“No, she’s right,” says Troy. He realizes the hideous deception. “Our baby had lots of black hair. This here baby has lots of hair, but not nearly as much as our baby. And this baby’s hair is definitely brown, dark brown, but brown isn’t black.”

Alarms sound throughout the floor, throughout the hospital.

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

KEESHA CHECKS HER COMPUTER screen while two other nurses quickly check the wristbands on the other babies in the nursery, all of whom are awake and screeching.

Why is crying contagious?

“You’re right, Lucy. The alarm system is down,” Keesha says.

I look through the viewing window and see that the hallway outside is quickly filling up with security guards, patients, pregnant women, smiling visitors, NYPD officers, nurses, doctors. It’s Macy’s on Christmas Eve. It’s hell on earth.

In a few minutes Dr. Sarkar is pushing his way through the crowd. He’s wearing sneakers, navy-blue nylon shorts that go down to his knees, and a sweat-stained white T-shirt. It’s obvious to me that he’s just come from the hospital gym. Funny when you see someone out of uniform—in this case, no rep tie, no Paul Stuart blazer—he can seem so different, so like a stranger.

I tell Sarkar what’s just happened, and his face flushes with horror and fear. Then he immediately examines the baby’s wristband.

I, of course, am becoming very panicky and a little angry. Nothing ever happens fast enough for my liking.

“For Chrissake, Rudi. Don’t you think we’ve already looked at the wristbands? We assume the wristband ID monitor is down.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he says. Then he begins unfastening the baby’s shoulder brace. “So this is not the Morabito infant,” Sarkar says. “Then who is it?”

Jesus Christ! That’s a good question.

Fortunately, Keesha has a good answer. “We’re pretty certain it’s the Fontaine baby. We’re going to do a blood test and match footprints and fingerprints in a minute.”

“This brace wasn’t even put on properly,” Sarkar declares as he hastily pulls it off. “And it’s too big. Not that it matters here.”

“The nurse on duty said that you were the one who brought the doctor to apply the brace,” I say.

“I did,” he says. “I brought one of the residents. Veronica somebody or other. I don’t recall her last name.”

I am about to say the obvious, that we can immediately find out Veronica’s last name. But Sarkar is clearly concerned about the crisis in front of us right now.

“Lucy, make yourself useful and call Detective Blumenthal,” he says.

A police officer standing right next to Sarkar hears Sarkar’s request and says, “Don’t bother. Detective Blumenthal already knows. He’s on his way.”

So much for making myself useful.