Whirlwind

27

Duncanville, Texas

Most of the trees lining James Collins Boulevard had survived the storm.

As Kate drove by them, she took a hit of water from her bottle, parked, then went into the Duncanville Recreation Center, which was serving as an emergency shelter.

One more on the list and I’m getting farther and farther away from the flea market. Don’t expect to learn anything here.

“Hi.” Kate presented her ID to one of the older women at the entrance information table. “Kate Page. I’m a reporter with Newslead.”

“And how can we help you?” The woman smiled over her bifocals.

“I’m doing a story on a family searching for their baby who went missing in the storm.”

“Goodness, there’ve been so many tragedies. Too many.”

“Would you mind if I walked around, talked to people in the shelter to see if anybody might know something connected to this case?”

“By all means, if it’ll help.”

“Thanks. Maybe I could start with you and your people at the table here? I’m guessing you see everybody that comes in for help.”

“We sure do.”

Kate reached into her bag for her notebook, recorder and a flyer Frank Rivera’s people had distributed for the Cooper case. She summarized the circumstances of what happened at the Saddle Up Center in the Old Southern Glory Flea Market. As the older woman studied the flyer, she flagged the attention of other nearby volunteers.

Kate ran through the details on the strangers who’d helped Jenna Cooper. “They were a white couple in their twenties. The woman had short spiky red hair, a low-cut top, jeans and maybe a tattoo below her neck of a butterfly or bird,” she said. “The man was about six feet, muscular build. He had jeans and a T-shirt with a motorcycle or a dog, tattoos on his arms, possibly flames. and stubble. He was kind of soft-spoken.”

The women started shaking their heads.

“They might’ve been traveling with the baby,” Kate added, sensing that it was going to be futile.

“We’ve helped a lot of people with babies,” the woman said, “but I don’t recall anyone fitting those descriptions. But then, my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“We had that couple with the baby yesterday morning,” a ponytailed teenage girl standing behind the woman said.

“That’s right, Mary Jo, and you helped them.”

“How old was the baby?” Kate asked the teen.

“Six months, a year,” Mary Jo said. “They said it had a bump on the head from the storm, and I took them to the medical unit. But the woman had dark hair and glasses.”

“That’s right,” the older woman said, remembering. “They said they were from out of state. The young fella did.”

Kate bit down on her bottom lip, thinking. “Maybe I’ll talk to the people in the medical unit.”

“It’s down that way,” Mary Jo said.

Heading to the area, Kate cast a glance to the activity in the double gymnasium. The floor was lined with rows of cots for people who’d lost their homes. The medical unit, with its curtained treatment stations and waiting area with folding chairs was not busy when she arrived.

Kate identified herself to a young woman in her twenties named Maggie Prentice. She was holding a clipboard, and Kate figured her to be a coordinating assistant.

Kate explained the situation, reciting details by rote.

“That’s terrible,” Maggie said. “But nothing comes to mind. We’ve treated so many people since we set up here after the storm.”

“I see. Well, the other volunteers up front had mentioned that a couple came to you yesterday with a baby, six months to a year old for treatment for a bump on the head. Can you tell me anything about them?”

Maggie unconsciously moved the clipboard in front of her, hugging it, shielding its contents as if they were a secret.

“We have to respect patient confidentiality, so we really couldn’t tell you anything.”

“What’s this about?”

A woman in her thirties wearing a flowered smock, her hair in a bun, and a stethoscope around her neck, emerged, exuding authority and sipping coffee from a mug.

“I’m Kate Page, a reporter with Newslead.”

“Dr. Charlene Butler. What is it you’re looking for?”

Kate launched into another round of explanation, ending it by giving a flyer to the doctor, who studied it for a long moment, convincing Kate that she was actually absorbing the information.

“We’ve seen nothing that fits this,” Butler said. “Even if we did, we couldn’t disclose patient information. It’s confidential.”

“I respect that,” Kate said. “I also understand that the Missing Person Emergency Search System is working with shelters, hospitals and search-and-rescue efforts.”

“Absolutely. We’ve had several cases of dislocated and disoriented patients brought here from other disaster sites and we’ve alerted the Search System folks. It’s resulted in a couple of happy reunions.”

Kate nodded.

“Did you talk with the Missing Persons team?” Butler asked. “They’re set up across the floor here.”

“I will, but could you tell me in generic terms-no names or addresses, that kind of thing-about the baby you treated yesterday and the couple?”

Butler smiled a warm friendly smile. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I guess not. I feel pretty connected to this story.”

“Okay, let me see.” Butler exhaled and glanced to the ceiling. “Well, in generic terms, not disclosing names, that baby was three months old. A big three months.”

Kate nodded, taking notes. “And the mother and father?”

“Twenties, but no red hair on the mom. Dark hair and glasses.”

“What about the father-any tattoos?”

“I didn’t see any. Did you, Maggie?”

Maggie shook her head.

“Look,” Butler said. “I think this is futile.”

“Well, I’m just checking,” Kate said. “Are you sure there’s nothing more about them that sticks with you?”

“No. Well, there was-” She started then stopped. “No.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It has to be something.”

“There was something just a bit off about them.”

“What do you mean?”

“First, the baby was big for three months. I would’ve bet he was older.”

“Like five months?”

“Could be five, yes.”

“Anything else?”

“She said she had him on solids, which I thought odd for a baby that age. And when I asked about how the baby got the little scrape on his head the mother seemed detached, vague, only for a moment.”

“What do you make of that?”

“Could’ve been trauma from the storm. We’ve seen a lot of that.”

Kate thought for a moment. “Do you remember what the baby was wearing when you treated him?”

“A romper. A white one.”

“It had stripes,” the younger woman said.

“Blue?”

“I don’t know.”

Kate stared at Maggie, then the doctor, piecing the details together, processing their potential meaning.

This could be nothing. This could be everything.

“Can you tell me anything more, about where they’re staying or where they went? I understand they were from out of state.”

The two women looked at each other.

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor said. “Confidentiality comes into play. Besides, your case happened in Wildhorse Heights. That’s what, twenty miles from here? What are the odds of the baby coming here with strangers?”

“I think they left the baby’s romper here,” the younger woman said.

“What do you mean, they left it?” Kate asked. “Left it where?”

Maggie nodded to an area across the floor.

“After they were done with us, they went to the section where people had donated clothes. I walked behind them to get a tea on my break.”

“What did they do with the romper?”

“I think they tossed it and took some donated clothes for the baby. It had bloodstains on it, right, Doctor?”

“Bloodstains?” Kate asked.

“Very tiny, from the scrape on the head,” Butler said. “The baby must have touched his head then himself.”

“Show me where they left the romper. I need to find it.”

Maggie led Kate and Butler to the tables against the wall that were topped with heaps of children’s clothes in boxes, plastic baskets and tubs. She took them to the area marked Baby 0-12 Months.

“I’m pretty sure I saw them leave it here yesterday and select some new clothes, but then I walked by fast.”

Kate began sifting through the containers starting with the first one at the end of the row. When she saw that Maggie and Butler had joined her, she repeated the details.

“It would be a white romper with blue stripes and a little elephant on it. The details are in the flyer.”

In all, Kate estimated about twenty containers each the size of a laundry basket. Guided by the romper’s colors they went through them all quickly.

Their search yielded nothing.

Kate absorbed the setback and was in the process of thanking Butler and Maggie for their help when a weary-looking woman hefted a tub from the table.

“Excuse me. Are all the donated clothes kept here?” Kate asked.

“No, we have another table along that wall there for laundry. It takes time but we wash them all first. See that line of baskets?” The woman gestured and Kate saw six hampers.

“Yes.”

“Those have not been washed yet. Did you need to go through them?”

“Yes.” Kate and the others rushed to the table.

Butler saw it first-a blue-and-white pattern bulging from the first basket’s lower ribbing. Carefully, she extracted a balled romper, unfurled it and held it up. It was white with blue stripes and had a little elephant on it. She looked at the tiny browned bloodstains.

“This is it,” she said.

Kate’s pulse quickened. She pulled her phone from her bag.

“I need to make some calls. No, wait. First I need to take a picture of this romper and send it to someone. Could you please hold it up again, Doctor?”