Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

MARPLE RAN BACK through the living room to the entryway. Poe rushed up next to her. She peeked outside through the glass panel beside the front door. On the stoop next door, a Hispanic woman was unfolding a stroller with one hand, like some kind of magic trick. In the crook of her other arm, she held a red-faced baby with dark curly hair.

The crying had stopped. Now the baby looked irritated. And it was no newborn.

“Eight months at least,” whispered Marple as the woman fastened the baby into the stroller. “Probably fifteen pounds. And wrong profile.”

“Not wealthy enough?” said Poe.

“And not white enough, I suspect,” said Marple. “The two newborns who weren’t taken from the nursery were infants of color. One Black, one Asian. Their parents’ assets are equal to all the others. But those babies weren’t touched. I suspect we’ll find that the selection wasn’t coincidental.”

Marple turned back toward the staircase leading to the second floor. She and Poe both kept their backs against the wall as they climbed the steps. Poe unholstered his gun.

Marple held her small handbag close to her side. It contained her keys, her ID, and a small canister of pepper spray. Though she sometimes carried a little .22, as a rule, Marple preferred to let her partners handle the firearms.

The landing at the top was dark, but they could see a sliver of light from a partly open door on the left.

They took the rest of the stairs quickly and flattened themselves on either side of the door. Poe listened for footsteps or running water or the sound of snoring. But all he could hear was the hum of traffic from the busy street at the back of the building.

Marple peeked through the opening. She nodded at Poe. He nudged the door open and stepped into the bedroom, arms extended, pistol pointed. Marple hung tight behind him as he swept the room. Empty, except for a stripped double bed and a small dresser. Marple put her hand on another doorknob. Bathroom, she mouthed.

Poe nodded. Marple pushed the door open. Poe stepped through first. “Clear,” he said.

The Plexiglas shower stall still showed condensation, and a damp towel hung from a hook behind the door. The air smelled of lemon. Marple put her fingers on the wooden knob of the medicine cabinet door and gently tugged it open. A dozen black marbles rolled out and clattered into the sink and onto the floor tile.

“What the hell is this?” asked Poe, dodging the tiny glass balls with his feet.

Marple smiled. “It’s what a young lady does when she wants to hear if an overnight guest is going through her things.”

“That’s diabolical,” said Poe.

“My mother always set the same trap before dinner parties,” said Marple.

She leaned toward the cabinet and rustled through the narrow shelves. Nothing unusual. Deodorant. Toothpaste. Cotton balls. Aspirin. On the top shelf was an amber-colored prescription bottle with no label. Marple took it down and untwisted the lid. She shook a couple of small oval blue tablets onto her palm.

“Halcion,” she said.

“How can you tell?” asked Poe.

Marple held one of the blue pills up to his face. The word “Halcion” was imprinted on it.

“Remind me,” said Poe. “Insomnia?”

“Insomnia, anxiety, panic disorders,” said Marple. “It’s a benzodiazepine. Highly addictive.”

“Okay,” said Poe. “Maybe she’s nervous. Maybe she has a hard time nodding off.” He shoved around the contents of the cabinet. It was an old-fashioned unit set into the wall, probably original to the apartment, the kind that still had a narrow slit in the back for disposing of used razor blades. Poe slid a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over to one side.

“Hold on,” he said. “Look.”

Marple peeked into the cabinet. With the weight of the bottle to one side, the bottom shelf tilted up slightly at the opposite end. Poe stuck his pistol back into its holster. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the top shelf and slid the tiny tongs between the bottom shelf and the cabinet frame. The shelf was loose along its entire length.

Marple plucked all the toiletries out and dumped them one by one into the sink.

Poe pried the thin wood up all the way. Marple grabbed a small hand mirror and reflected the light from the ceiling fixture into the gap.

“Hello, there!” said Poe.

Marple looked in. Set between the studs underneath the cabinet was another shelf, about six inches down. Resting on the shelf were four clear plastic bags, secured with twist ties. Marple reached in and pulled out one of the bags. It was filled with Halcion tablets, hundreds of them.

“Guess what,” said Marple, dangling the bag from her fingers. “Our lactation consultant is a benzo junkie.”

“Or a dealer,” said Poe.

“Freeze! Both of you!”

Marple looked up to see a rifle barrel in her face.