“Well, obviously we know that,” I say. “Where the hell is everybody? The mother? The baby?”

Please have a good answer. Please don’t let this be another problem. This one would be an explosion heard round the world. A famous couple—a famous model, a football hero—a beautiful new baby…

Then Tracy Anne says, “The Waldren family has been moved to Darlow 12-L. They’re up there now. The whole gang of them, the big crazy entourage.”

“We should have guessed it. The fancy-ass Darlow floor,” I say. Then I ask Tracy Anne, “When did this all happen? Why doesn’t anyone know about it? Why don’t I know about it? Why doesn’t Dr. Sarkar at least know about it?”

Tracy Anne shrugs. She’s not being arrogant. It’s a shrug that seems to indicate that the entire change of rooms was way out of her control. Then she says, “They did it sort of privately. You know, discreetly. At least that’s what I was told.”

Sarkar closes his eyes. Then he speaks softly. “Khuda ka shukr hai,” he says. Then Dr. Sarkar opens his eyes.

I say, “What’s that mean?”

He translates for us: “Thank God.”

“Thank God is right,” I say, and I feel an enormous amount of anger well up inside me.

Time for another rant.

“This hospital is exploding. Nothing’s working. Babies are being kidnapped. A woman is viciously assaulted. Now this, a whole group of people change rooms and there’s not even a record of the change. This is insane.”

“I understand how you feel, Lucy. But the staff are not miracle workers. And we must trust Detective Blumenthal is doing his best,” says Sarkar.

Just before I turn and walk away from the doctor I say, “Yeah? Well, he’s going to be doing a lot better once he hears from me.”

And for the first time it strikes me: why is Rudi Sarkar such a supporter and defender of Leon Blumenthal?

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

I RUN DOWN THE back stairs to the second floor, the floor where the temporary NYPD/FBI headquarters has replaced the residents’ cafeteria. As I take the stairs two at a time, I consider what I might say to Blumenthal, my opening salvo. I quickly settle upon “I am sick and tired of this bullshit.”

I stop at the entrance. I take in the whole chaotic room—lots of empty Starbucks cups, crappy-looking doughnuts (the cheap little minis with confectioner’s sugar), and of course lots of officers and agents on laptops. It looks like a lot is going on. But my mind says, You sure as hell wouldn’t know it by the lack of progress on the case.

“Detective Blumenthal,” I say loudly as I approach his table. He is, as always, tapping away at his laptop.