Page 61 of No Child of Mine

Before Alex could finish the question, a small child burst into the room. “Mrs. G, can we have cinnamon rolls now? We’re starving. We want milk with them, Okay, can we have milk, too?”

Two more children peeked through the door, their faces eager. Alex waved as Mrs. Glover answered. “Belle, I told you I would call you when they’re ready. Did you hear the oven bell ding? No? That’s because they’re still baking. You have to be patient. Now go. I’m in the middle of talking to these gentlemen. You shouldn’t interrupt.”

“But I’m so hungry.”

“Belle, did you or did you not have two PB and J sandwiches, a banana, and a glass of milk for lunch?”

“I did, but—”

“Go.” Mrs. Glover enveloped the pig-tailed little girl in a hug, spun her so she faced the door, and gave her a gentle nudge forward.

Alex exchanged an amused glance with Cooper. Little kids were cute. He’d never spent much time around kids, but he wouldn’t mind giving it a try. Someday.

Mrs. Glover chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

“Your kids?”

“Belle’s mother chained her to a bed every night while she went to work as a stripper. Said she didn’t want her running off while she was gone.” Mrs. Glover’s voice quivered with indignation. “Neighbors heard her crying one night and broke into the apartment. She had a fever of a hundred and two and she’d soiled her bed. Had diarrhea. She had sores on her ankles and wrists from the handcuffs. Her mother’s in jail now on drug charges and child neglect and endangerment.”

Alex had heard these stories many times before—except his involvement usually meant the child was dead. Thank God for people like the Glovers. “How many kids are you caring for right now?”

“Three foster. And then the four we’ve adopted over the years. The oldest one is a senior in high school now.”

It was a shame Nina Chavez hadn’t had the good luck to remain in the Glover home. “So what brought Nina Chavez to you—and why did she get sent back home?”

“Whatever was happening with Nina apparently wasn’t so overt. At least, CPS couldn’t make a determination that she was being abused.” Mrs. Glover’s gusty sigh made her double chin sway. “But something was going on. She was afraid of her own shadow. She refused to talk. When I put food on the table she ate so fast, she choked and she kept looking at me like she was sure I would take it back before she could get enough to eat. She gained three pounds in the month she was here.”

Alex flipped through the pages of his notebook—an excuse to keep his gaze lowered until the sudden emotion that flowed over him subsided. “The report I saw said she refused to sleep in a bed.”

“Yes. And she always waited for permission to come out of her room, to start eating, to leave the table, everything. She did nothing without permission.”

He didn’t have a whole lot of experience with children, but he had some. “Not like most five-year-olds, I guess.”

“No, it’s not.” Mrs. Glover plucked at her denim dress. “What happened to her?”

“We don’t know anything happened to Nina. We’re just following up a lead on a case we’re working on.”

“You’re homicide detectives.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Glover’s face crumpled. “Poor Nina.”

Cooper didn’t have much to say on the ride back to the sheriff’s office and Alex let the silence ride. They both needed time to contemplate their next move. In Cooper’s office, Alex borrowed his computer and did some research while Cooper pushed paper. After about fifteen minutes, he stood and stretched his arms over his head before cranking it from side to side “On the Attorney General’s Web site, it says some of the experts call it Vulnerable Child Syndrome. Others call it Targeted Child.”

“It has a name?” Cooper sounded tired.

“Yeah. Targeted child is when a parent sees something in a child that he sees in himself and doesn’t like.”

“We’re just speculating at this point.” Cooper stuck some papers in a folder and shut it.

“But it does happen, is what I’m saying. With Vulnerable Child Syndrome, parents pick out one child who is mentally slower or physical handicapped in some way or just has a personality that the parent doesn’t like and they abuse that child. The other siblings are treated fine. It’s actually fairly common.”

“I can’t understand that.” Anger flashed across Cooper’s face. Alex imagined the guy was a good dad. The kind of dad every kid would love to have. His own dad was as distant as his memory. “How could a parent pick on one child—or any child? I just don’t understand it.”

“Nobody in his right mind can understand it.” Alex stood. “Look, I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll be back here in time for the evening round-up. Call me if you get that report back from the ME.”

Nobody in his right mind.

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