Vital Signs

“It was touch-and-go as to whether David would pull through, but looks as if he’s on the mend now. He’s in St. Joe’s—got out of intensive care this morning and was transferred to the pediatric ward. Harry Larue is the attending pediatrician.”

Poor little kid. Intense compassion, deep sadness and bitter anger ate at Roy’s gut, the way it always did when an innocent child was the victim of neglect. Along with the other emotions came resignation. This was, after all, social work—the job he’d chosen. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that he was having second thoughts. It went without saying that he’d do the best he could for David Riggs.

He went through the mental checklist of what needed to be done, then asked Marty where matters stood, how much Larissa had already waded through.

In cases like this, what had to happen immediately was legal removal of the child from the parent, for the boy’s protection. Larissa had taken the proper steps; the boy was now a ward of the ministry. Unfortunately that was about all she’d done.

Roy needed to talk to the kid’s doctor, the firemen who’d found him, and anyone else who’d been on the scene or knew anything about Shannon and David Riggs. It had to be done immediately, because firefighters and police were busy people, and he wanted to know what their impressions were while they were still fresh in their minds.

It was also important to go see the boy himself, so that he had a feeling for the little person, instead of just a name in a file. It was his policy to do that stat.

“We’ve managed to keep this out of the headlines so far, only because of that double murder. Be prepared for reporters, though. They’ll be after you because of your involvement in the Sieberg affair.”

Tragedy, Marty, Roy wanted to say. The Sieberg tragedy, where the authorities sent a little boy back to his birth mother and he died. But he held his tongue. What did semantics matter when the kid was dead?

“Better refer them to me,” his team leader said. Marty wasn’t a bad guy, but he was a publicity hound who longed to see his name in print. He’d resented the press coverage Roy had gotten during the Sieberg trial. Roy just resented the press coverage.

“Gladly.” He’d had enough run-ins with the papers to last him a lifetime.

So much for tonight’s family dinner. He wasn’t going to be able to stay long. He’d just drop off the gift for his sister Dana and then get to work. Nicole could get a ride home with someone else easily enough.

He’d been looking forward to dinner, though. He was famished. Maybe Jennifer would take pity on him and make him up a plate of food to carry with him.

“Okay, Marty, I’ll get on this right away.”

“Thanks, Roy.” Marty added with gallows humor, “Have a good evening.”

Roy glanced at his watch. Jennifer had said the birthday dinner was at seven-thirty. If he got out of here in five minutes, and if Nicole was ready when he got to her place—a big if, since his sister wasn’t often on time—he could just about manage a quick stop at St. Joe’s to see the boy. It was on the way to Jennifer’s house, anyway, he rationalized.

Well, almost. Ten minutes out of the way, give or take.

He shrugged into his jacket, ran a brush through his hair—he was two weeks past a date with his barber—and was out the door with a minute to spare.

Things seemed to be going well for a change, because there was a parking spot right in front of Nicole’s condo. Roy swung his aging blue Toyota into it and sprinted to the entrance. He punched in her code number and waited impatiently until she buzzed the door open.

Nicole was standing at the door to her condo. She tipped her lovely face up so he could kiss her cheek.

“Hey, handsome, love your suit. Is it new?”

“Vintage. Just had it dry-cleaned. Those guys do wonders.” It was an old joke. She’d seen the suit many times before. Nicole was a clothes freak, and she liked to tease him about his total lack of interest in his wardrobe.

“You look as gorgeous as ever,” he complimented her. He studied her and hazarded a pretty safe guess. “New dress?”

She nodded. “First time out. I’m testing it on you guys and then I’m going to wear it when that hunk of an airline pilot takes me to dinner on Saturday. Think it’s too dressy for a family birthday party?”

“Not at all. It’s a good color on you.”

Nicole burst into giggles. “Roy, its black, you idiot.”

“So?” He feigned hurt. “It’s still a good color on you. But then, any color would be a good color on you.”

It was the truth. His sister was stunning. At five-eleven, she was just three inches shorter than he was, with long, straight, gleaming blond hair. She had the slender figure of a fashion model and a mind like a high-speed computer, and under that golden tan were the muscles of an Amazon. Tonight she was wearing spiky heels, so they were nearly eye to eye.

Nicole was warm and funny and vulnerable. Out of three sisters and two brothers, she was his favorite sibling, a go-for-the-jugular divorce lawyer who dreamed of being a landscape architect. She fantasized about living in a cottage on acres of land where she could grow tomatoes and babies, but for convenience’ sake she lived in a condo with a postage stamp for a yard.

Single, as he was. Searching, which he assured himself he wasn’t.

She reached up and smoothed his hair back. “You could use a haircut, or are you going for that killer ponytail look? Crooked nose, dimple in your chin—you might just get away with it.”

He scowled at her. “It’s not a dimple, it’s a cleft. And I plan to get a haircut. In fact, I’m thinking of a brush cut.”

“I’ll get Mom and the sisters to vote tonight on whether or not you should. My money’s on the ponytail.”

“I won’t be around to hear the results. I’m gonna have to cut the evening short, Nicky. I got a call from work just as I was leaving. Can’t stay for dinner.”

“Just as well for the rest of us. Jen’s making Italian—the cake’s gonna be that cream-and-chocolate masterpiece. What’s the emergency?”

“An abandoned baby at St. Joe’s. I need to meet the little guy and talk to the doctor. You mind if we stop on our way?”

“Not at all. The family knows my car’s in for repairs, so it’s your head that rolls if we’re late.”

“That’s what I love about you, Nicky. You’re clear that it’s every man for himself.”

“It comes from growing up in a house where there was one bathroom and seven bladders.”

“That’s something I’m not sorry I missed out on.” Roy had reunited with his birth family when he was seventeen. His adoptive parents had had two bathrooms and one kid.

He handed her into the car, then took the slight detour that would lead them to St. Joe’s.

“Did you hear Dana’s pregnant again?”

“Nobody tells me stuff like that. This’ll make, what, four for her?”

“Five.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Without me to remind you, you’d never remember how many nieces and nephews you’ve got.”

“It keeps changing all the time.”

“Lucky Dana.” Nicole’s soft brown eyes were wistful. “What did you get her for her birthday?”

“A Swatch watch. I asked Greg what she might like and that’s what he said.”

“I guess she’ll need it to time her contractions. I played it safe and got her soap and bubble bath. You can’t go wrong with that. She told me the kids used the last of her stash to make potions in the bathtub. They’re deep into wizardry. Harry Potter has created a whole new market for bubble bath.”

He laughed. “They’re good kids. And Dana and Greg are great parents.” It was reassuring to know there were people who took care of their kids. He saw so many of the other kind.

“What’s with the baby at St. Joe’s?”

“Two-year-old David Riggs, found abandoned a few days ago in a downtown apartment.”