The White Carnation (14 page)

“What have you got there?”

“I sent Gomez, one of the other agents working on the case, shopping for you. I thought you might like something to wear other than the lovely, stylish hospital fashions you've been sporting the last few days.” He handed her the bag. “You'll find face cream, a compact, and lip gloss in there along with the personal stuff we recovered from your purse. The nurse says you can take off the rest of the gizmos attached to you and take a shower in there.” He indicated the door on the far side of the room.

“Agent? Since when do you have agents at the Boston PD?”

“Since we started working with the FBI on the Harvester case.”

Faye's breath caught in her throat.

“Are you telling me that somehow the Harvester is involved in Lucy Green's murder and my attack? How?”

“That's the million-dollar question. I have a theory. Want to hear it?”

Reporter persona firmly in place, Faye sat up straighter. “Yes, I do.” The shower could wait.

• • •

“That's three games to two,” Rob said. “Care for a rematch?”

Faye shook her head. “No, you skunked me the last time. Let my wounded dignity heal first.”

“Whatever you say.” He collected the cards and put away the cribbage board. “I'm sure you'll have lots of chances to whip my ass in the safe house.”

“I really don't know why I can't just go home and have the police watch me there.”

After he'd explained his theory, they'd avoided talking about the attack and anything personal. Clark would probably have his ass for involving a victim this deeply in the investigation, but while she'd been skeptical, questioning him on a number of points, at least she'd listened. Her insight could be invaluable.

It was dark out, and Rob expected Faye would have to spend another night here whether she liked it or not. Another night in the chair wouldn't help his sore back either.

She was cranky and antsy, not surprising when you thought about it—attacked, raped, drugged, and stuck in a hospital. She'd earned her annoyance, but did she have to unleash her frustrations on him?

Hey, it's my fault she's here. If I'd followed through on my hunch … Take it like a man.

Rising from the bed, Faye walked over to the window and stared out into the night. Unlike Friday, the sky was clear, peppered with stars. She stretched and turned back to him. “You know you don't have to stay here. There are two police officers on the other side of that door.”

“I don't care if the entire Cambridge PD is on the other side of that door. I'm not letting you out of my sight, so you might as well just accept it.”

She frowned, and he expected her to argue, but she turned back to the window and resumed her silent vigil. He sighed. No doubt she was as frustrated as he was.

He admired the way Faye was handling this, but it really shouldn't have surprised him. She'd never been a “woe is me” kind of girl. Hadn't he said she was a reporter first? She'd used his cell phone's Wi-Fi connection to research scopolamine. She'd quizzed the doctor on the aftereffects of the other drugs she'd been given and asked if they'd tested her for any of the more common sexually transmitted diseases. The doctor's confirmation that she was clean seemed to relax her somewhat, but he knew her, and something was going on inside that lovely head of hers.

Just like after the Mahoney stabbing, she'd live it, accept it, and use it to her advantage. She refused to be victimized. Back then, he'd wanted her to lean on him. Now? He didn't know what he wanted anymore. They had too much history to just move on as if the past months had never happened.

He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she organized the information she'd need for a story on date-rape drugs. Despite what had happened fifteen months ago, her editor would be a fool not to let her run with this. While the Harvester may have taken the problem to new heights, date rape wasn't new, and with it so hard to prove, more often than not, the offenders got off with just a slap on the wrist. A little publicity about the problem couldn't hurt. Faye was a brilliant investigator and analyst. He'd seen her at work a number of times, taking what appeared to be disconnected information and making it all mesh. She'd done masterful work on a counterfeiting ring three years ago.

While she'd been in a coma, the focus of the case had definitely changed. As he'd predicted, since a U.S. congressman's grandniece or grandnephew was among the kidnapped babies, finding the children had become a priority. Those kids had to be out there, and since all of the mothers had been dumped in this vicinity, the possibility existed that the babies were around here somewhere, too. As of Monday, the case had become the sole responsibility of the FBI. He and Tom had been seconded to the BAU, looking into the murders themselves. From now on, they reported to Trevor Clark. Pierce didn't like the guy, probably because he'd been put in charge, and as far as Tom was concerned, that was a feather in Clark's cap.

Their new boss, who was a hell of a lot more open-minded than Pierce, had found the visual similarities between Faye and the victims interesting and admitted Rob's theory that Faye was the next victim had some merit. He did point out they had to consider there could be another woman out there who was the epitome of the Harvester's dreams, but with the situation as it stood … Like everyone else, he was waiting for the DNA to confirm the theory.

If the paternal DNA matched, they'd use this knowledge to create a profile; if it didn't … well, Rob didn't want to think of that.

“Have you given any thought to what you'll do if the evidence says you're wrong?” Faye asked, as if she could read his mind, and he frowned.
How does she do that?

“I don't know. Back to square one, I guess. You'll still be connected to the Green murder…”

Gingerly, she moved to take a seat on the side of the bed. “Sharing your theories with me earlier was quite a gamble on your part. I'll admit the drug-rape angle seems plausible, especially with what's happened to me. If you're correct, there's a hell of a story here, and I want in. I don't care about what the press gets, I want the exclusive on the background—the how you solved it—and I want access to your notes and everything else you have that'll support my story. I may not be ready to share my part in all this, but writing the story from the inside will help me deal with what happened, too. You want my help—you wouldn't have said anything otherwise. This is the price. You get my take on your theories and evidence, and I get an exclusive. Take it or leave it. You know I'll write the story anyway. This way you'll have some control over what gets published.”

Rob swallowed and pulled the shreds of his dignity together like a cloak. He might've beaten her at cards, but she'd just cleaned his clock. He should've known a simple date-rape drug story wouldn't do it for her. Once a reporter, always a reporter. She'd put her job first fifteen months ago, and that hadn't changed. She wasn't going to let being a victim stand in the way of a story.

“Jesus Christ, Faye. Be realistic. You know that's not up to me. I'm not in charge, but if you play ball, agree to use that analytic mind of yours to help us solve this case, I'll make that recommendation. It's the best I can do.”

She pursed her lips, evidently weighing her options, and nodded. “Okay. Here's what I think. If the Harvester is the one impregnating the women as you suspect, those infants are his sons and daughters. It isn't a kidnapping, and unless you can prove he killed the women … You can charge him with rape and attempted murder on me, but with the biological mother dead, the father would have complete custody of his offspring. Scary to think what this man might be doing to his own flesh and blood.”

“What could he conceivably want with so many children? So far, we haven't found any evidence he's hurt them, but then again, we've found nothing to say he hasn't. Congressman Howard is demanding answers, and my new boss isn't rejecting any ideas. I'll run this by him first chance I get. If the Harvester's keeping four infants, then he needs diapers, formula, you name it. We can have agents out looking for bulk purchases.”

The door opened, admitting Dr. Chong. She'd been in to check on Faye twice this afternoon, but now she seemed upset.

“Is there something wrong? Did something show up on Faye's tests?” he asked.

“No, she's fine. She can leave first thing in the morning. It's another case that's bothering me. I'm not supposed to talk shop, but I honestly don't know what to do here. Maybe a detective can offer some assistance.”

“I owe you one. What's the problem?” Rob asked.

Dr. Chong dropped into the chair next to the bed. “Faye, do you remember the call from the ER earlier, when I was with you the first time? The parents brought in an infant, about two weeks old, who was bleeding profusely after a circumcision. They aren't as popular as they used to be, but we see them every now and then, especially in Jewish families. The
bris
or
brit milah
is an important part of their tradition. I got the bleeding under control and told them he'd be fine, but I wanted to run some tests. They seemed apprehensive, but I explained we needed more information, and they finally agreed.”

“I remember. Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so. He was bleeding pretty badly, but we stabilized him, gave him some coagulants, and I ordered another unit of blood since his platelet count and hemoglobin were low. I went to my office and waited for his results and yours.” She shook her head, the look of concern on her face changing to puzzlement.

“The poor parents must be frantic,” Faye said. “I can't imagine what I'd feel like if my two-week-old baby was hurt.”

“I got the results on one of the tests about an hour ago and went to speak to the parents. I told them we'd given him an additional unit of blood, and the father was furious, yelling that I had no right polluting the child.” The doctor stood, too agitated to remain seated.

“What the hell did he expect me to do, let the baby bleed to death? My job was to save that child, and I did it the only way I know how. What makes it worse is that they should've been prepared for it. There's no way that woman got to be her age without at least one transfusion. She had to know she was a carrier.”

“A carrier for what?” Faye asked when the doctor stopped ranting.

“A rare bleeding disorder carried on the X chromosome. I left him and his wife to ponder the situation and went to get the documents I needed filled out for the baby's admission. Now the parents have vanished. They checked the baby in as William Smith, and themselves as John and Mary Smith. The man put down $500 as a deposit for services. We've searched the ER for the parents—the whole damn hospital actually—but they're gone. I called child services …”

Rob's heart pounded.
Is it possible? Could I finally have gotten a break?

“Are you saying the baby's a hemophiliac?” he asked abruptly, cutting her off mid-word.

“Yes.” She pursed her lips in displeasure. “We won't know the type or the severity until we run all the tests. Hemophilia is genetically transmitted, and it would've been impossible for the mother not to have known about her condition. They'd have had to have given her coagulants after the birth, and she's no spring chicken. She should have known this might happen and have made the necessary arrangements. People just don't think. I know traditions are sacred, but …”

“What if she didn't know? What if the baby is adopted?”

He could see that his question had surprised her.

“Mrs. Smith did look a little old to be the newborn's natural mother, but any decent adoption agency would disclose something like that …” She stopped talking and stared at him. Faye touched his arm to get his attention.

“Rob, what are you thinking?” Her voice was filled with uncertainty. “This means something to you. I can tell.”

“I think we may have caught a break in the Harvester missing baby case.”

“Explain,” Dr. Chong ordered without preamble.

“The latest victim, Meredith Howard, carried the gene for hemophilia.” He pulled out his notebook. “Specifically, she carried the gene lacking the IX factor, the one that causes hemophilia in about 20 percent of the cases. Her husband was killed in Afghanistan only four weeks after she discovered she was pregnant.”

“She was married?” Faye interrupted. “She doesn't fit the profile. Are you looking at a copycat?”

Rob shook his head. “Let me finish. I think our killer finally made a mistake—they all do eventually. Meredith was in her last semester at MIT. She had a cousin”—he consulted the notebook—“Liz Howard. Liz miscarried a baby about eight months ago. Tom interviewed her after we identified her cousin.”

Rob paced the room as he spoke. He always needed to walk when he was thinking and, right now, his brain was going a mile a minute as he tried to give the necessary information and watch it line up with his theory.

“Liz hadn't a clue she was pregnant and still can't seem to figure out when it happened, but she has issues with bleeding—it's a family condition. When they told her at the ER she'd miscarried, she was stunned. Since she couldn't remember the last time she'd had sex, it scared her. She dropped out of school and went home for a while.”

“You think he impregnated Liz and took Meredith by mistake?” Faye asked. “That makes no sense. He'd have to have gone to the wrong apartment. Wouldn't he have realized that?”

Rob shook his head. “Nope. Meredith took over the lease last month on Liz's apartment because it was closer to campus. Apparently there's a marked resemblance between the girls. Their mothers are twins. Liz came back to Boston a couple of months ago and has a job working in Brookline. She'd gone to a convention and returned to find Meredith gone, the apartment closed up, just like those of our other victims. Liz called the family, but no one had any idea where she might be. None of the neighbors saw her leave. Meredith's father filed the missing person's report.”