“Marie’s. She loved to camp. She said she could really talk to God in nature. I think she used to go off by herself on weekends and camp. She certainly was good at it. Camping wasn’t for me.”

“What do you mean she was good at camping?”

“Just that she seemed at home in the wilderness. She knew different plants and what you could eat and all that kind of thing. Kind of a survivalist but without the guns. She could use a knife, though. She used to cut her own timber for the campfires. Me? I prefer running water and salad bars, thank you very much.”

Tandy threw back her hair.

“Anything else? I’d really like to get back to work.”

Scribbling hurriedly, Marge finished up, flipped the top cover of her notebook closed, and laid a couple of bucks on the table. “That’s it for now.”

From inside her Honda, Marge watched Tandy return to Silver’s. She picked up the mike, called DMV, and got the make and license of her car—a black 1988 Audi. It took Marge only a few minutes to find it, resting in the back parking lot. Settling her Honda a few rows down from the Audi, Marge waited. After about ten minutes, she shifted in her seat.

If Tandy Roberts was guilty of something, she wasn’t making any sudden moves.

Marge picked up her mike and placed a call to Tujunga Memorial. As expected, the Personnel Office was closed for the day. She called the station and checked for messages. No trace of the baby. Pete had a seven o’clock with Dr. Stan Meecham. He also planned to meet Annie Hennon at the station house’s lab around eight. Seems he had found Bellson’s dentist and X rays. Could she make it?

Marge checked her watch—quarter after seven. Twenty minutes had passed. It appeared that Tandy was going to finish up her building routine. That being the case, she probably wouldn’t be leaving for a while. Reluctantly, Marge convinced herself she had better things to do with her time than sit on her butt chasing an intuition.

She’d make the meeting with Decker and Hennon.

23

A scheduled meeting brought out the nesting instinct in Meecham. When Decker first met the obstetrician, he had showed up at Meecham’s private office. The place had been a mess. This time Meecham had taken care to empty his ashtrays and garbage and neatly stack his charts on his desk. Decker knew the doc must be close to retiring, but he carried his age well. Still trim with a head full of white hair, he had shaved his snowy mustache, and his face was weathered from the sun. His nose was thin and veined. Apparently, he hadn’t given up the hooch. He wore a starched white coat over a maroon shirt and navy tie and held out his hand to Decker.