned plates.
"Gee, you couldn't wait for me?"
Hector and Gloria smiled, both wishing him a good morning. A 'good' morning it really wasn't though. The few hours of broken sleep he managed hadn't been enough, and his body ached pretty badly from it. Too much activity for a cop only two years away from retirement. He inhaled his food and tossed down two cups of coffee in silence while Hector read the paper and Gloria cleaned up.
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Frank finally broke the silence. "What time is it, anyway?"
Hector glanced to the digital LED on the microwave. "Seven AM, sharp."
Frank took another sip. "I'd like to call Lindsay's father now."
"It's four in the morning in L.A."
"That means he'll be home."
Before Frank could excuse himself, Hector tossed the NY Daily News in front of him. It had been folded open to reveal a page seven blurb:
Bobby Lindsay Out on Bail
Frank grabbed the paper and read the short story in silence. It told of how Jo-Beth Lindsay and her husband had put up a million in cash for his release, and how Bobby was under high security electronic surveillance. It then went on to give a few details of the murder, which Frank skipped over. It mentioned nothing of his escape.
"It's a small story," Frank said, dropping the paper on the table. "No hindrance to us."
"There's also no mention of the escape Neil Spoke of, nor of Racine and the events in the alley. We're good for now. Seems to me the precinct is trying to keep as much of this out of the press' eye until they can get a grasp on everything."
"Which they won't really do," Frank said, "knowing what we already know."
Hector swallowed some coffee and nodded. It appeared he agreed with Frank. And by the sad look on his face, he must have felt a great deal of confusion and frustration. It could only be expected, given the puzzling situation. He pertained knowledge of a great mystery, a conundrum that he himself unearthed and that nobody else but Frank and perhaps the FBI knew about. Add the discovery of Harold Gross into the equation, and he had something even the big G didn't know anything about. Now, like Frank, he was probably wondering what his next move should be. Could he simply explain to higher-ups everything he had done and found? Yes, that option existed, but then he would be giving up everything he had done to this point. If he decided not to do this, then his only other alternative would be to simply continue on with the investigation, and worry about explaining it all later. An imprudent choice, but more desirable.
It really didn't make a difference, Frank thought. Regardless of Hector's decision, there would be trouble.
"Frank, go ahead and call Lindsay's father now while I help Gloria clean up."
Frank nodded and moved to the living room. He figured that Hector's intentions would be to continue this thing to the very end, which pleased him very much. Good 'ol Hect, tried and true. He picked up the telephone handset and dialed the California number. It rang maybe eight times and Frank was going to give it to ten before a tired sounding man answered. "Ballaro?"
"How did you know it was me?"
"I turned off my machine because I had a feeling you would call at some ungodly hour." He sounded terse, and his slurred words didn't make much sense to Frank. It seemed sleep still had some of the man in its grasp.
"My apologies, Mr Lindsay. We detectives work ungodly hours."
"And I thought you were on vacation. At least that's what your partner said."
"Well I'm supposed to be, but your boy got out on bail, and that put off things a bit." Frank decided not to mention Bobby's breakout. He wanted to see what the elder Lindsay had to say first; although Frank doubted it, maybe Jack knew something about the strange escape, like Neil had surmised.
"Detective, I really don't want to get involved, and I think I've done a pretty good job of keeping my distance up until now. Through it all, I confess I have been following the chain of events, so I still can't believe the truth hasn't gotten out about Carrie."
"What about Carrie?" Frank felt his heart throb with anticipation, telling him that this was going to be alarming.
"You mean you don't know?"
"Know about what?"
"Detective Ballaro..." A pause of silence filtered through the phone. He then took a deep breath and continued, slowly. "My daughter Carrie, C-A-R-R-I-E, was originally born Carey, C-A-R-E-Y. She is really a he. Carey is my son."
"What?" Frank wasn't sure if he understood him correctly. "Are you trying to say that Carrie Lindsay is actually a boy?"
"Born on June 6th, 1984."
"Mr Lindsay, with all due respect—"
"Ballaro, I'll only say this once. Jo-Beth has never been the most stable of people. She wanted a daughter more than anything in the world. When we had another son, and decided on the name Carey, she immediately insisted from day one on raising the child as a girl, dresses, pig tails, even changing the spelling of his name. So it began from the moment we got home from the hospital that Carrie would be a girl. I, as usual, had no say in the matter. Jo-Beth had all the money, an inheritance, and threatened me with it, really went nuts on me day in and day out until I had no choice but to leave eight months later and forgo the dough. Her life revolved around keeping Carey a girl, and I couldn't take it anymore. No amount of money is worth what I went through after Carrie was born. Anyway, I never really knew what came of my family after I left. I moved as far away as I could and started a new life, too embarrassed to ever speak of my past life with Jo-Beth. Of course you could imagine my shock when I heard about the murder."
"Then what about the autopsies? The coroner's report said she'd been raped."
"You want my educated guess? Money speaks. And Jo-Beth has a lot of it. You see, Bobby is the only other person who knows that Carrie is really a girl. He was three at the time of her birth, and I know he remembers because I used to privately talk to him about it. I know how Jo-Beth thinks. She probably threatened to dismantle the inheritance he would receive at thirty if he ever revealed the truth about Carrie—which I'm sure he would do if locked up for life. It would act as a kind of revenge if his mother didn't bail him out. He'd have nothing to lose. And as far as the autopsy goes, well, it's my guess that the coroner is a much richer man now than he was prior to the murder."
Frank's mouth fell open. Hector came over holding a few sheets of paper and sat next to Frank. Frank held up an index finger asking Hector to give him another minute. "Are you trying to say that Jo-Beth bribed the coroner to falsify reports?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself. I think I've spoken enough."
"Wait..." Frank started, but the Jack Lindsay hung up. Frank thought about redialing, but placed the handset back into the cradle.
"What? What is it?" Hector licked his lips in anticipation.
"You won't believe it. What are those?" Frank nodded to sheets of paper Hector held.
"The other three essays from Sanskrit. What did Lindsay say?"
"I'll tell you on the way to Strong Medical. We have someone else to see there besides Harold Gross."