Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [9]
“Sweetheart, please. No.” Brian tried to draw his wife back, but she pushed him away. She reached out again, this time ripping the front of the pink frilly dress. Her primal scream of horror and rage filled the room.
“Where’s my baby’s heart?”
Chapter Three
My frustration vented itself through the loud click of my high heels against the hospital’s linoleum floor as I marched toward the nursing station on the first floor.
At nine that morning, armed with a medical release signed by both Whitmans for good measure, I had presented myself at the records department. The pinnacle of hospital bureaucracy. After letting me simmer for over an hour, the clerk had informed me that baby Rebecca’s chart wasn’t there.
The only other logical location was the neonatal nursing station. Strange, as it had been several days since Rebecca had been rushed to the hospital, but nothing would surprise me about the marvels of hospital records keeping.
I didn’t know if anything would ever shock me again, not after seeing that Y-shaped surgical scar across the baby’s torso last night. I’d thought I’d seen it all, but nothing had prepared me for the sight of that tragic Frankenstein corpse.
Brian Whitman had finally caught his hysterical wife up in his arms and carried her out. I pushed the lid shut as Sam called for a patrol unit. A white-faced Colin Depp had ushered out all the mourners. Then standing in the viewing room, almost wringing his hands, he swore up and down the baby had come to the home in that condition. He’d assumed the baby’s surgical scar was why the Whitmans elected a closed casket service.
I didn’t get home until almost midnight and, after apologizing profusely to Kate who had stayed with my mother, spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, the image of Rebecca’s mutilated body haunting me. Up at dawn, by seven I had paid a visit to the fire rescue team who had transported her to the hospital and confirmed that they had resuscitated the infant but her vital signs had been extremely weak when she arrived at Oceanview Medical Center. I was in no mood for a bureaucratic two-step.
A pinched-face, middle-aged woman dressed in a floral nurse’s uniform stood behind the counter, flipping through charts.
“Excuse me.”
“Be with you in a sec, honey.” The woman didn’t even bother to look up.
I sighed and slapped the medical release on the counter. I wasn’t about to spend one more minute in this chilled antiseptic-laden atmosphere than I had to.
“I’m Nicole Sterling. I have a signed parental release for the records of Rebecca Whitman, a five-month-old girl brought in several days ago.”
“Records department is on four.”
“I’ve already been there. They didn’t have the records. They said to check here.”
The nurse rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath about clerical screw-ups. “What was the name?”
“Rebecca Whitman. Parents, Claire and Brian.”
She moved to another section and shuffled through the folders.
“Well, well, well. Aren’t you the early bird?”
Bracing myself, I slowly turned. Sam flashed a smile as he approached. Dressed in black slacks and tan sports jacket, he earned an appreciative glance from a nurse scurrying by.
“Looks like I’ve already caught a worm.” I mimicked his drawl, earning a snort from the nurse inside the station.
“Love to spar with you, Red, but I’m here on official police business.”
Sam stepped up to the counter. Even though his hip pressed against me, I stood my ground. I had been here first, he could wait.
“I’m here on business as well.”
His brow raised a fraction. “Ambulance chasing, Counselor?”
I clasped my hands primly on the countertop. It was either that or throttle him. “Sticks and stones, Detective? How juvenile. Next you’ll be flashing your badge to show what a big man you are.”
“Why, thank you for the suggestion.” He opened his jacket to reveal the badge clipped to his belt. He peered at the nametag on the nurse who sat, her precious charts forgotten, watching us with a