Midnight Rambler_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [2]
“Their alibis are airtight,” Margolin said.
“How about the cleaning staff and maintenance people?”
“The same. I'm convinced it was an outsider.”
“So you have a theory of how the abduction took place?”
“More or less.”
“Show me,” I said.
We followed Margolin back to the emergency room. Sometimes an investigator's first reaction was more important than the facts, and Margolin explained how she believed the abductor had entered the emergency room doors during a busy period at around four a.m. and slipped down to the maternity ward. Going outside, she pointed at a concrete bench where she believed the abductor had waited. The ground was littered with cigarette butts.
Back inside, Margolin showed us the zig-zagging path the abductor would have taken to reach the maternity ward, while speculating that he might have worn a white doctor's coat to avoid detection. When we reached the maternity ward, she stopped talking and stared at the newborns, then resumed.
“Somehow, he gained entrance to the ward, even though the door is locked at all times. My guess is, he waited for one of the nurses to come out after feeding, then grabbed the door before it closed. He rushed in, snatched the Vasquez baby, and ran.”
I processed everything Margolin had said. Her assumptions rang true, but I wasn't buying this final scenario. Waiting for a nurse to leave was a risk, and I felt certain the abductor had used a different method to gain access to the ward.
Across the hall from the ward was a door with a brass nameplate. Crossing the hall, I read the name. Mercedes Fernandez.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“The head nurse for the night shift,” Margolin said.
“Did you speak with her?”
“I tried.”
“No luck?”
“She's out sick.”
An alarm went off inside my head. The walk to the maternity ward was filled with turns, and I couldn't see someone unfamiliar with Mercy's layout not getting lost. The abductor had a map. And if he had a map, he probably also had a key.
I pointed at the night nurse's door. “Can we go in there?”
“You think she's involved?” Tommy asked.
“Could be,” I said.
Tommy got a key from the hospital supervisor and unlocked the door. The room was a windowless square. I sat at Mercedes Fernandez's messy desk and booted up her computer. The screen came to life, and I entered her Web browser and checked e-mails. There were plenty, all work-related. Then I checked the sent e-mails. The Sent box was empty. Behind me Margolin was sifting through the garbage pail.
“Tell me what you think of this,” I said.
Margolin peered over my shoulder at the screen. “Looks like Fernandez erased all the e-mails she sent before leaving work yesterday.”
“That look strange to you?”
“Yes.”
“Let's see if she erased her deleted bin.”
I dragged the cursor over the deleted bin and double-clicked on it. It was filled with messages that were deleted but not permanently erased. I scrolled through them. Halfway down, I saw one that lifted me out of my chair.
Jorge, I've got what you're looking for. FBB. Call me.
I glanced at Margolin, who was blowing air down my neck as if we were on a hot date. “Have you seen a picture of the Vasquez baby?”
“No,” she said.
I asked Tommy and got the same answer.
“Where're her parents?” I asked.
“The mother's in a room upstairs. She was sedated after hearing the news,” Tommy said. “The last time I checked, the father was in the visitors' room pulling his hair out.”
“I need to talk to him.”
Mercy's visitors' room was painted in warm earth tones, the round coffee table overflowing with glossy parenting magazines, the TV tuned to Dr. Phil. Isabella's father sat anxiously in the corner, the only male in the room.
“Mr. Vasquez, we need to talk with you in private,” Tommy said.
Vasquez rose stiffly from his chair and followed us into the hallway. He was bearded and heavyset, his clothes as rumpled as an unmade bed. Judging by the diamond-studded platinum Rolex on his wrist, he was also loaded.
Tommy walked down the hallway so we could talk in private.
When we stopped, Vasquez recognized me and exploded.
“I know who