Lindsay Longford - Dead Calm

A pile of red velvet and bloodied white acrylic lay puddled on the floor of the empty room.

In a cold, driving rain at two in the morning, they found the baby lying in the manger of the Second Baptist Church, directly across the street from Beth Israel, the only synagogue in the tri-county area.

“What the hell,” Finnegan muttered as rain spat into his eyes and seeped down the neck of his yellow slicker.

“Lord have mercy.” Tyree Jones squatted and reached under the rough wood roof of the manger. His broad dark hand touched the cradle, hesitated. Rain dripped from the edges of the straw spilling over the edges of the cradle. “Shoot, man, it’s a baby, that’s what.”

The spotlight in the shelter shone down on the baby. Chocolate-brown eyes stared back at them.

“I can see it’s a baby, Tyree, an Asian baby, in fact. The punk knifed my shoulder. Not my eyes. What’s a baby doing here?”

“All right, I’ll play.” Tyree’s forefinger brushed against the baby’s cheek. “What?”

“Damn it to hell, Tyree. Get the kid out of there. It’s got to be freezing.” Finnegan rolled his shoulders, easing the ache of the stitches, and stooped down beside Tyree.

“She’s not an it, Judah. She’s an itty-bitty baby girl, that’s what she is.” Tyree said as Finnegan bent over him and scooped her up with one hand, tucking the pink Winnie-the-Pooh sheet around her. “What a pretty girl you are, too, honey,” Tyree cooed. “Now why’d somebody go off and leave you here all by your lonesome, huh?” Tyree poked his face close to the silent baby.

Coming at them sideways now, the rain sliced against Finnegan’s face and drizzled under his slicker. “Go back to the car and get the blanket. She needs to be kept warm—”

“Judah,” Tyree said patiently as he rose to his full six feet three, “I have babies of my own. I know what to do.”

“Yeah, reckon you do, all right.” Holding the baby in a football grip, Finnegan shot him a wicked grin.

“Well, shoot, that too.” Tyree grinned back and loped toward their unit parked on the sidewalk. “Making babies is part of the re-ward, you know?”

“Kids? A reward? I don’t know. All those late nights and early mornings. Diapers and all that—”

“Be the same if I still worked patrol. I’d still have late nights, early mornings. More fun my way,” Tyree called back as he dashed toward their unmarked car.

Finnegan hunched forward, keeping the baby under the manger roof and near the warmth of the spotlight. “Got a story to tell, don’t you?” he said to her before looking off into the shadows at the sides of the church.

Rain glistened against the stained-glass windows. The branches of the huge banyan tree on the right side of the church lifted with the wind. Rain drummed the wide leaves and streamed to the ground. “You sure didn’t walk here by yourself.”

Considering him carefully, the baby’s eyes followed his face.

“Not very talkative? Can’t say I blame you.” Judah looked toward the unit, turning carefully so he wouldn’t slop water from his slicker onto the baby. “Not a fit night for dogs to be out. Much less you.” He looked away from the solemn face. Sheesh. Somebody dumping a baby on a night like this. On any night. What a world. First the undercover Santa lookout earlier in the evening, now this. No wonder a cop’s job was never done.

In the blaze of the car’s dome light, he could see Tyree speaking into the mike, shaking his head.

Huffing back, Tyree pulled the cotton blanket out from under his slicker and tossed it to Finnegan. “Nobody’s reported a lost baby tonight. Nothing but an anonymous call into dispatch saying we should check out the prowlers at the Second Baptist.”

“Prowlers?” Judah looked off into the darkness of the wind-whipped trees and back down at the unprotesting lump in his arms. “Funny kind of call, don’t you think? No prowler left this package.”

“Nope. Probably the mom. Not wanting to leave our little darlin’ completely alone.”

“You’re figuring it was the mom, then?”

“Most likely. Some kind of twisted maternal instinct.”

“Could be. I don’t know.” Judah stared back at Tyree’s face gleaming with rain and shadowy reflections. “Prowler? That’s an odd word choice, isn’t it? I think a mother abandoning her kid would refer to the kid as ‘my baby.’ ‘My child.’ Something, anyway, that would give a heads-up about an infant. But not prowler. It would be interesting to find out who made the call.”

“Going to worry it like a dawg with a bone, aren’t you? I swear, you think too much sometimes, Judah.” Tyree swiped rain out of his eyes. “Anyway, my man, whatever, whoever, our orders are to have li’l missy here checked out at our fine medical facility. Guess we’ll be making another run to your favorite establishment.” He sent Finnegan a sly, sideways look. “Some nights just don’t get any better, do they? This one’s been a world-beater. Got to play Santa, saved a baby, and now you get to revisit your favorite doc.”

“We haven’t been riding together long enough for you to go there, Tyree. Back off.”

White teeth sparkled as the big man gave him a huge grin. “So? I got my opinions. You gonna beat me up because I say what I see, Judah? You with that baby slung under your arm like you’re ready to gallop into some end zone? Huh? You think you can take me?” His grin glinted again as he did a little two-step in the rain, his arms moving in a smooth rhythm. He tapped Judah lightly on the chest, the shoulder. “Bring it on, then.”

“Oh, go to hell, Tyree.” Hunching over and draping his slicker across the baby, Finnegan stomped off toward the car.

“It’s a wonder Yvonna hasn’t whomped you upside the head, you know that?”

“Hey, I’m Yvonna’s sweet-talking man.” He slid under the steering wheel, fired up the engine, and slammed the door.

The baby jerked in Finnegan’s arms. He laid his hand lightly across her forehead. Too warm.

“Sorry ’bout that, baby girl. Didn’t mean to spook you.” The low velvet of Tyree’s words moved through the darkness, easing the sudden tension. Not looking at Judah, Tyree added quietly, “We got to talk about George sometime. You know we do.”

“No. We do not.”

“Fine. Be a jackass. But I’ll still be your partner.”

Finnegan clipped his seat belt in place and settled the still-silent child into his arm. “That can be changed, too, Tyree.”

“Partners share, Judah. That’s all I’m saying. We’ve partnered for four months now. And you don’t share. Ever. Hard enough being a black cop in this town without wondering if my partner’s gonna be at my back.”

For a long moment there was only the hiss of the heavy tires and the sound of the rain beating against the windows. Finnegan ran the back of his forefinger over the baby’s cheek and stared out at the neon lights sliding past in the darkness. The slap-slap of the windshield wipers punctuated the silence.

He sighed. “I’ve got your back, Tyree.”

“Okay, then.” Tyree let out a sigh of his own. “Didn’t mean to push so hard.”

“Yeah, you did.” Finnegan scooched down farther into his seat, adjusting the quiet infant against him. “You realize you’re plumb irritatin’, don’t you?”

“Hell, yes.” Tyree’s smile was quick and open. “Part of my charm.”

“Whoever said that was a damned fool.”

“Hey, man, don’t you go insulting my Yvonna, hear?” They slid to a stop under the protected entrance of Poinciana’s ER. Water spurted onto the side windows. “Not if you want any more of her potato salad.”

“Well, there you go then. Obviously Yvonna, a woman of brilliance and charm of her own, has adopted you as her very own charity case, Tyree. That’s the only explanation.” Yanking the hood of his slicker up with one hand, Finnegan hoisted the blanket over the baby, tucked her under his rain gear and slid out of the car. As he did, he added, “But in spite of her unfortunate taste in husbands, I sure do admire that woman’s potato salad.”