“Is this man giving you a hard time, Detective?” Georgina turned to the hospital guard before Decker could answer. “You’d better not be giving him any trouble. He’s already had enough for the year.” She returned her focus to Decker, her eyes filled with concern. “How is Rina? That poor child. I’m so sorry, Detective. Sorry for your wife, sorry you had to experience such dreadful tragedies—both personally and professionally.”

“Thanks, Georgina.” Decker looked down. “Rina talks about you in superlatives. And we’re very pleased with the baby nurse you recommended.”

“Nora’s working out?”

“Very well.”

“Thank goodness. One less thing to worry about. I just wish I could have done more for you two. Then this terrible thing came up.” She shuddered involuntarily. “I’m walking around in a daze. So is most of the staff.” She waved in the direction of Lourdes’s room. “That poor little girl in there. I just wish…” Georgina’s eyes became moist.

Decker patted her shoulder, and the labor nurse turned it into a genuine hug. A good, caring woman, Decker thought. Georgina was a hard worker and a dedicated nurse—like thousands of others in thousands of other hospitals. It was important for him to bear that in mind as he explored the lives of a few bad apples.

“Georgina, I want to apologize for giving you such a hard time.”

“Don’t you dare. I thought you comported yourself decently.”

Decker smiled. “That’s nice for you to say. I think I acted like a jerk.”

“Of course you didn’t. If you need anything at all, please call.” Georgina straightened her uniform. “I have to be getting back to work. Keep morale up here.”

“Not an easy task.”

“Simple compared to yours, Detective. Take care of yourself and your beautiful family.”

“Same, Georgina. Thanks for everything.”

The labor nurse gave him a slight wave, and she was off, marching down the hall in a military cadence—a kind and caring woman.

Lourdes was awake and dry-eyed, her attention given over to a young, heavyset Hispanic male. He had a bronze complexion, his cheeks full and smooth. His dark eyes were round and shaded by long lashes, his lips red and wet and topped with a wispy mustache. A chunk of dark whiskers grew from the depression between his lower lip and chin. Beyond that, he had no facial hair. He looked massive compared to tiny Lourdes huddled in her blanket, her face resting against her knees. The teenager was gaunt, her reedy appearance emphasized by long, dark, unwashed hair falling down her face.

The stocky boy looked up at Decker and yelled, “I already told you, man, we ain’t signing any of your shitty papers. Go leave us alone!”

Decker’s eyes went from the boy to Lourdes. Frozen in her position, she hadn’t reacted to the boy’s outburst. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.