“The abandoned baby’s mother?”

I nodded.

“That’s odd.”

“I thought so. Probably one of those weird coincidences. Anyway, since I’ve already been to the place and dealt with some of the people there, I think I should go and find out about Belinda Syracuse. If she is the victim, it’s only proper to give her an identity.”

“You’re not a Homicide detective, Cindy.” Oliver found that necessary to point out.

“But you are. So come with me.” I added, “Both you and Marx.”

Koby said, “If you’re going to work, then I will go to the hospital with the children. Since I’ve been with them from the start, I’m familiar with their medical conditions. I might have something useful to contribute.”

“Koby’s a—” I started again. “Yaakov’s a critical-care nurse at Mid-City Peds.”

“Very dedicated,” Oliver said.

“You do your job, I do mine.” Koby regarded me. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Koby, honest.” I stood up to prove the point. “Hayley will drive me to your place so I can pick up my car.” I kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Go. We’ll talk later.”

“Maybe I’ll talk to you later, too,” Oliver told him. “Decker here is a little sketchy on the details.”

Koby gave him the full force of his jeweled eyes. “I’m sure she remembers more than I do. But I will help you if I can.” He turned and jogged back.

Moments passed. It was late and I was spent and impatient. “The officers can wait with the body for Hollywood Homicide. Are we going or not?”

Oliver shrugged. Hayley took my arm and together we walked to Oliver’s Beemer.

I sat in the backseat, giving out directions but otherwise mute. Hayley didn’t push it, but Scott made some weak stab at chitchat, which mercifully died a natural death. I was livid at Scott, but I was trying very hard not to let the anger interfere with professionalism.

No traffic on the streets, just a misty fog that haloed road lights and turned Sunset into a blurred snapshot. We raced down the boulevard, the hour too late for even the dealers and hookers. Not a soul stirred, although we passed an occasional lump of covers on a bus bench. For all we knew, the body underneath could have been dead. The stillness was freaky, even to the most ardent of night owls, and time took on a surreal context. We made it to the Fordham Communal Center in less than fifteen minutes.

I rapped on the door, and it took several minutes to get a response. Once we did, I announced to the scared voice on the other side that we were the police. I’d never met the woman who answered. She was quite tall, swathed in a terry-cloth robe, her short dark hair sticking out at all angles, having been attacked by static electricity. She squinted when I showed her my badge, did the same when Hayley and Oliver showed theirs.