The Stolen - Jason Pinter [53]
birth of both Michelle and Danny, could yield new information.
We arrived at Yardley Medical Center a little after nine
in the morning.
We stepped out of the Hyundai. It was warm outside,
the sun hot and vivid. I was wearing a pair of brown
khakis and a navy-blue sport coat. Amanda was in a
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sweater and light blue jeans. She looked a millions times
better than I did, which wasn't surprising, since I had to
dig through a pile of unmentionables just to find two
matching socks.
The Yardley Medical Center was a long building,
twelve stories high, shaped like an L, with one taller side
made of red brick, the other, shorter part windowed by
steel and blue glass. We walked around to the main
entrance, passing ambulatory care, and entered. The lobby
was not large, but it was impeccably clean. Off to the side
was a flower shop, a newsstand and a small cafeteria, and
another path leading to a bank of elevators. In the middle
was an information desk and security checkpoint. Half a
dozen people were in line. When they finished talking to
the attendant, she handed them a sticker to show Security,
who let them enter the elevator bank.
We walked up to the information booth. The attendant,
a heavyset black woman, said, "May I help you?"
"We're here to see Dr. Dmitri Petrovsky in Pediatrics,"
I said.
"Your names?"
"Henry Parker and Amanda Davies."
"Do you have identification?"
We both handed over our drivers licenses. I didn't want
to announce myself as a member of the press just yet. In
case Petrovsky knew anything, I didn't want to give him
time to prepare.
The woman looked at our IDs, then at us, then handed
them back. She scribbled our names on two orange
stickers, then signed each one before peeling them off and
pressing them against our shirts.
"Petrovsky, Pediatrics. Suite 1103."
We thanked her, showed the stickers to the guard and
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rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. The elevator was
jam-packed, and the ride took forever. Finally we got off
on eleven and followed the signs to the correct suite.
The eleventh-floor hallway was painted light blue. Very
soothing. When we found 1103, a door marked Pediatrics,
we paused for a moment, then entered.
We found ourselves in a waiting room littered with toys
and parenting magazines. Various brochures were available. There were about a dozen chairs, almost all of which
were filled with mothers, fathers and their tykes. I counted
three pregnant women. Some of the kids were playing,
some sleeping, and at least two were bawling their eyes
out. Amanda took a seat, picked up a copy of Parenting
magazine, and nodded toward the secretary.
"Would you mind signing us in, hon?"
"My pleasure, hon. "
I approached the secretary, a middle-aged woman with
frizzy hair and a pair of red glasses perched on her nose.
"Help you?" she said.
"I'm here to see Dr. Petrovsky," I said.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I'm sorry, we don't."
She swiveled to a computer, pressed a few keys, then
swiveled back. "He can see you today, but not likely until
eleven-thirty." She handed me a clipboard with several
forms on it. "If you and your wife would please fill these
out and return it back to me."
I opened my mouth to explain the whole not wife thing,
but didn't think it was worth the time or explanation.
I took the papers and a pen, sat down next to Amanda.
"If anyone asks, you're my wife."
"'Scuse me?"
"Just go with it."
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"Come on, Henry, these kind of matrimonial decisions
should be made by both of us for Christ's sake."
A lady holding her infant son glared at us.
"Sorry," I said, turning to Amanda. "Honey, there are
children present."
Amanda gave me a look that could have melted steel.
I concentrated on filling out the forms, being as vague as
possible, while leaving most responses blank.
When they were completed, I went back up to the receptionist. Handing them over, I said, "I left a lot of this
blank. Frankly, there are some personal issues I'd rather
discuss with Dr. Petrovsky