Chapter 5 - The Woman in the Parking Garage
The Omaha Police Department took the threat seriously.
Not because Richard Sterling had money.
Not because Arthur Vance was a veteran.
Because someone had breached a neonatal intensive care unit and hidden a syringe beneath the incubator of an abandoned premature baby.
That moved everything into a different category.
Bed seven became a crime scene.
Security footage was pulled.
Badge logs were reviewed.
Employees were questioned.
By noon, the syringe had been transferred to a lab.
Baby Girl Sterling was moved into a private isolation room near the nurses’ station.
I had never seen our NICU so quiet.
Arthur stayed.
He sat beside the infant for nearly six hours, refusing food until I practically ordered him to eat half a sandwich.
Richard remained in the public waiting area.
The two men did not speak.
Then Detective Marcus Cole arrived.
He was in his early forties, tall, calm, and possessed the kind of patient expression that made people talk more than they intended.
He interviewed me first.
Then Denise.
Then Arthur.
I remained nearby because Arthur had asked me to stay with the baby.
From the other side of the glass, I could see Detective Cole place photographs across the table.
“Recognize anyone?”
Arthur studied them.
“No.”
“Look again.”
“I did.”
“These are every person whose badge accessed this hallway in the seventy-two hours before the photograph was likely taken.”
Arthur pointed.
“That one.”
Cole leaned forward.
“Who?”
“Second row. Woman with blond hair.”
“You know her?”
“No.”
“Then why her?”
Arthur’s face tightened.
“I saw her this morning.”
“Where?”
“Parking garage.”
Cole sat back.
“Before you entered the NICU?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That usually means something.”
Arthur exhaled.
“She was standing beside the elevator. I thought she was waiting for someone. When I walked past, she said, ‘You got old.’”
Cole’s expression sharpened.
“And you didn’t mention that?”
Arthur looked ashamed.
“I assumed she had mistaken me for somebody else.”
“What did she look like?”
“Forties. Maybe late thirties. Blond hair. Gray coat.”
Cole tapped the photograph.
“That employee’s name is Laura Bennett. Respiratory therapist.”
I knew Laura.
Not well.
She worked nights and floated between NICU and pediatric intensive care.
“She’s been here eight years,” I said.
Cole looked at me.
“Any problems?”
“None I know of.”
Arthur stared at the photograph.
“That’s her.”
Cole made a call.
Within ten minutes, hospital security was looking for Laura Bennett.
They did not find her.
Her supervisor said she had called in sick the previous night.
Her badge, however, had entered the NICU at 2:14 a.m.
That was three hours after she supposedly went home.
It got worse.
Laura Bennett’s employee file contained a Social Security number belonging to a woman who had died in Missouri fourteen years earlier.
Cole returned to the consultation room.
“Laura Bennett doesn’t exist.”
Arthur’s face darkened.
“Then who was she?”
“We’re working on it.”
Richard appeared in the doorway.
“I know.”
Cole turned.
“You know what?”
“Who she is.”
Arthur stood.
“How?”
Richard looked at the photograph.
“Her name is Rebecca Sloan.”
Arthur frowned.
Richard continued.
“Her father worked for mine.”
“Doing what?”
“Cleaning problems.”
Nobody misunderstood him.
Detective Cole’s eyes narrowed.
“Define cleaning.”
“Threats. Bribes. Intimidation.”
“And murder?”
Richard hesitated.
“That was never written down.”
Cole gave him a humorless smile.
“I bet.”
Arthur pointed at Rebecca’s photograph.
“How old is she?”
“Forty-three.”
“Then she would’ve been a child when Emily died.”
“Yes.”
“So why would she care about any of this?”
“Because her father went to prison after Emily’s death.”
Richard’s voice became lower.
“He blamed me.”
“Was he involved in the accident?”
“I believe so.”
“Believe?”
“He was driving a car seen near the intersection.”
Arthur’s hands trembled harder.
“You knew this?”
“I knew later.”
“And never told police?”
“I was legally dead.”
Arthur crossed the room before anyone could react.
He grabbed Richard by the collar.
“Every time you speak, I learn another reason my daughter’s life was destroyed.”
Cole moved forward.
“Arthur.”
Arthur did not release him.
Richard didn’t fight back.
“You could’ve fixed this.”
Richard stared at him.
“No.”
“You could’ve tried.”
“Yes.”
Arthur’s grip loosened.
Richard whispered, “That part is true.”
Arthur stepped away.
The baby’s monitor beeped steadily in the adjacent room.
Cole looked at Richard.
“Rebecca Sloan’s father.”
“Gerald Sloan.”
“Alive?”
“Died in prison.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
“And Rebecca?”
“I haven’t seen her since she was a teenager.”
Cole closed his notebook.
“Apparently she’s seen Arthur.”
My phone rang.
NICU desk.
I answered.
“Claire.”
Melanie’s voice was urgent.
“Someone is asking for Arthur downstairs.”
I glanced at him.
“Who?”
“She won’t give her name.”
“What does she want?”
“She says she has information about Hannah.”
Arthur heard that.
He was already moving.
Cole raised a hand.
“Nobody goes anywhere.”
Melanie continued.
“She’s in the parking garage entrance.”
Cole took my phone.
“Tell security to keep visual contact. Do not approach.”
Then he looked at Arthur.
“Stay here.”
Arthur’s face said he had no intention of obeying.
Cole stepped closer.
“If this person wanted to talk safely, she’d be sitting in the lobby.”
Arthur said nothing.
“She chose a parking garage.”
Still nothing.
“That means she either thinks she’s being watched or she wants you somewhere cameras don’t cover.”
Arthur looked toward the baby.
“She knows about Hannah.”
“Maybe.”
Arthur rubbed both hands across his face.
“I’ve waited twenty years for anything about my daughter.”
Cole’s voice softened.
“And if you run into a trap, your granddaughter waits the next twenty years for you.”
That worked.
Arthur sat.
Cole and two officers went downstairs.
We waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then fifteen.
No call.
Arthur paced.
Richard sat perfectly still.
Twenty minutes later, Cole called me.
“We found her.”
“Who is she?”
“Not sure yet.”
Arthur grabbed the phone.
“Is she alive?”
Cole paused.
“Yes.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Is it Hannah?”
“No.”
The relief and disappointment on his face came together.
“Who?”
Cole’s tone changed.
“She says her name is Nora Wells.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Don’t know her.”
“She knows you.”
“How?”
“She says she lived with Hannah in foster care.”
Arthur gripped the phone harder.
“Where is Hannah?”
“She won’t tell us until she speaks to you.”
Cole paused again.
“And Arthur?”
“Yes?”
“She has something that belongs to Hannah.”
“What?”
“A hospital bracelet.”
Arthur stopped breathing.
Cole continued.
“It’s from this hospital.”
Arthur looked toward the premature baby behind the glass.
“What name?”
Cole read it.
“Hannah Vance.”
Arthur’s knees nearly gave out.
Not Hannah Sterling.
Hannah Vance.
The name his daughter had been born with.
“Bring her up.”
Cole said, “There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Nora says Rebecca Sloan followed her here.”
Arthur looked at Richard.
“And?”
“We checked the garage cameras.”
May you like
Cole’s next words made my blood run cold.
“Rebecca never left.”
