Chapter 8 - WHERE THEY TOOK HER
After Eleanor’s accidental confession about St. Agnes, Detective Reed obtained an emergency search order.
We drove there before midnight.
I sat in the back of an unmarked police SUV with Noah asleep beside me.
Evelyn sat in front.
Damian and Eleanor were taken separately for questioning.
Neither was formally arrested yet.
Blackwood attorneys were already descending on the police station.
At St. Agnes, staff claimed no infant matching my daughter had ever been admitted.
Reed showed the transport records.
The administrator asked for a lawyer.
That was enough for me.
They searched the building.
I was not allowed inside.
Forty-two minutes later, Reed returned carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a pink hospital bracelet.
L. VALE.
The same name from the photograph.
My hands shook.
“Where is she?”
“Room twelve was cleared about an hour before we arrived.”
“Cleared?”
“Bed stripped. Medical equipment removed. Computer wiped.”
“Where did they take her?”
“We found medication records.”
“What medication?”
Evelyn read the list.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Mara, did anyone tell you about a prenatal heart abnormality?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
Evelyn handed the sheet back to Reed.
“She’s being treated for a congenital cardiac defect.”
My chest tightened.
“How serious?”
“I don’t know without imaging.”
“Could she die?”
Evelyn did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“We need to find her.”
“We will.”
“No. Now.”
Reed crouched beside me.
“Listen to me. Panic makes you predictable. They’re counting on that.”
I hated him for being right.
Then an officer called from inside.
They had found a service invoice.
A private pediatric transport company.
Departure time: 8:16 p.m.
Destination field blank.
But the vehicle ID was listed.
Reed traced it.
The company GPS had been disabled.
The driver’s phone was off.
However, a highway toll camera captured the van heading south.
Toward Manhattan.
For the first time all night, we had direction.
At 1:40 a.m., Damian called me from the police station.
I answered.
“You moved her.”
“No.”
“You knew about St. Agnes.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was alive.”
Silence.
“For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
I closed my eyes.
“Three weeks.”
“Mara—”
“Every night, I held that urn.”
“I know.”
“You watched.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“My mother said if I told you, she would move the baby somewhere we’d never find her.”
“And you believed her.”
“Yes.”
“You chose silence.”
“I was trying to find her.”
“Without me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“You shoved me onto a marble floor.”
His voice broke.
“I lost control.”
“No. You lost control of me.”
Silence.
Then:
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“Mara, there’s something you need to know about Vale.”
“What?”
“I know the name.”
My body went still.
“Who is Vale?”
“Not who.”
He took a breath.
“What.”
I waited.
“Vale House.”
Evelyn turned toward me.
I put the call on speaker.
“What is Vale House?” Reed asked.
Damian heard him.
“A Blackwood property.”
“Where?”
“Upper East Side.”
“Address?”
Damian gave it.
Reed immediately radioed the team.
I stood.
Damian continued.
“My mother used it years ago for private foundation patients.”
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“She made me believe it had been sold.”
“Anything else?”
A pause.
Then Damian said:
“There’s a basement medical suite.”
Reed looked at me.
We were already moving.
At 2:19 a.m., police entered Vale House.
The upstairs rooms were empty.
The basement lights were on.
A cardiac monitor was still running.
An incubator stood near the wall.
Empty.
On the mattress lay a folded pink blanket.
I walked toward it.
Evelyn stopped me.
“Mara.”
There was something beneath the blanket.
A sealed envelope.
My name written across the front.
Inside was a single photograph.
Lila.
Awake this time.
Tiny dark eyes open.
May you like
And behind the photograph, three words:
FORTY-EIGHT HOURS LEFT.
