In the Bleak Midwinter (2 page)

She looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. Although I’m sure that everyone who knows the Burnses also knows they’re looking for a baby.”

“Why leave it at St. Alban’s then? Why not on the Burnses’ doorstep?”

Reverend Fergusson swept her hands open wide.

Russ handed the note back to Mark. “What time did you find the baby?” he asked the priest.

“About… nine-thirty, quarter to ten,” she said. “There was a welcoming reception from the vestry tonight that finished up around nine. I changed in my office, checked messages, and then headed out. I already gave Officer Durkee the names of the people who were there.”

Russ squinted, trying for a mental picture of the area where Elm branched off the curve of Church Street. One of Tick Soley’s parking lots was across the street from the church, one light on the corner but nothing further up where the houses started. “What did you say was behind the little parking area?”

“The rectory, where I live. There’s a tall hedge, and then my side yard. My driveway is on the other side of the house.”

Russ sighed. “The kids—the parents—could have parked in any one of those spots and snuck over to the stairs with the baby. I somehow doubt we’re gonna get an eyewitness with a license number and a description of the driver.”

The priest tapped the glassine envelope. “Chief Van Alstyne, exactly how hard do you have to look for the parents of this baby?” For the first time Russ let himself take a long look into the portable incubator. The sleeping baby didn’t look any different from every other newborn he had ever seen, all fat burnished cheeks and almond-shaped eyes. He wondered how hard up or screwed up or roughed up a girl would have to be to pull a perfect little thing like that out of her body and then leave him in a cardboard box. In the dark. On a night when the windchill hovered at zero degrees.

He looked back at the priest. She was leaning toward him slightly, focusing on him as if he were the only person in the whole hospital. “I don’t need to tell you that leaving a baby like that is called endangering a child,” he said. She nodded. “And of course, if we can’t find the parents, it’s going to take longer for DHS to actually get the baby out of foster care and into an adoptive home. But the thing is to find out how voluntary this really was, giving up the baby.”

Her mouth opened and then snapped shut. He continued. “When a woman really wants to give up her kid for adoption, she usually gets in touch with an agency, or a lawyer, or somebody, well before the baby is born. These throwaway situations—”

“She didn’t throw Cody away. Whoever she is.”

“No, she didn’t. Which makes me think it’s not one of those times when the mother is a druggie or a drunk or a psycho. But it does make me wonder if her boyfriend or her father forced her into it. And if she’s not already regretting what she did, but is too scared of us or of him to come forward and reclaim her son.”

“I never thought of that,” Reverend Fergusson said, biting her lower lip. “Oh dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

The emergency room doors opened with a hydraulic pouf. Russ recognized the small, bearded man in the expensive topcoat and the striking brunette woman at his side, but he’d know who they were even if he had never seen them in the Washington County Courthouse before, just from the look on Reverend Fergusson’s face.

“We got here as soon as we could,” Geoffrey Burns said. His voice was tight. His glance flicked around the treatment area, lighting on the incubator. His wife saw it at the same time.

“Oh…” she said, pressing one perfectly manicured hand to her mouth. “Oh. Is that him?”

The priest nodded. She stepped aside, allowing the Burnses a clear view of the sleeping baby. “Oh, Geoff, just look at him…” Karen Burns hesitated, as if showing too much eagerness might cause the incubator to vanish.

Her husband stared at the baby for a long moment. “Where’s the doctor who’s been treating him?” he said. He looked at Russ. “Chief Van Alstyne. I take it the Department of Human Services hasn’t seen fit to send anyone over yet.”

“Mr. Burns.” Russ nodded. “I expect we’ll see somebody soon. They’re a little overwhelmed over there, you know.”

“Oh, don’t I just,” Geoff Burns said.

“I take it Reverend Fergusson called you about the note that was found with the baby?” Russ glanced pointedly toward the priest, who lifted her chin in response. “You folks know that it’s way too early to start thinking of this boy as your own. No matter what the parents wrote.”

Karen Burns turned toward him. “Of course, Chief. But we are licensed foster parents without any children in our home right now, and we intend to press DHS to place Cody with us.” Mrs. Burns had a voice so perfectly modulated she could have been selling him something on the radio. Russ glanced at Burns, thin and short, and wondered at the attraction. His own wife was one hell of a good-looking woman, but Karen Burns would put her in the shade.

“Under the standard of the best interests of the child, it’s preferable that a pre-adoptive child be fostered with the would-be adoptive parents, if there are no natural relatives able to care for the child. Young v. The Department of Social Services.”

Russ blinked at the lawyer’s aggressively set brows. “I’m not contesting you in court, Mr. Burns,” he said. “But we don’t know that there aren’t any natural relatives. We don’t know if the mother gave him up of her own free will or not.” He shifted his weight forward, deliberately using his six-foot-three-inches as a visual reminder of his authority here. “Isn’t it a little odd for a professional couple like you to be foster parents?”

Karen Burns laid her hand on her husband’s arm, cutting off whatever he was about to say. “I work from home as well as from my office, part time. On those times we’ve had a child in our care, I just cut way back.”

“I assure you we’re properly licensed and have passed all the state requirements,” Burns said, his face tight. “We are fully prepared to make the sacrifices necessary to care for a child. Unlike the biological parents of this boy.”

Karen Burns twisted a single gold bangle around her wrist. “Of course you have to look for the parents, Chief Van Alstyne. And I’m sure that anyone who took such care to make sure their baby would be found immediately, and left a note asking us to be his adoptive parents, would only confirm that request.”

Her husband spoke almost at the same time. “We intend to file for TPR immediately, on grounds of abandonment and endangerment.” There was a pause. The Burnses looked at each other, then at Russ. They both spoke at once.

“I hope you do find her. She undoubtedly needs help and counseling.”

“I hope you don’t find her, to be frank. It’ll be better for the baby all around.”

Reverend Fergusson broke the awkward silence. “What’s TPR mean?”

“Termination of parental rights,” Russ answered. “Usually happens after the court takes a DHS caseworker’s recommendation that there’s no way the child ought to go back to the parent. Takes months, sometimes years, if DHS is trying to reunite the family.” He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “During which time the kid is in foster care.”

“Unless, as in this case, the child is an abandoned infant and the parents can’t be found,” Geoff Burns said, tapping his finger into his palm in time to his words.

“Uh huh,” Russ agreed. “Unless they can’t be found.”

The pediatric resident, bright-eyed and way too young for comfort, entered the treatment area from behind a blue baize curtain. “Oh, hey!” he said. “You must be the Burnses! Your priest here told me about you. Hey, you wanna hold Cody here or what?” He unlatched the top of the incubator and scooped up the baby expertly, placing him in Karen Burns’s arms before she had a chance to respond.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.” Her husband put his arm around her, turning her away from the others. Russ, rubbing away at the headache building behind his eyebrows, felt the weight of attention on him. He glanced down at Reverend Fergusson, who was looking at him instead of at the would-be-parents. It took him a moment to identify the expression on her face, it had been so long since he’d seen it directed at him. Sympathy.

The resident was trying to give his report to Durkee, who was just as doggedly pointing him in Russ’s direction. “Hey,” he said, “You’re the police chief? Really neat.”

“I think so.” Over the doctor’s shoulder, Russ could see Reverend Fergusson’s lips twitch.

“The baby’s in real good shape,” the doctor said, pulling out several sheets of paper stapled together. “Here’s a copy of his tests and the examination results. I place the time of birth within the last two or three days. No drugs in his system, no signs of fetal alcohol syndrome, no signs of abuse. His cord was cut and wrapped inexpertly, but somebody kept it nice and clean. We’ll have to wait until he’s had a bowel movement, but I’m guessing he’s been fed formula.”

Russ scanned the report, noting the blood group—AB negative—and the notation that the baby had been bathed at some point in his brief life. “Okay,” he said. “Mark, get me the box and the blankets, we’ll see if we can get anything from those. I want you to stay here until somebody from DHS arrives, unless you get a squawk.” Mark nodded and disappeared into the examination cubby. Russ folded the medical report and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“Here you go, Chief,” Mark said, returning with the box. He passed it to Russ, who examined it without much hope of anything useful. It was sturdy, new-looking, marked with the logo of a Finger Lakes orchard. Lane’s IGA and the Grand Union probably had hundreds just like it tossed in their storerooms. The blankets were a mix: an old, well-worn gold polyester thing, a heavy woolen horse blanket in plaid, and what looked like two brand-new flannel baby blankets, the kind his sister had by the dozens. Russ had a sudden image of himself going door-to-door, asking, “Ma’am? Do you recognize any of these blankets? And has anyone in your household given birth lately?”

Reverend Fergusson had gone over to the Burnses and was talking softly to them. Karen Burns said something, looking at her husband, and he nodded. All three of them bent their heads. Russ realized with a shock that they were praying. Openly displayed religion made him as uncomfortable as hell, and it didn’t help when the priest signed the cross over both of them and then laid her hands on the baby and blessed him. She really was a priest. Jesus Christ. A woman priest. Were Episcopalians like Catholics? He’d have to ask his mother, she’d know.

When Reverend Fergusson broke away from the Burnses and walked straight toward him, he thought for one guilty moment she must have read his mind and was coming over to give him what for.

“Chief Van Alstyne, will you be leaving soon?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, warily. Did she want to pray over him, too?

“Ah. Well, Karen and Geoff are going to stay here until after the caseworker arrives, and I, um…” She worried her lower lip some, hesitating. “I called an ambulance, you see, ’cause I thought Cody ought to be seen as soon as possible, and I, I don’t have…”

The light dawned. “Do you need a ride home, Reverend?” Russ said.

“I don’t want to impose…”

“I’d be glad to give you a lift, if you don’t mind me stopping by the station to drop this off before we get to your house. I want to make sure our fingerprint guy has it first thing in the morning.” He hefted the box.

“I’m not in any hurry,” she said. “On the other hand, I did want to get to the rectory sometime tonight, and I understand that the taxis in Millers Kill aren’t the quickest to respond to a call…”

Russ snorted. “If you’re talking about In-Town Taxi, you’re right. One car is their whole fleet, and when the driver decides he’s done for the day, you’re outta luck.” He waved good-bye to Mark and gestured for the priest to precede him through the emergency department doors.

“ ’Night, Chief,” the admitting nurse called.

“ ’Night, Alta,” he said.

The dry, cold air outside the overheated hospital was like a good stiff drink after a hard day. Russ breathed deeply. He noticed the priest wasn’t carrying a coat. “Hey, Reverend, you can’t go outside in just sweats this time of year. Where are you from, anyway?”

She looked down at her unseasonable outfit. “It shows, huh? Southern Virginia. And when I was in the army, I managed to never get myself stationed any place where the temperature dipped to below freezing.”

“Neat trick,” he said. In the army? A woman priest in the army. What next? She parachute out of planes dropping bibles?

“I was a helicopter pilot,” she said. “Late of the Eighteenth Airborne Corps. You’d be surprised how often we needed to drop men and gear into overheated climates.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said. “I was career army. First in the infantry, then an MP. I retired about four years ago.”

“Really?” She stopped in her tracks. “We’ll have to compare postings.” She looked up at him curiously. “It’s just that the way you knew everybody, I assumed you’d lived in Millers Kill all your life.”

Russ pulled open the passenger-side door of his cruiser. She slid into the seat, yelping at the chilly vinyl. He crossed to the other side, dropped the box into the backseat, and got behind the wheel. “I was born here, lived here my first eighteen years.” He started up the car, turned on the radio, and grabbed the mike. “Ten-fifty, this is Ten-fifty-seven. I’m rolling, en route from the hospital to the station.” The radio crackled and Harlene’s voice came on the line. “Ten-fifty-seven, this is Ten-fifty. Acknowledged you en route from the hospital to the station. We’ll see you soon.”

The woman beside him was shivering, her arms clasped around herself, her knees drawn up. “Sorry,” he said. “The heater in the old whore takes a long time to warm up.” A second after he spoke, he remembered he was talking to a priest. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, caught himself, then blurted out, “Christ!” at his own stupidity before he could help it. He hung his head, laughing and groaning at the same time.

“You! Swearing in front of a priest!” She pointed her finger at his chest. “Drop and gimme twenty!” He stared at her, not sure he was hearing right. She smiled slowly, her eyes half-closing. “Gotcha.”