Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WITHOUT A NAME
Gideon hit the hallway at a run.
“Sir!”
A nurse shouted behind him.
The silver-haired man had already turned the corner.
Gideon followed.
He saw the back of the dark coat near the elevator bank.
“Stop!”
The man did not.
Instead, he stepped inside an elevator just as the doors began closing.
Gideon lunged.
His palm struck stainless steel.
Too late.
The doors sealed.
He hit the call button repeatedly.
Detective Keller came running from behind.
“What happened?”
“That man.”
“What man?”
“Norah recognized him.”
Keller turned toward the elevators.
“Which one?”
“Silver hair. Dark coat. Mid-fifties. He just went down.”
Keller grabbed his radio.
“Hospital security, lock ground-floor exits. White male, approximately fifty-five, silver hair, black overcoat.”
Detective Vega remained with Norah.
Good.
Gideon wanted to chase the man.
He wanted more than that.
For one violent second, he imagined what he would do if he caught someone who had hurt Norah’s mother and then walked into a pediatric hospital looking for a seven-year-old witness.
He forced the thought away.
The elevator arrived.
Gideon and Keller entered.
By the time they reached the lobby, security officers were closing doors.
The man was gone.
A camera showed him exiting through an employee corridor thirty-seven seconds before the lockdown.
“How did he know that corridor?” Keller asked.
Hospital security had no answer.
The footage showed something else.
The man had never signed in.
He had walked through the lobby carrying a bouquet.
When questioned by a volunteer, he said he was visiting his niece.
Simple.
Normal.
Forgettable.
Until Norah saw his face.
Vega joined them twenty minutes later.
“Norah is asking for Gideon.”
Keller looked irritated.
“She has a first name relationship with him now?”
“She is seven.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Vega gave him a look.
He stopped talking.
They returned upstairs.
Norah had been moved to a more secure room.
A uniformed officer stood outside.
Gideon entered.
“You left.”
“I saw the man.”
“You didn’t catch him.”
“No.”
Norah looked down at Button.
“I’m sorry.”
Gideon stared at her.
“For what?”
“You went because of me.”
“That was my choice.”
“Mama says when grown-ups make bad choices because of you, they blame you later.”
Something inside Gideon turned cold.
“Has somebody blamed you for things before?”
She shrugged.
He sat.
“Listen to me.”
Norah looked up.
“If I make a bad decision, it belongs to me.”
“But—”
“No.”
He kept his voice gentle.
“You are not responsible for what adults choose to do.”
She studied him as though he had spoken in another language.
Then nodded once.
Detective Vega entered carrying several printed photographs.
“I want Norah to look at pictures with a trained interviewer later. Not tonight.”
“What are those?” Gideon asked.
“Possibilities.”
“You know who the man is?”
“Not yet.”
Keller stepped inside.
“We ran facial recognition from hospital cameras. No strong match.”
“Then how did he know where she was?”
Nobody answered.
That question sat heavily between them.
Only police, the hospital, Gideon’s driver, and medical staff knew Norah had been brought there.
Unless someone had followed Gideon from the park.
Or had been watching the park already.
At 10:48 p.m., a nurse brought broth and crackers.
Norah managed four spoonfuls.
Then Gideon’s phone rang.
Marcus.
“I’m downstairs.”
“With what?”
“Your assistant brought clothes.”
Gideon looked at his tuxedo shirt.
Snow had dried across the shoulders.
Norah had spilled broth on one sleeve.
He had forgotten the gala entirely.
His phone showed thirty-two missed calls.
Most came from Adrian Cross.
Chairman of Juniper’s Light Foundation.
Gideon’s oldest friend.
Juniper’s godfather.
The man who had held Gideon upright at his daughter’s funeral.
Adrian had organized tonight’s gala.
Gideon returned one call.
Adrian answered immediately.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Hospital.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“I found a child in the park.”
“You what?”
“She was alone.”
“Jesus.”
“She’s stable.”
“Whose child?”
Gideon glanced toward Norah.
“Lena Hart.”
There was a pause.
So slight another person might have missed it.
Gideon didn’t.
“You know the name?”
Adrian exhaled.
“Maybe.”
“From where?”
“Juniper’s Light.”
Gideon stood.
“What did Lena do for us?”
“I think compliance work.”
“You think?”
“I don’t personally know every contractor.”
Adrian sounded irritated now.
Normal irritation.
Maybe.
“Why did she tell her daughter to find me?”
Silence again.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Adrian’s tone changed.
“I have no idea.”
“Norah said Lena showed her my photograph.”
“Gideon, you’re on the foundation website.”
“She told her I would understand something about a stuffed rabbit.”
Adrian did not answer.
“Adrian?”
“I’m here.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
Something in Gideon’s chest tightened.
He had known Adrian Cross since college.
Twenty-two years.
He knew the man’s laughter.
His anger.
His lies in poker games.
His voice when he was hiding financial trouble during the recession.
This was not exactly any of those.
But it was close.
“Where are you?” Gideon asked.
“At the gala.”
“Still?”
“Three hundred donors came because your name is on the building, Gideon.”
“I’m sorry my emergency inconvenienced them.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
Adrian sighed.
“Go take care of the child. I’ll handle the foundation.”
He ended the call.
Gideon stared at the screen.
Norah was watching him.
“Was he mad?”
“Who?”
“The man.”
“What man?”
“Your phone man.”
Gideon almost smiled.
“A friend.”
“Did he blame you?”
The earlier conversation.
Of course.
“No.”
Norah looked unconvinced.
At 11:31 p.m., Detective Vega received a call.
She left the room.
Returned thirty seconds later.
“We may have found Lena.”
Norah sat upright.
“Mama?”
“We need to confirm.”
“Where?”
Vega knelt.
“A woman was brought to Mercy Harbor Hospital this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“She was found unconscious near Lower Wacker Drive.”
Gideon frowned.
“That’s more than a mile from the Grant Street garage.”
“She may have been moved.”
“Moved by who?”
“That’s what we’re investigating.”
Norah pulled the blanket away.
“I want to go.”
“You can’t yet.”
“Mama needs me.”
“You’re still being treated.”
“I’m better.”
“You’re not.”
Tears appeared.
Gideon sat beside her.
“Let us identify her first.”
“What if it is Mama?”
“Then we go.”
Vega looked at him.
“You’re not authorized to promise that.”
“I’ll get authorized.”
Something almost like amusement crossed Vega’s face.
“You’re one of those men.”
“What men?”
“The kind who thinks money is a verb.”
“Tonight it may be.”
Norah did not understand the joke.
Good.
Two officers went to Mercy Harbor.
They sent a photograph.
The woman was unconscious, intubated, bruised around one temple, and listed as Jane Doe because she had arrived without identification.
Gideon looked away before showing Norah.
Vega crouched beside the bed.
“Norah, I have a picture that may be difficult to see.”
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
“Show me.”
Vega did.
Norah made no sound.
Her face collapsed.
“Mama.”
Gideon closed his eyes.
Lena Hart was alive.
Barely.
Doctors believed she had suffered blunt-force trauma followed by a vehicle strike.
Not accidental.
Someone had attacked her.
Then moved her.
Then taken her purse and identification.
But they had not known about Norah.
Not until someone saw Gideon carry her from the park.
Vega began arranging protected transport.
Norah clutched Button.
“Mama found him.”
“Who?” Gideon asked.
“The bad man.”
“How?”
“She said she finally knew who was taking the money.”
Gideon looked at Vega.
“What money?”
Norah shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She said dead kids shouldn’t make people rich.”
The room went silent.
Gideon’s blood turned cold.
Juniper’s Light Foundation funded pediatric hospice care, grief counseling, medical travel, and emergency treatment grants.
Its name existed because his daughter had died.
Dead kids shouldn’t make people rich.
“What exactly did your mother do for the foundation?” Vega asked.
Norah shrugged.
“Numbers.”
Gideon stood.
“I need access to every Juniper’s Light financial file from the last two years.”
Keller frowned.
“At midnight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Lena Hart wasn’t just hiding from whoever attacked her.”
Gideon looked at the rabbit.
“She was trying to get something to me.”
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Gideon opened it.
It showed him carrying Norah through the snow toward his car.
Taken hours earlier.
From across the park.
Another message arrived.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE HER THERE.
Then another.
SHE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU.
Norah saw his face.
“What?”
Gideon locked the screen.
“Nothing.”
Vega reached for the phone.
“What did you get?”
He handed it to her.
She read the messages.
Her expression hardened.
Then a final photograph arrived.
This one was not recent.
Three years old.
Juniper Vale.
His daughter.
Leaving a hospital in a red Christmas coat.
Someone had taken the photograph from across the street.
May you like
Beneath it were six words.
YOU COULDN’T SAVE HER EITHER.
