In Death 23 - Born in Death

you should give me your name and location. I’ll send a couple of uniforms to pick you up, and you can tell me how you’re not supposed to bother the client when you get down to Cop Central.”
    “Well, jeez. You gotta wait a minute.”
    Eve was put on wait mode while music sweeter than the icing on her cake tinkled in her ear.
    During the ten minutes it played—with periodic computer-generated bulletins assuring her that her call was important—she began a series of probability runs.
    By the time an actual human came back on, she was drinking her second cup of coffee and studying the results.
    “Lieutenant, is it?” The man looked slick and sounded same.
    “That’s right. And you are?”
    “Matt Goodwin. You’re inquiring about the Park and Go on Fifty-eighth?”
    “That’s right. Do you own it?”
    “I represent the corporation that does. What seems to be the problem?”
    “I’m investigating a possible crime in which this lot may be involved. I need the security discs as well as the logs for Thursday last, between eighteen and nineteen hundred hours.”
    “What possible crime?”
    “It’s a Missing Persons matter. I need the discs and the logs as soon as possible.”
    “I believe those discs are dumped every twenty-four, Lieutenant. As for the logs, I assume you have a warrant?”
    “I can get one.”
    “Well, when you do—”
    “And when I do, I’ll see it includes logs for an entire week, as well as a search into the lot’s—and the corporation that owns it—standards and practices. I’ll have to bring you and your client into Central for questioning. Or, you can get me the logs for that single hour of that single day.”
    “Of course my client would want to cooperate with the authorities.”
    “Good for your client.”
    “I’ll have to contact my client, and with their permission, arrange to have the logs you specified copied and made available to you.”
    “You do that. Relay to me at this number where the logs can be picked up. By nine A . M . tomorrow morning.”
    “Lieutenant, it is the weekend.”
    “I’ve heard that. Nine A . M ., or I get that warrant.”
    She clicked off, went back to studying her probability results. Even with the sparse data at her disposal, it was running in the mid-nineties that Tandy Willowby had been target specific.
    Tandy had no criminal record on either side of the Atlantic, no known association with criminal elements. She had a small, tidy nest egg that jibed with someone who lived carefully on the salary she’d pulled in since the onset of employment. Her parents were dead, and from the basic data Eve could access without a warrant, her stepmother and stepsister had no wealth. Middle-income salaries.
    There were no suspicious deposits or withdrawals in Tandy’s accounts that indicated blackmail on either side.
    On the surface it appeared the only thing of true value Tandy owned was what she carried in her womb.
    Playing a hunch, she contacted the owner of the White Stork.
    “Lieutenant Dallas. You’ve found Tandy.”
    “No.”
    “I just don’t understand this.” Liane Brosh was a youthful sixty, with a face strained with concern. “She must have just taken a weekend away. Maybe a quick trip to a spa to rev up before the baby comes.”
    “Did she talk about doing that?”
    “No, not really. I suggested it a couple times, but she always said she was already revved.” Liane smiled weakly. “We had a little shower for her here at the store, and I gave her a gift certificate to a day spa in the city. She said she was saving it until after the baby. But I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she just wanted to get out of the city for the weekend.”
    “Does that strike you as something she’d do?”
    “No, it doesn’t.” Liane sighed. “It doesn’t sound like her at all. I’m so worried.”
    “Can you tell me if anyone came into the store to see her specifically, to speak with her?”
    “Tandy worked with several expectant parents. All the staff is available for personal shopping, for helping with registries, decor, layettes.”
    “How about someone she might’ve worked with, or who might have frequented your shop whose expectations weren’t realized. Miscarriage, for instance.”
    “It does happen. I can’t think of anyone offhand, but I can certainly check the records, ask the other girls.”
    “I appreciate that. Did she ever speak about the baby’s father?”
    “In general, and vaguely. No specifics, and since she