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Harry spent the night on the Gafferty sofa after Cynthia came home sauced and her brother went incommunicado. Childcare was much more demanding than it seemed, Harry knew, but the regularity of the child's needs soothed her worried mind. Every three hours, like clockwork, the baby woke needing to be fed and changed. And, just as soon as her needs were met, the Nugget went right back to sleep. Morning found her cuddled up with the baby on the sofa. A thump on her boot woke her out of an uneasy sleep, and Harry opened bleary eyes to see Cal standing above her in the same clothes he had left in.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Harry blinked, shifted the baby, and turned to look at the clock on the DVR. 6:30 in the morning. She eased off the sofa, still holding the baby, and spoke in a whisper. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm babysitting."
Cal laughed out loud, and the baby startled. She immediately began to wail, and Harry glared at him. Cal gave her a sheepish, if half-drunk, grin. "Sorry," he said, reaching for the baby.
"Whoa, man," Harry said, dodging him. "You need a shower before you hold her. You smell like a pack of cigars."
"And you don't?" he asked with a scowl.
Harry patted the baby’s back. "Nah, I didn't smoke. I did a little research before I agreed to babysit, and learned that even the residual smoke on your clothes is bad for little kids. You should know that.”
Cal stared down at her for a moment, looked at the sniffling baby who was steadily falling back to sleep in Harry's rocking embrace, then shrugged. "Fine. I'll go shower. When I'm done, you can get out of here," he said with a stagger.
"I think I'll wait until Cynthia wakes up if that’s okay with you.”
Cal turned his back on her and walked away. "Whatever, man," he called.
The baby hiccupped and Harry looked down at her. The baby studied her with wet, worried eyes and a trembling lip that threatened another explosive wail if provoked.
"What are you looking at?" Harry cooed, and walked to the kitchen. She swayed as she walked from cupboard to refrigerator to cabinet, and by the time she had out everything to make breakfast, the baby was fast asleep. She placed her gently into what would one day be her playpen, but was now more of a portable bassinet, and started making breakfast in earnest. By the time Cynthia walked into the kitchen with drool dried on her face and hair like a bird's nest, Harry was placing plates on the table.
"Oh, you're an angel," Cynthia croaked, and gave Harry a sisterly peck on the cheek. Harry blushed, but didn't respond. "Did Cal ever come home?" she asked as she poured two cups of coffee.
"Yeah, about half an hour ago," Harry answered. She thanked Cynthia for the coffee and they sat down at the table. "He said he was taking a shower."
"He'll probably be passed out on his bed. He does this when he drinks. Passes out at some woman's house, drags himself home early, takes a shower, then goes K-O on his bed for another couple of hours. Hopefully he was with his girlfriend last night, and not some poor, random girl who will never see him again." She gestured to the third plate. "His breakfast will get cold, but he'll eat it anyway. He always wakes up starving."
Harry sipped her coffee, then put it down with a smile. "I know that feeling, and so does Nugget."
"Nugget?" Cynthia asked, her fork halfway to her mouth.
Harry chuckled softly at herself. Who knew she would take so quickly to domestication? "I may have given your daughter a nickname."
Cynthia glanced over at the playpen with a soft smile, then back at Harry. "No problems?" She finally shoved the bite of eggy hash brown into her mouth with a satisfied moan. “Oh, Harry, this is good. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Thanks.” Harry picked up her fork and started chopping up her own egg before it got as cold as Cal’s breakfast would end up. "She didn’t give me any problems. You got lucky; that kid is an angel.”
"I really appreciate you watching her," Cynthia said. She picked up her coffee and held it under her nose, her white fingers clutched tightly around it. "I had such a good time last night. I needed that break something fierce.”
"I'm glad I could help," Harry said, scooping up the runny eggs and shoveling them into her mouth. As much as she wanted to stay and wile away the morning with Cynthia in pleasant conversation, the last time she checked there was a kid in a jail cell at the precinct and a scalp without an owner. "I hope you don't mind if I leave soon."
"Oh, of course not," Cynthia said. "I know you have a life. I'm just glad you got to spend the night with Lilliann. She really puts all this adult stuff in perspective, doesn't she?"
Harry leaned over the table and smiled down at the sleeping baby. "You've got a real gift in her, Cynthia."
"I know."
Before Cal could get up or Cynthia could finish her breakfast, Harry had bolted down the coffee, eggs, and bacon. She hugged Cynthia goodbye, gave the baby one last glance, then drove herself home. After a military-quick shower, she dressed in a clean pair of sweats, plugged in her headphones, and headed out for a jog as her phone’s clock read 7:30. Investigating with a cluttered mind was fruitless; the jog would clear her head. She was almost halfway through her normal circuit when the nagging feeling that hit her the night before came into crystal clarity in the front of her consciousness and dragged her to a halt. Hardy had come out holding his gory party favors only a few blocks from her apartment. She started jogging again, but detoured from her normal path and came out in front of a neglected playground. Crime tape was wrapped in a wide circuit around a bloody splotch on the grass.
Doll Barbeaux sat on one of the rusted swings, her legs swinging mechanically, and Slip leaned on the swing set pole behind her. When the two teenagers spotted Harry, they both stood at attention, and Harry took her earbuds out as she jogged over and stopped in front of them. She took a moment to catch her breath with her hands on her knees.
"What took you so long?" Doll asked. Her voice sounded mechanical. It sounded as if she had cried all night, and Harry knew the voice well. It was the voice of the aggrieved.
"I couldn't come any sooner," Harry said truthfully. She nodded at Slip. "How did you guys find out about this?"
"From the news like everyone else," Slip said automatically. The teen's face was closed off, her eyebrows furrowed, and her lips a thin line on her sallow face.
Doll dropped her eyes to her dirty sneakers without an answer of her own.
Harry sniffed and looked in the direction of her normal route. "If you're going to lie to me, I can't help you," she told them. "What were you doing?"
Her eyes still on her feet, Doll held out her phone to Harry. On the screen was a text message conversation between Doll and an unknown number.
The first message read, "I need your help. H."
"Where?" Doll had texted back.
"Playground. 10PM."
Without hesitation, Doll had sent back, "I'll be there."
Harry handed the phone back and glanced up at Doll's face. She was crying again.
"Why would he do this?" the girl asked.
Harry stared off into the distance, past the crime scene tape, and wondered where the boy had come from. Where was the body that belonged to that head of long, blonde hair?
"Do you know anything else?" Harry asked Doll, then looked at Slip. The teenagers both stared back at her.
Slip finally tossed a thick mess of hair out of dark, brooding eyes. "We don't know anything. Doll wanted me to come because it had been so long, and it was weird, because we were just talking about him, you know? Speak of the devil and all that. By the time we got here, the news was already here, and the cops were, too. He said..."
Doll shot her a look, and Slip clammed up. Harry looked back and forth between the teenagers, then blew out a breath in exasperation. "I can't help you if you aren't straight with me. Tell me."
"He said, 'There's more where this came from,'" Doll said, her voice strangled and her face puckered with a sob she was trying to fight. "There's more. Like more bodies. Like more dead people. What the fuck happened to him?" she sobbed, and threw herself into Slip's arms. Slip stared into Harry's eyes, arms wrapped around Doll as she sobbed.
"Did you tell the police?"
Slip's eyes rolled back. "Ugh. You haven't listened to a word we've said, have you?"
Harry cracked her neck and looked at the crime scene tape. Busy would have likely set it up herself. It was so precise, and yet no one really knew where the crime scene was. For now, they just had to preserve what they could, including the bloody impressions of the boy's ragged size 11 Dr. Martens.
"If I find you someone you can talk to, someone who doesn't give a damn about what you were doing or who you were doing it with, someone who won't hassle you about your lives, will you talk to her?"
Slip glanced down at the top of Doll's head, then back up at Harry. "You know someone like that?"
"I have someone in mind," Harry said. She still had a few friends left in the precinct, and she knew one who would take to these abandoned children like a mother bear to her cubs.
She dialed the number, her eyes on Slip and Doll as it rang. "Christie, it's Harry. Yes, I know it's Saturday," she said. "Are you familiar with the boy they brought in last night? Yes, the very one. I have some kids here who have some information that might help with the investigation, but they won't talk to just anyone. They need an understanding ear." Harry listened for a moment, thanked her, and hung up. "She's willing to meet us. You guys hungry?"
––––––––
THE REST OF THE DAY passed quietly. Harry's young informants passed along their information to Lt. Christine O'Grady, had a free, hot meal, and scampered away looking guilty and scandalized. Harry went back home, turned on some music, and cleaned her apartment for the rest of the day. On Sunday, she headed back to the shelter. A handful of kids were there, and all anyone could talk about was the bloody boy from Friday night, but Harry refused to take part. They played some video games and a game of touch football in the alley outside instead.
Because of the possibly traumatizing effect of the murder on the shelter kids, Sanura had more of them in an out of her office than usual. After she spoke to them, none wanted to talk about Hardy anymore, and Harry was relieved. The day progressed more quickly after her counseling sessions, and it seemed as though their minds were freed from the brambles of a potentially damaging situation.
At noon, Harry knocked on Sanura's door and waited until the woman's deep, mellifluous voice called out, "Come in."
Harry closed the door behind her. Sanura offered her a chair in front of a mahogany desk that took up over a quarter of the room. Harry noticed that her inbox was empty, each paper in front of her in precise alignment, and the few knickknacks that adorned it were polished clean. Untouchable.
"What can I do for you, Detective?" Sanura asked. She leaned forward and the top hem of her dress slipped down to expose a shadowy expanse of smooth, undimpled cleavage. Harry fought to keep her eyes on the counselor's face.
"I wanted to talk to you about what happened with this kid, Hardy," she said, crossing her leg square along the desk, her foot resting on her knee. She settled back in the chair. "It's so funny, because I was just talking to one of the kids about him, and then he appears in the park. It's like preordination."
Sanura smiled. "It's easy for us to see a coincidence and call it a miracle." The counselor uncrossed and crossed her legs under her desk. She took a deep breath, and the supple flesh beneath her dress expanded. "I can understand how you would have come upon such a situation, Harry. You're just getting to know the youth here at Regina’s Flock, and you naturally want to know their backstories. What better way to get to know them than to talk about those they have cared for and lost? Especially with your history, it makes sense to come together over a similar grief."
Harry felt a muscle in her face tense. She shifted in her chair, but tried to keep her face passive. "I'm not sure that's what's happening here. I think something might be going on that set this into motion, but I just can't figure out what it is."
Sanura's smile came back, this time softer and more inviting. "I understand that you were recently suspended from your job. Is it possible that you are reaching for a mystery to solve in order to avoid facing your own problems?”
"No.” Harry knew she sounded silly and defensive, but she was powerless in the face of the itchy, crawling feeling of being read like a book. "Someone was murdered."
The counselor's voice was smooth and as soft as her ever-present smile. "Yes, someone was murdered. It is a tragedy not only for the victim, but for the perpetrator as well. His life will never be the same."
Harry fiddled with the cigarette pack in her pocket. She needed one, wanted the comforting feeling of sucking hot smoke into her lungs and holding it until it scalded. She wasn't getting any closer to the truth here. She stood and looked down at the counselor, not sure of how to end this impromptu psychoanalysis.
"You are the one to whom you are accountable now, Harry," Sanura continued. "You think you're doing your job, but you seem to forget that your actions are no longer sanctioned by a badge and a title."
Harry tapped the cigarette pack and stared at her. The woman was toying with her the way psychoanalysts always had; from the first time her aunt brought her grumbling and squealing through the doors of a psychiatrist's office, she had disliked the profession and those who ventured inside the minds of others.
"You need to be sure of yourself before you meddle in the matters of the law."
Harry opened her mouth, then closed it. She took a deep breath, set her eyes on the counselor, and tried to speak in an even, neutral tone. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Johnson."
"Dr. Johnson."
Harry bowed her head, then turned and opened the door. "Have a nice day, Doctor."
Back in the main area of the shelter, the population had bloomed and now threatened to burst. Kids and teens were everywhere. They sat on tables, cross-legged on floors, and leaned against walls in sour-faced defiance of an authority that was nowhere to be found. Harry hadn't seen David all day, she realized, and moved toward his door.
"Harry!" Brenda called. Harry stopped and smiled at the girl, who had let her guard down and now stood grinning at her in all her gap-toothed glory.
"Hey, Bren," Harry said, and let the girl give her a hug. "How are you?"
Brenda bounced up and down on her toes and talked almost too fast to be understood. "Harry, look who I found!" She presented a girl with the same gap, but rub-burns on her neck. "This is my sister, Laurie."
Harry held out a hand to Laurie. The older girl glanced at Brenda, and Brenda nodded her permission. A painfully thin hand shot out and gripped Harry's in an awkward shake.
"It's nice to meet you, Laurie. I'm glad you found each other."
Laurie whispered something Harry couldn't hear, then smiled shyly. Harry smiled back.
"Brenda, Laurie, I need to find David. Is he around?"
Brenda shrugged. "I haven't seen him all day. Usually he does his rounds at least twice to try to get our names and stuff, but not today."
Harry patted each girl on the shoulder. "I'm going to go check in his office, but I'll catch up with you again later, okay?"
She waited long enough for both girls to agree, then turned and walked toward the main office. She grabbed the knob and turned, but it didn't budge. Locked. She glanced through the little bit of exposed glass on the covered window. The light was on, but no one was inside.
"What, are you snooping now?" a familiar voice asked.
Harry turned around to find Keaton behind her. Unlike most of the other kids today, he didn't have a friend or sibling on his heels. Harry held out her hand for a high five that he begrudgingly fulfilled. "What's up, Batman?"
Keaton glanced across the floor at all the new arrivals and Harry did the same. There had to be over two dozen more kids than the day before. A buzz of tension and excitement crackled over the crowd.
"I don't know what happened, but it's like all these kids just showed up out of nowhere," the boy whined.
Harry patted him on the shoulder and let her hand rest there. "Well, we might not know where they're all from, but the thing we do know is that they're here now. We all need to be welcoming, because they wouldn't be here if they had anywhere else to go. Right?" she asked.
Keaton paused a long moment and shifted his weight toward her. "Right."
Harry patted his shoulder again and let her hand drop. "Let's go find someone new and introduce ourselves, shall we?" she asked with fake formality. She gave an elaborate greeting bow and he laughed.
"You're so weird," he said, but walked with her toward the first gaggle of new kids.
Maybe if she talked to enough of these new kids, she could find a clue that would lead her to what was going on.
