“To whom?” Kateri asks the first nurse.

“I’m sorry?” she asks.

“To whom was Jane Doe released?” Kateri asks, her voice rising. “And what happened to the officer outside her room?” She feels the heat creeping up her neck, her hair tingling, the metal taste of shame and fear on her tongue. “The child is a witness in an active investigation,” Kateri says. “She can’t leave without my knowing.”

“Were you here?” the first nurse asks the other.

The second nurse nods, chewing a piece of candy she’s taken out of the crystal dish on the counter. Behind them on the wall and along the edge of the counter, they’ve put up Halloween decorations, smiling vampires and skulls.

“Guy from the county,” she says. “Appointed legal guardian.”

“And the officer?” Kateri asks.

“The overnight guy,” she says, “Officer Dillon.” She blushes when she says his name. “He left at eight,” she says, “but no one came in to replace him. He said they were notified of her transfer instead.”

“I was not notified of her transfer, see?” Kateri says, her fingers pronged out on her breastbone. “That’s the problem. Who was the man from the county? From DSS?” she asks. “Did he show identification?”

“He was tall,” the nurse says, “and wearing a suit.” As if that helps, Kateri thought. “He signed,” the nurse says.

“May I see the signature, please?” Kateri asks.

The nurse riffles through the files from the day.

“This is an active investigation,” Kateri says again. “That has become a murder investigation. In case you want to ID me,” she adds. She unfolds her badge.

“Oh, Detective,” the nurse says, and laughs. “We all know who you are.”

“What did he look like?” Kateri asks, and fears that she sounds as desperate as she feels.

The nurse shrugs and grabs a second piece of candy. “Sorry,” she says then, “this is my dinner.” Then she adds, “Tall, dark hair.” She frowns a little, self-deprecating. “Super good-looking.”

“How old?” Kateri asks.

“Old,” she says. “I don’t know, like forty?”

Kateri pushes her tongue between her front teeth to keep from clamping down.

The second nurse pulls the folder and opens it to show Kateri but won’t hand it over to her. The signature is illegible. A long flourish, its tail like a comet dragging off to the right.

Kateri calls the Department of Social Services from her car in the parking lot at Mercy while it pours on her windshield, the rain on her roof like a jackhammer.

“Kateri Fisher,” she says to the case manager she spoke with yesterday, Emilia Ward. “Who checked out Jane Doe? Sparrow Annie Jenkins,” she says, “from the Jenkins investigation. From Mercy Hospital.”

“No one,” Emilia says. “I have a caseworker from Catholic Charities coming to meet her tomorrow.”

“No,” Kateri says. “Someone picked her up.”

“She is still admitted,” Emilia says.

“No,” Kateri says, louder, over the rain, trying as hard as she can not to start yelling. “She is not admitted,” she says. “I am at Mercy Hospital right now. She is gone,” Kateri says. “With someone who says he was her legal guardian.”