“Apparently.” But Danielle was frowning again. She and the MC exchanged troubled looks, and D.D.’s cop radar flared. Something was definitely up with the unit. Given that the pediatric psych ward was now the common denominator between two heinous crimes, D.D. and her detectives planned on turning this place inside out, and searching for a missing kid was a great place to start. Gave them extenuating circumstances to poke their noses in every nook and cranny, and see what was to be seen. Save a kid, expose a psych ward. Night was looking up.

“We’ll need to see your security video,” D.D. announced.

“We don’t have cameras.”

“You don’t have surveillance? A place like this, with these types of kids and God knows what type of parents? Please, surveillance cameras are for your own protection in this day and age of lunatic lawsuits.”

“We don’t have cameras,” Danielle repeated. “We have a checks system: a staff member assigned to write down the location and activity of every child every five minutes. One, that enables us to keep tabs on all the kids so, in theory, this kind of thing doesn’t happen. Two, it provides a written record so that six months from now, when a child or parent suddenly alleges inappropriate behavior, we can verify that the child was indeed safe and accounted for during the alleged time. The system has worked well for us.”

“Until tonight.”

“Until Lucy,” the nurse murmured. She hesitated, then added, “Lucy’s a primal child. She has no social awareness, no sense of her own humanity. Since coming here, she’s adopted the persona of a house cat. That seems to keep her calm. If that illusion gets shattered, however, she becomes violent and unpredictable.” The nurse raised her dark curtain of hair, revealing a string of fresh purple bruises on her neck. “I would consider her a threat to herself and/or others.”

“Damn,” D.D. breathed. She felt some of her earlier euphoria dim.

“If you find her,” Danielle continued, letting her hair fall back down, “don’t approach her. Dealing with her is our job, and trust me, you’re not qualified. Do you understand?”

“We’re not total idiots,” D.D. said, which was neither an affirmation nor a denial about approaching the child. “All right, we’ll split into pairs. We’ll work each floor of the medical center, top to bottom, and ask hospital security to work bottom to top.”

“I’ll be assisting,” Danielle said tightly.

“Me, too,” the gym coach chimed in. He glanced at Danielle, face grim. “Buddies, remember?”

Another look exchanged between them. Personal relationship: D.D. would stake her job on it.

“Our nurse manager, Karen, will help, too. She should be here in”—Danielle glanced at her watch—“another twenty minutes or so.”