I head for the employees’ entrance. Only two officers are there. Inside I have to show my hospital ID to two different check-in detectives. I also get to be frisked (first time that’s ever happened here) by a woman with a security wand. The rear entrance lobby is crowded with the usual mix of nurses and orderlies and doctors.

“Over here,” I hear, Tracy Anne’s voice.

I quickly find her face in the group. She’s standing with Dr. Sarkar. He’s wearing his white coat with his official badge: R SARKAR, CHIEF OB-GYN.

“What the hell’s happened now?” I ask. I’m ashamed to admit that I wish I had worn my contacts.

Tracy Anne looks bad—bad under any conditions but particularly bad for her. Her hair, which is always, always, always perfect, is a total grease-bag of loose ends and frizz. Tracy Anne and Sarkar look at each other. Then Tracy Anne looks at me.

“You haven’t heard?” she half asks, half states.

“Two more infants have gone missing,” adds Sarkar.

Anger erupts in me. “‘Gone missing’ sounds like the newborns got up and walked out on their own. Don’t use those words. Call it what the media calls it. Say they’ve been kidnapped or stolen.”

“Lucy, you’re exhausted. From last night at the cemetery,” Sarkar says.

Before he can continue, I say, “Last night? How the hell do you know about last night?”

“Leon Blumenthal told me,” he says.

Tracy looks away from the two of us, as if she’s heard something she should not have heard. I’ll have this confidentiality argument in a moment, but for now I have a more important question.

“Does Blumenthal know about this latest kidnapping yet?” I ask.

“Yes, we called him immediately, around three thirty this morning, when the incident was reported to Security,” says Sarkar.

So Blumenthal knew about this while he was watching me with Orlov and Nina. He knew this when he was hugging me and congratulating me, when he told me I had been “absolutely terrific.” And then Bobby Cilia drove me home while Blumenthal rushed back to GUH to jump into the new kidnapping investigation. And I was snoozing alongside The Duke in my apartment? Son of a bitch!

“Who are the babies? Who are the mothers? What’s the situation?” I say as fiercely as I can.

“They’re twins,” says Tracy Anne. “Twin boys. They came in at good weights. They were a planned C-section because they were a multiple. You know the mother, Dolly Korest. She and the husband are…like…like…your perfect Upper East Side couple. They’re—”

Sarkar jumps in. “The Korests are apoplectic, as you might expect.”

“Yeah, as I might expect,” I say.