Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

“This is one ill girl.”

“ ‘Belinda Syracuse.’ ” Hayley read the inscription in the beam of light. “Think it’s her?”

I took out my cell phone, my heart thumping in my chest. “There’s one way to find out.” As I phoned the number, I had an eerie sense of déjà vu. Then I began to sweat, thinking about what I’d say to whoever answered the phone at three-thirty in the morning. After three rings, a machine kicked in. When the recorded voice told me who was on the other end of the line, I gasped and dropped the phone. It bounced several times but didn’t break.

The wonders of modern technology.

Ifinally tookOliver’s advice and sat down, because had I remained on my feet, I would have passed out. Hayley kept asking me questions. I could hear her voice but couldn’t understand the words because my head was still spinning. Eventually, things began to register.

“… you okay? Do you need water?”

“I’m fine!” I insisted.

The excitement in her voice attracted Oliver’s attention. He jogged over.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Hayley said. “Decker called up the number on the dog tag. Then she dropped the phone.”

“What dog tag?”

I showed Oliver the strip of metal that Hayley and I had found in the bushes. “The phone number on the tag is for Fordham Communal Center for the Developmentally Disabled. If the hit-and-run victim is this woman Belinda Syracuse, then in the famous words of Yogi Berra, ‘It’s déjà vu all over again.’ ”

“What the hell does that mean?” Oliver barked.

“Can you give me a minute to catch my breath?” I snapped back.

The two of them waited, staring at me. Despite Oliver’s incredible rudeness and brusque manner, there was concern in his eyes. He told me to take my time.

I said, “The baby that I plucked from the trash? The mother was a resident of the same center… the Fordham Center…”

They continued to study my face. Oliver said, “And…”

“Well, don’t you think it’s a big coincidence?”

Oliver held out his hands as if he were balancing scales. “Yeah… I suppose.”

I suddenly felt inane. What was the big deal?

“What?” Oliver asked. “You think they’re related? Tell me. I’m listening.”

“I don’t know.”

“So what are you getting all hysterical about?”

“I don’t know, Oliver, maybe it’s the shock of seeing a fellow human being batted around like a shuttlecock!”

I was talking louder than I thought. Koby shouted out, “Are you okay, Cindy?”

“I’m fine,” I yelled back. “Just having a spirited debate!”

My voice was razor sharp. Koby gesticulated to one of the paramedics, then sprinted over. Someone had provided him with a blue short-sleeved scrub top. He took in my face, his eyes also concerned. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” I pointed to my companions, one at a time. “This is Officer Marx, also from Hollywood PD… Homicide Detective Scott Oliver.”

“Yaakov Kutiel.” He lifted up his bloodied gloves. “Forgive the lack of handshake.”

Oliver nodded.

Koby directed his attention to me. “Do you need me to take you home right now?”

“I can take her home if you’re busy,” Oliver volunteered.

I cringed. If our past wasn’t obvious before, it sure was now.

Koby spoke before I could. “No, that’s fine.”

“Just that you looked kinda busy,” Oliver said.

I said, “What I really need to do is go over to the Fordham Communal Center and find out if Belinda Syracuse is sleeping in a bed or not.” I showed Koby the dog tag. He read the information but didn’t touch it. “I found this in the bushes. The number corresponds to the Fordham Center, the same school that Sarah Sanders went to.”

“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.

I started the ball rolling. “I’m very sorry to disturb you, ma’am. We have a couple of questions regarding Belinda Syracuse. We understand she lives here.”

“Belinda?” The woman was confused. “Belinda’s a good girl. What did she do?”

“Is she with you now?” I asked.

“No, she’s out on a weekend pass to visit her brother. May I ask what this is all about?”

I showed her the dog tag. The woman gasped. “What happened to her?”

“We’re not sure. That’s why we’re here.” Oliver walked across the threshold, into the house. We followed, glad to be out of the chill. “Right now, we need the name and phone number of Belinda’s brother.”

“May I please see your badge again?” the woman asked.

Because the lights were so dim, Oliver held it up to her face. “I know this must be upsetting. The sooner you give us the information, the sooner we’ll be able to tell you something.”

“I’ve been to the center before,” I added. “With the Sarah Sanders case.”