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"You promise you really have babysat before?"
It was Friday afternoon. Cal had been given his orders: go out, be among adults of a happy and productive disposition, and have a good time that doesn't involve diapers or bottles. Cynthia Gafferty furrowed her brow and twisted the stud in the cartilage of her right ear. She studied Harry, then look backed at her gurgling baby. She reached a hand down, one finger out, and let Lilliann's little hand grip around it. She smiled and looked back at Harry.
"It's a big deal for me, Harry." It still sounded strange for Cynthia to call her by her given name. Strange, because for the last year, she had been little more than 'Detective' to Cal's little sister. Suddenly, they were almost family.
"I can handle it," Harry assured her, and picked up the baby. Her skin was warm and fresh from the bath. Harry inhaled the scent of baby shampoo and smiled at Cynthia. "I promise, nothing is going to happen to your baby while you're gone."
Cynthia gave Harry one last look, took the baby from her for a big hug and a kiss, then passed her back over. "Okay, but I'll only be gone a few hours," she told Harry, and walked toward the kitchen. When Harry stayed in the living room, Cynthia glanced over her shoulder. "Come with me, please."
Harry knew where they were headed. The sheer volume of emergency procedures and numbers posted on the refrigerator door was daunting, but Harry knew most of the numbers by heart. Fire, ambulance, police, poison control...
"Cynthia, we'll be fine. I'm a trained professional," she said, following behind her like a loyal dog into the kitchen, stepping deftly over a pacifier that lay abandoned on the tile.
"You're a cop," Cynthia said, her maroon-painted lips drawing up into a bunch. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Harry a look that told her she wasn’t impressed.
Harry grinned. "Exactly, Cynthia. I'm trained to protect people. I know all these numbers, and what's better, I can handle the situation, should one arise, until they," she said, pointing to the list, "get here. Okay? She's fine. We're fine." Harry gave Cynthia a gentle nudge toward the front door with her empty hand. "Please, go out and have a good time. Live a little, let your hair down, and just worry about adult fun. We'll be here when you get back, and nothing will have happened in the interim."
Cynthia gave her another hard look, then relaxed and let herself be ushered to the door. At the coat rack, she put a heavy coat on over her flimsy, sequined shirt. Harry had been amazed when she had walked into the house and Cynthia had been wearing thin slacks and a shirt without sleeves or a back. But, Harry supposed, as was the rule in the Gulf region of Texas, when the cold finally hits, every establishment cranks up the heat to a scorch. Patrons dressed for the weather ended up being the unhappy ones.
"Have fun," Harry told her.
Cynthia turned around and grabbed her purse, then leaned down one more time and pressed her lips against Lilliann's forehead. The baby girl cooed and reached to tangle her pudgy fingers in Cynthia's hair, but Harry caught her hand.
"Goodnight," Cynthia said. "Sleep well, my angel. Harry is going to take care of you." When she stood, she gave Harry a pointed look, and Harry could see why Cal said his sister was nothing to be trifled with. "If anything happens to my baby..."
"Nothing is going to happen, Cynthia."
Cynthia grabbed her purse, checked inside to be sure she had everything she needed, then leaned down again to kiss the baby. "Mama will be home soon, baby girl."
When the door closed, Harry walked over to the sofa and sat down. She pulled the baby's seat, a reclining thing that vibrated with the flip of a switch, closer and gently laid the little girl inside. When she had double-checked that the baby was properly strapped in, she flipped a hanging mobile forward far enough that Lilliann could see it, then settled back into the sofa and grabbed the television remote. She had a long night ahead of her.
"On second thought..." she said aloud, and the baby kicked with glee. Harry grinned down at her. "On second thought, I could get some solid research done while I wait here with you. I can tell this case is going to be a big one." Her voice had taken on a sing-song quality that she normally found bothersome in others when they talked to children. She grabbed her phone, but the baby kicked again to draw her attention. "You are a cute little thing. I can see why people want to have babies. Until things go wrong, you're all kicks and grins and bubbly spit. They get to cuddle you and dress you up, and you look just like a little chicken nugget." She laughed aloud, and Lilliann cooed up at her. "You like that? Fine, it's settled. From now on, you're Nugget."
The baby's eyes wandered up to the mobile hanging above her head. She yawned and her little eyelids fluttered. Harry settled back into the sofa and woke her phone with a swipe of a code. She went to the website to look through the missing persons reports first. Surely, at least one of the missing kids was actually missing from a loving family home. She pulled out the master list and checked each likely candidate—aged 11 to 18, missing within the last year—against the master list.
She was almost through it all when a call came in and broke her concentration. Doll Barbeaux, the display read, and a picture of the half-grown kid popped up on the screen all grins and attitude. She answered with a smile on her face, but it dropped off as soon as she heard the girl's voice.
"He came back," Doll choked through tears.
"Who came back?" Harry asked. The baby asleep at her feet snuffled, and Harry lowered her voice. "What's up, Doll?"
Doll hiccupped and blew her nose. "Hardy. He's back. The cops got him. Turn on the news, there are cameras everywhere."
Harry grabbed the remote and flipped the muted television to the local news. A young reporter was talking into the camera, and red and blue lights flashed heartily in the background. Harry could tell there was a strong police presence, probably a half dozen or more cars, trucks, and SUVs with flashing lights in the background. Harry turned the volume on low just as a headline popped up below the reporter and a replay started.
"What the hell?" Harry whispered more to herself than Doll.
A young man Harry pegged for around 19 or 20 held his hands up. In one hand, a knife. In the other, what looked like a flayed scalp. He was drenched in blood as if he had walked straight off a horror movie set. Something like a smile played on his face; to Harry, he looked self-satisfied, as if some great deed had been accomplished. She watched the replay as horrified officers, some of whom she knew, disarmed and arrested the young man. He didn't resist.
"Oh, God, Harry. You need to help him. Hardy would never do anything like that. He's a good guy. Wouldn't even kill a fly that landed on his burger," Doll wailed over the phone.
"There's nothing I can do," Harry said, and the baby huffed in her sleep. Harry toed the bouncy chair and set it rocking softly. "What are they saying he did?" She didn't want to ask the real question playing on her mind: Who did he kill?
Doll dissolved into sobs, and then Harry could hear the phone passed off. "Listen, you need to fix this. It's killing Doll." Slip. The teenager's voice was sober and low. "If she says this guy wouldn't kill someone..." Slip paused, and Harry knew the teen was weighing the options. With Hardy out of the way for good, Doll was as good as Slip's forever. But with Hardy falling hard under a murder rap, would Doll ever be the same? "If she says he didn't do it, he didn't."
"I'll be at the station tomorrow morning. Tell her not to worry. My department..." She paused. "My old department is a good one. They'll sort this thing out. We don't put innocent boys in jail."
Slip hung up the phone, and Harry sat staring as the reporter went on about everything the police knew, which was nearly nothing. Shannon 'Hardy' Hardeen was spotted carrying a knife and what initially was thought to be a Halloween mask. He was covered in blood, and the cops were sent to arrest him. He hadn't said a word, but the items, which they now knew to be a hunting knife and the scalp of a long-haired individual, were recovered from him and were already on their way to be analyzed.
"What kind of sicko does this?" Harry wondered aloud.
The baby startled and woke with a piercing cry. Harry maneuvered her out of her seat, checked the time, and realized she was due a feeding. She bounced and shushed the baby as she warmed the bottle of breast milk and checked its temperature. Cradling the child in one arm like a football, she plopped the nipple into Lilliann's mouth, and the girl glugged the milk down gratefully with only a shudder and a soft hiccup.
After being missing so long, why would Hardy walk out into a crowded, well-lit suburb with a piece of his victim clutched in his hand? Had he been killing the whole time, or had he only snapped tonight? And what did that mean for Harry's hunch, that gut feeling that something was very wrong with the local street kids?
