Page 42 of Missing Justice
Now this was lucky. “Great,” Matt said.
“I can’t really give you any information though. Not without permission.”
Matt waggled a finger. “If you look it up, you’ll see Senator Jarvis has given permission to share his wife’s medical records with me.”
Marge put her fingers to work on her keyboard, then studied the screen. “Can I see some ID?”
Matt whipped out his driver’s license and Marge checked his personal info against the hospital’s files.
Handing him back the license, she nodded. “I’m not sure how much I can tell you. I might have to get my supervisor.”
“If you need to, you can do that, of course. In the meantime, Senator Jarvis indicated this was the hospital where Felicity’s doctor—Morton—had privileges. Is that correct?”
“Still does. His office is right down the street at the TriCenter Birthing Clinic. That’s where he delivers most of the babies. He’s the best. The running joke around here is he should have top level clearance considering all the high-powered babies he’s delivered.”
“I see,” Taylor said. “He wasn’t her original doctor though. She switched to Morton.”
“Well, I’m not sure about that, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Why is that?”
The nurse glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Felicity came through here a couple of times toward the end of her pregnancy. I remember it because it was a few weeks before she disappeared.”
“Yes,” Taylor said. “I saw in her file that she was admitted.”
Marge nodded. “She was having trouble urinating. They had to put a catheter in to alleviate the problem. It happened twice. She was admitted both times. She hated the hospital. Dr. Morton explained the advantages of having her baby at the birthing center and she decided to go there for her delivery. She signed up for the Presidential Suite, I heard. I used to help out with their Lamaze classes and I know Dottie Hernandez, the manager. She was thrilled to get Felicity signed up.”
“Really?”
A tired smile quirked Marge’s lips. “The Presidential Suite is big bucks, but it’s the best money can buy. It’s the one the VIPs use. They have to pay out of pocket for most of it because insurance won’t cover the entire cost.”
Taylor looked at Matt who rolled his eyes. Who cared what the room looked like as long as they got a healthy baby out of it? “So,” he asked, “Felicity wanted to see the Presidential?”
“Yes. And the next day, I saw that Morton’s nurse called and reserved it for October 12th.”
Matt cocked his head. “Scheduled it? Like a dental exam?”
Poker face firmly in place, Taylor contemplated that. “She wanted a C-section.”
Another nurse swung into the pit area and Marge paused. The second nurse grabbed a chart from one of the bins on the desk and walked off. Once the woman was out of earshot, Marge looked up at Matt and Taylor again.
“Some of these young mothers with their careers and powerful husbands schedule their babies like they do a haircut. Felicity was rich and wanted to be sure she had dibs on that suite, so she scheduled a C-section with the anesthesiologist, doctor, and the birthing team she wanted. I remember her the few times she showed up for the Lamaze group. She was likeable enough, but so spoiled. She had been a ballet dancer, you know. Said she didn’t want to wreck her hips, even if she never danced again. She rarely showed up for the classes, but I guess when you can hire a team to make the birthing process fast and easy, you don’t worry about learning how to breathe through a contraction.”
This nurse had obviously remembered Felicity as more than the senator’s missing wife, and a scheduled C-section at a posh, private birthing center only confirmed that Felicity had not been some disgruntled housewife who’d run away and ended up dead. They had her bones and confirmation that she’d been murdered after the birth of her child. But why? Was the murderer here? Someone who’d interacted with her, knew she was close to term, and kidnapped her to get to her baby?
At the exact moment the thought filtered through his brain, Taylor looked up at him, her eyes direct and…knowing.Yeah, babe, right there with you.
Without making a show of it, he tilted his head toward the door. They needed to get out of there, huddle up and figure out what their next move was.
But Taylor was one step ahead of him. “This birthing center—you mentioned it’s just down the street, correct? And the person in charge? What was her name?”
“Dottie Hernandez.”
Taylor gave him that look again and he felt it too—the tingle at the back of his scalp. Another lead to chase down. They were getting closer.
“Thank you,” he said to Marge, tapping the counter before he followed Taylor, loving the cocky sway of her hips and shoulders. She smelled a lead.
And he was right there with her.
