Page 3

CHAPTER 3

MARPLE TURNED TOWARD the roomful of sobbing women in hospital gowns. She realized that she was looking at the frantic mothers—the ones whose babies had been stolen from the nursery in the middle of the night. Had they been gathered together in the same room by the cops or had they found one another in their fear?

As she watched through the glass, Marple saw a detective slip into the room with them, her pen and notepad ready. The women lurched forward, almost engulfing her. Their faces were streaked with tears, their expressions haunted.

Marple felt Poe at her elbow. “Best day of their lives,” he said. “Now the worst.”

Suddenly, an elevator door opened and a whole new group burst into the unit.

“Brace yourself,” said Marple. “I think the dads just arrived.”

The partners emerged as a single mass, wild-eyed and panicky. Marple counted five men and one woman. A big guy in expensive slacks and a blue dress shirt was in the lead. A Master of the Universe type, thought Marple, looking to take control .

“Where’s my wife?” he shouted. “Christine!” He moved like a rugby player, bumping cops and nurses aside. When he spotted the room full of distraught women, he waved frantically. One of the women waved back. A young cop stepped up to ask for ID. The big guy pushed past him like he wasn’t even there.

Marple watched as the other five followed him into the glass-fronted room, finding their partners and embracing them tightly.

The keening inside the room intensified, now accompanied by curses and angry mutters. The man in the dress shirt turned on the young detective. “What happened here? What are you doing about this? Where are our babies?”

Marple saw the detective try to assert her command, but it was no use. The furious father towered over her. A couple of hospital security guards hustled over, but the angry dads shoved them out of the room. The detective backed out too, clearly flustered.

Helene Grey walked over to Marple and Poe. “What a shit show,” she muttered.

“What else do we know?” asked Poe.

“It was clean. It was quick. It was professional.”

“How many babies were in the nursery at the time?”

“Eight. We’re keeping the remaining two babies there for the moment—under close watch—but we’ve isolated the mothers and moved all other patients off this floor.”

“Inside job?” asked Marple.

“No doubt,” said Helene.

“Everybody listen up, please!” The voice had come from the nurses’ station in the center of the floor. Marple turned to see a tall woman in a knee-length lab coat standing in front of the curved countertop. Her posture was perfect and her greying chestnut hair was pulled into a severe ponytail. Through piercing eyes, she looked out over the turmoil and commanded silence.

“I’m Dr. Revell Schulte,” she said, her voice clear and firm. “I’m head of the maternity unit. I know what’s happened here is terrible. But we need order. And we need calm. This is a birthing center, not a police station. The women down this hallway have just given birth. They’ve all undergone massive physical trauma and are in need of medical care. So if you don’t absolutely need to be here, please leave.”

“You heard the doctor,” a tall, bookish-looking man in a dark suit said to Grey. He’d walked up during Dr. Schulte’s speech. “I don’t understand what a homicide detective is doing at a kidnapping scene in the first place.”

“Good to see you, Captain,” said Grey.

Marple decided this must be Captain Graham Duff, the newly arrived head of the Major Case Squad. She had heard about Duff but hadn’t yet met him in person. Her first impression: he was every inch the prick she’d expected.

Marple could tell Grey wasn’t a fan of her new boss either. It was clear now that she was unsettled by his intrusion, but she quickly regained her composure. “I figured it was all hands on deck on a call like this, Captain. I know it’s not my case to catch. I’m just here to help.”

“So what’s with the spectators?” he asked, jerking his head toward Marple and Poe.

Marple cleared her throat. “Captain Duff, I’m Margaret Marple, and this is my partner Auguste Poe. We’re private investigators from Brooklyn. You may have heard about—”

“I know who you are,” said Duff, cutting her off. “And like the good doctor said, you don’t need to be here.”

“Look! It’s them !” The shout had come from the roomful of parents. Marple glanced over to see the frantic mothers and fathers looking their way. “It’s Poe! And Marple!” one of the women shouted. “Thank God !” another mom sobbed. The parents spilled out of the tiny room and headed across the floor.

Marple smiled at Duff, her British accent adding an extra dab of sweetness. “See that, Captain? I believe we might be wanted after all.”