The Stolen - Jason Pinter [52]
Bob didn't smile. He just kept doing what he was doing.
Bob took the syringe and pulled the stopper back a
little bit. Then he pushed the needle into the top of the vial,
pressing the stopper again. A small bubble of air entered
the vial. Then he turned the vial upside down, the syringe
pointing at the ceiling, and pulled the stopper again until
a small amount of the liquid was sucked into the syringe.
He tapped the syringe until the air bubbles had risen to the
top of the needle. Then he removed the needle from the vial.
Bob turned to Elaine, still holding the needle. "Where
did we give it to her this morning?"
"The abdomen," she said.
"Gotcha. Caroline, would you come here?" The girl
stood up warily, then went over to Bob. "Here, sweetie, sit
down next to me."
She did. Bob rolled up the sleeve of her right arm, then
took the smelly cotton ball and rubbed it all over the underside of her arm. Then he blew on it gently.
"That tickles," the girl said.
"Just needs to dry a bit," Bob said. He waited a minute,
then took her arm and gently squeezed her skin until a fold
stuck out. Caroline winced a bit but stayed still.
"Good girl," Elaine said.
"Now close your eyes," Bob said. When she did, she
felt a sting as the needle entered her skin. She felt Bob's
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grip tighten, then a few seconds later it eased up. She
opened her eyes. The needle was on the table and Bob was
swabbing her arm with another cotton ball.
"You're such a brave girl," Elaine said. Caroline smiled.
18
The rental car zipped along like only a Hyundai with a
hundred-and-twenty-five thousand miles could. Now that
I'd been summarily dismissed from the Daniel Linwood
story by Wallace, I couldn't expect to be reimbursed for
expenses anytime soon. Which meant watching my budget
until I proved that it was worth potentially disrupting the
lives of several families, not to mention putting my career
on the line, to find out what happened to two missing
children. Which meant that, for the time being, the $44.95a-day rates of the Rent-a-Wreck of Yonkers was the only
thing that could fit my ever-extended budget.
As soon as I realized that both Michelle Oliveira and
Daniel Linwood not only were born in the same hospital,
but were treated by the same doctor, I decided to speak to
this man to see what, if anything, he could shed light on.
Dr. Dmitri Petrovsky worked in the pediatrics unit at the
Yardley Medical Center in Hobbs County. Amanda and I
were on our way to speak to the good doctor. Like good
guests we were coming uninvited.
As I drove up I-287, Amanda gripped the side door
handle as though the car might split in half at any moment.
Ironic, considering a few years back Amanda had driven
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us to St. Louis at an average speed that would make Jeff
Gordon cry for mama.
I noticed her clutching the side, smirked and said,
"Come on, you really think I'm going to spin out or
drive us both into the Hudson? Besides, between the
two of us, who do you think has racked up more points
on their license?"
She glared at me. "I've never had an accident in all the
time I've been driving. And I've been in a car with you,
oh, a total of, like, three times. Forgive me if I don't quite
trust your instincts. Not to mention my Toyota was sturdier
than the Verrazano bridge."
"I have such fond memories of that car."
Though Amanda and I had now been on speaking terms
for just a few days, I was surprised at how easily we fell
back into old patterns, the give-and-take of conversation. I
was actually uncomfortable with it. Specifically, the fact
that she seemed so calm. As if she knew our banter was
nothing more than that, and would never get past the
surface.
Two young children, both vanishing into nothing, reappearing after years, neither with any memory of their time
gone. Both having been born in the same town, to lowincome families with other siblings. I had no idea exactly
what we were looking for, or what I expected to find, but I
hoped that Dmitri Petrovsky, having borne witness