Chapter 7: The Baby in Bassinet Twelve
“Tell me what you mean,” I said.
My mother stood beside the bedroom window, clutching the photograph so tightly that its edges bent beneath her fingers.
“You weren't supposed to be in that ward,” she repeated.
“You were in the maternity wing where I gave birth. I remember bringing you home from there.””
“Then why does this photograph have my name on it?””
“I don't know.””
“Why is there a patient number from another ward?””
“I don't know, Evelyn!””
Her voice broke on my name.
I stepped back.
For twenty-nine years, Linda Cole had been the one person I never doubted. She had sat beside me through fevers, held my hand at school assemblies, and worked double shifts to pay for my college tuition. When I was seventeen and heartbroken over my first boyfriend, she'd told me that love should never require me to abandon myself.
Now I was looking at her and wondering whether she'd ever told me the truth about the first days of my life.
“Mom, did you ever see another baby?”” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Did a nurse ever take me away from you?””
“I had complications after delivery. They kept me under observation for several hours.””
My stomach tightened.
“What complications?””
“I was bleeding. They gave me medication, and I remember waking up in another room. When I asked for you, a nurse brought you in.””
“Was that before or after the morning shift?””
She closed her eyes.
“I don't remember.””
I wanted to scream. Instead, I took out my phone and photographed the patient label.
The number was legible now.
I called the hospital's archival department again. After explaining that I was requesting my own birth records, I was transferred to a records supervisor named Patricia Moore.
“Ms. Bennett,” Patricia said, “the patient number you've provided appears to belong to a historical neonatal admission. The file is not part of the ordinary birth-record archive.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means the record may have been transferred to a restricted collection or associated with a separate case.””
“A police investigation?””
There was a pause.
“I can't confirm that over the phone.””
“Can I come in?””
“You can submit a formal request. Given the age of the record, it may take several days to determine what can be released.””
Several days.
I was getting married in less than a week.
“Please,” I said.
“There may have been a mistake involving my identity.””
Patricia's tone changed.
“Then I strongly recommend that you make the request in writing today.””
I thanked her and ended the call.
My mother sat on the edge of the bed.
“Evelyn, I need to tell you something about the night Rebecca disappeared.””
I turned toward her.
“Something you haven't already told me?””
She nodded.
“After the police questioned me, Robert Hayes came to the house. He asked whether Darius had ever taken you to another hospital. I said no. Then he showed me a photograph of a newborn wearing a white identification bracelet.””
My skin prickled.
“What did the bracelet say?””
“Your name. Your date of birth. And a number I didn't recognize.””
“Was it this number?””
“I couldn't tell you. I was too frightened to look closely.””
“Why didn't you tell the police?””
“Because Robert told me that if the photograph was authentic, it meant someone might have falsified a medical record. He said he needed time to verify it before making an accusation.””
“And then?””
“He never came back.””
I stared at the photograph.
Someone had taken it. Someone had hidden it. Someone had placed it in a box my mother had kept for decades.
The truth wasn't simply buried.
It had been deliberately scattered.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Marcus appeared.
*Meet me at the old courthouse parking garage. Level three. Come alone. Don't tell Darius.*
I showed it to my mother.
“He's alive,” she whispered.
“He said someone was watching his apartment.””
“You shouldn't go alone.””
“I'm not going to let him investigate this by himself.””
My mother grabbed my hand.
“Then take my car. If anyone follows you, don't go to the meeting place. Drive straight to the police station.””
I nodded.
Before leaving, I put the original photograph and the hospital papers in a folder. I left copies with my mother and asked her to call Detective Mitchell if anything happened.
Then I drove downtown.
Marcus was waiting beside a concrete pillar on the third level of the parking garage. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and a bruise darkened the skin beneath his left eye.
I hurried toward him.
“Marcus!””
He raised a hand.
“Keep your voice down.””
“What happened to you?””
“Two men came to my apartment last night. They wanted the blue folder.””
“Did you give it to them?””
“No.””
“Where is it?””
He glanced toward the stairwell.
“Somewhere safe.””
I wanted to hug him, but anger came first.
“You told me your father knew Darius. You knew about Rebecca. You knew there were questions about my birth. Why didn't you tell me any of this before?””
Marcus looked ashamed.
“Because my father made me promise never to get involved. When he died, I found references to Darius in his files, but I didn't understand what they meant. Then your father came to me asking for money.””
“And you recognized his name.””
“Yes.””
“Yet you lent him thirty thousand dollars.””
“I thought if I helped him, he'd explain what happened to my father. I thought I could get the truth without dragging you into it.””
I stared at him.
“You used our relationship to investigate my family.””
“I did something stupid. I know.””
“You let me believe you were trying to control me.””
“I was afraid he'd use your feelings against you. And he did. I should have trusted you enough to tell you everything.””
I looked away.
Part of me wanted to walk out of the garage. Another part remembered the way he'd stood at the coffee shop, offering me the truth even when he knew I might reject him.
“What's in the blue folder?”” I asked.
Marcus opened his briefcase and removed a thin plastic sleeve.
Inside was a photocopy of a financial ledger, a letter, and a hospital document.
“My father kept these in a locked drawer,” he said.
“The letter was written by Robert Hayes. It mentions a disputed transfer of funds and a hospital investigation involving a newborn girl.””
I took the document.
At the top was the name of the hospital where I'd supposedly been born.
Below it was a note:
*Infant transferred to Ward C under authorization of D. Cole. Identity discrepancy unresolved.*
My hands began to shake.
“D. Cole,” I whispered.
“Your father.””
“Why would he authorize a transfer?””
“I don't know.””
The letter from Robert Hayes contained a handwritten paragraph.
The financial inquiry cannot proceed until the question of the child is resolved. The two matters may be connected. If the records are altered, the original authorization will establish who had access.
I looked up.
“Your father knew my identity might be in question?””
Marcus nodded.
“He thought Darius had used money from the business to influence someone at the hospital. He couldn't prove it. He was afraid that if he made the accusation publicly, the evidence would disappear.””
I swallowed.
“Why did he keep this from the police?””
“He tried. The investigator assigned to the case told him there wasn't enough evidence. After that, my father became convinced someone inside the department was protecting Darius.””
I remembered the unknown messages, the threats, and the way Darius had reacted when Detective Mitchell mentioned Robert Hayes.
“Did your father ever name that person?””
Marcus shook his head.
“But there's something else.””
He handed me the final document.
It was a carbon copy of a receipt dated October 18, 1996. The handwriting was unmistakably Darius's.
*Payment for transfer and record correction.*
The recipient's signature was partially faded, but the surname was visible.
*Price.*
I looked at Marcus.
“Arthur Price. The lawyer who came to my mother's house.””
“That's the name.””
My stomach twisted.
“Why would my father pay him for a hospital transfer?””
Marcus leaned against the pillar.
“I don't know, Evelyn. But my father believed the payment had something to do with Rebecca's disappearance.””
A car engine started somewhere below us.
We both turned.
A black SUV rolled slowly up the ramp and stopped near the entrance to our level.
The driver's face was hidden behind tinted glass.
Marcus took the folder from me.
“We need to go.””
We hurried toward the stairwell. I heard a door slam behind us, followed by footsteps.
Marcus pushed me through the fire door and pulled it shut.
We ran down two flights before emerging on the opposite side of the garage. His car was parked near the exit.
As he unlocked it, my phone rang.
Darius.
I answered without thinking.
“Where are you?”” he demanded.
“Why?””
“Because Detective Mitchell just called me. She says you're investigating the hospital records.””
“Why does that concern you?””
“Because you don't understand what you're looking at!””
“Then explain it.””
His breathing was heavy.
“Come home. Now.””
“No.””
“Evelyn, please. The people involved will do anything to protect themselves.””
“Who are they?””
He fell silent.
Then he said, “Arthur Price isn't the only person who knows what happened that night.””
I glanced at Marcus.
“Who else?””
My father spoke so quietly I almost didn't hear him.
“Your mother.””
I ended the call.
Marcus opened the passenger door, but before I could get inside, a notification appeared on my phone.
An email from the hospital archives.
The subject line read:
*Historical Record Located — Patient Identification Review.*
I opened it.
The message contained one sentence.
Ms. Bennett, the neonatal file you requested lists two infants under the same temporary identification number.
Below it were two names.
The first was mine.
May you like
The second was Rebecca Hale's daughter.
And beside both names was the same birth date.
