Chapter 14: The Suite

The address Bradley gave us was a brick townhouse in Stamford, with a brass plate by the door that read PRIVATE MATERNITY SUITES. BY APPOINTMENT.

I stood on the sidewalk at ten that morning, with Bea on my left and two detectives on my right.

Patrick had driven us and was waiting in the car, because the older detective had told him he could not come in.

"You're a witness, Ms. Lindell," she said. "Stay behind us, and touch nothing."

"It's my chart in there."

"Then you'll see it when we do."

A young receptionist looked up from the front desk and went white.

"We don't have anyone booked until noon," she said.

The detective held up a warrant.

"Where's the doctor?"

"His office. Second floor. I'll just..."

"You'll stay where you are."

We went up the stairs in a line.

On the landing there was a door with a paper sign taped to it: NURSERY. DO NOT ENTER.

The younger detective pushed it open.

The room was pale yellow, with a white crib, a rocking chair and a mobile of felt clouds.

A clipboard hung at the foot of the crib, and I walked past the detective before she could stop me.

BABY GIRL DUNNING, it said. Mother: Lacey Dunning. Delivering physician: the doctor himself.

The date of birth was my due date, written in already.

"She isn't born yet," I said, and my voice came out thin. "They filled in her birthday."

Bea put a hand on my back.

"Don't touch anything," she said quietly. "Just look."

On the shelf above the crib was a row of folded baby clothes, all pink, all new.

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