'That's okay,' the sergeant said smoothly. 'I'll let it go. Mr. Popescu, we're going to have to locate the baby's mother. This is not optional. We have to do it. We have to have the birth certificate. We can't investigate without it.'
'It's not her. I know it isn't. She isn't even in the country. I couldn't do it to her. Her husband would kill her. He's a military man. And I just can't. My poor Roe. You don't know what this would do to her.'
'And I need the phone number of your wife's parents,' Sergeant Woo said suddenly.
That really stopped him short. 'They don't know anything about this,' he said, almost meekly now.
'They may know more about their daughter than you think.'
'Oh Jesus. I don't want them in this. They're— emotional.'
'It's procedure,' the detective said flatly.
'I don't want them here, understand? I can't put up with wailing parents in my house. . . .'
'No one's bringing them here.'
'They'll come here, believe me.'
Anton couldn't help it. The weight of the situation broke him. He began to sputter and cry in front of them. Once he started crying, he couldn't stop. It was a whole big mess. There was no way he could contain it. He cried as if his fragile heart would break over the terrible things that were happening to him, and then he gave the two cops part of what they wanted. He gave them Heather's parents' telephone number in San Francisco. They stayed for a while longer, and then the detectives left. But the cops manning the phone stayed put. He could watch from the windows as the search in the park widened and went on. He couldn't leave the apartment. He couldn't communicate with anyone on the outside. And he had no idea what the police had found out.
CHAPTER 8
A
t half past one on Wednesday morning, the squad room of Midtown North was still jammed, noisy, and hot. April and Woody returned to the collection of small, windowless rooms on the precinct's second floor after talking with Anton Popescu and checking on the progress of the dozens of officers searching for the missing baby in the park. Before they went in she told Woody to go write up his notes and not to talk to anybody about what they'd learned.
The information they'd uncovered about the baby's parentage was for Lieutenant Iriarte's ears only. It was up to him to pass it on. Although Anton had not given them anything specific on the birth mother, he was beginning to crack in the first twelve hours, and would probably give it all up in the next twenty-four if they kept the pressure on. April hoped the child was still alive.
Feeling encouraged, she went into her very first office with actual walls and a door that gave her a little privacy and indicated her status in the department. At the moment it was occupied by a middle-aged detective she'd never seen before. He was wearing a black toupee, was wiry, and wired. He was talking on the phone, gesturing with his hands, smoking and scattering ashes all over her desk.
'This your seat?' he queried, putting his hand over the mouthpiece.
'Sergeant Woo,' she murmured politely, indicating the nameplate in front of him.
'I was just leaving.' He hung up without saying good-bye and went out to join his buddies squatting at other people's desks in the main squad room.
April put her purse down, fell into her desk chair with a sigh, and called Iriarte at home in Westchester. He was most interested in her report and said he'd call Hagedorn to start searching for the birth mother. After she hung up, April placed the difficult call to Heather Rose's parents in San Francisco, where the time was now a little after 10:30
P.M
. A woman picked up after the third ring.
April could hear Chinese TV on loud in the background. It was Mandarin, so she spoke Mandarin. 'I'm Detective Sergeant April Woo, calling from New York. I'm sorry to bother you at this late hour, but I need to talk to you about your daughter, Heather Rose.'
'Aieeeyeeee!' The woman started to scream before April could say another word. She screamed at someone in the room with her that Heather Rose was dead, she was dead in New York.
'She's not dead,' April said into the receiver, but the woman was yelling, not listening. The TV was on, and April heard a man in the background trying to calm her down. It was just like home.
'She's dead, dead in New York!' Mrs. Kwan was screaming. 'We have to go to New York. Call the airline. I have to go now.'
The man took the phone. 'Who is this?'
April had to start all over. She told him she was a detective in New York City and their daughter was
not dead. But Heather Rose was injured and in the hospital.
'Ah.' He conveyed that in Chinese to his wife. She continued screaming.
'What happened?' Heather's father finally asked.
April hesitated. 'It's not entirely clear at the moment. Your daughter was assaulted in her apartment.'
'Assaulted? By who—her husband?'
'Has it happened before?' she asked quickly.
Silence.
'She's unconscious. She needs your help,' April told him.
'What can we do?' It was not a question. It was what people said when their children were involved in something they thought was stupid, but they loved them all the same. 'What can you do?' they say with their shoulders climbing up to their ears.
'Their baby is missing,' she added.
'Baby missing?' Now there was real pandemonium in the background.
'Hello, hello.' April tried to get a word in, but the screaming in Chinese didn't stop.
'Baby missing?' This was more than Heather's father could deal with. He passed the phone back to his wife.
'Baby missing?' she cried.
'Mrs. Kwan, your daughter can't talk to me right now, and I need information about her and the baby. Can you tell me how the adoption was arranged?'
'Adoption?'
'Yes, didn't you know it was an adopted baby?'
'No, can't be. Baby is Heather's baby, my grandson.'
'Certainly, but maybe not her birth child.'
'Why are you saying this? He's her child, I know.'
'How do you know? Did you see her pregnant, were you with her when she gave birth?' These were
hard questions for a mother far away and in the dark about many things to answer. A pained silence followed.
'She sent me pictures,' she answered after a long pause.
'Of the baby?'
'Yes, of course pictures of baby. But also pictures of herself pregnant.'
It was clear Mrs. Kwan couldn't accept that her daughter was not the birth mother of her grandson and further that Heather Rose had tried to hide the fact by faking her pregnancy in photos. April felt sorry to be the one to pass on such dreadful news, sorry for the mother whose daughter had lied to her and cheated her of a grandchild she claimed as her own. And also sorry for herself because she was no closer to finding the baby's real mother than she'd been before.
'Tell me about your daughter, Mrs. Kwan,' April went on as gently as she could.
'What is there to tell? She's good girl, beautiful girl. Smart girl. Went to best college, full scholarship. Marry very smart man, very rich man. She send many presents. Call me every week. Best-quality girl.' She began to weep. What else was there to know?
April pressed on. Was Heather a sad person? Did she ever hurt herself? Was she upset when things didn't go
