At long last, an update. A big round of applause to my faithful reviewers for their kind support, especially Snow Ivy, Tati aka Trinity, and peachy14.

Sikspy: I'll be happy to send you references of any medical fact you find doubtful in this story. Just send me an email.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Cold Case. If I did,what they have plannedforseason 3 would never happen. :(

Chapter 11

Lilly couldn't keep the excitement out of her words. "Could something called a Simpson forceps be what was used to break the twins' heads?"

"Basically, any kind of forceps could've done it," Frannie replied, gazing thoughtfully into the box containing the twins' remains. "It's hard to tell at this point, the skulls are so fragmented. One thing I can say for sure—this person knew exactly what they were doing. This isn't a case of bad technique accidentally fracturing a baby's cranium. These were purposely crushed to make it possible for them slide easily down the birth canal. The person who delivered them knew there were two heads and that it'd be impossible to do otherwise."

"So it would have to be an OB?"

"Basically," Frannie agreed. "Or at least someone familiar enough with their work to know what to do. An OB would be the best choice… that Dr. Swanson of yours is beginning to sound suspicious as hell. You say these are his forceps?"

"Yeah. Some sort of keepsake. Jeffries and Scotty are on it right now. They're bringing them back here if they're still around. Think you'll be able to pull any physical evidence off them?"

"Maybe, if there are traces of blood left," Frannie considered. "Still… it's been 2 years. Might be able to get some prints, but they'll probably be Swanson's, and since it belongs to him anyway, it won't really prove anything."

Stillman appeared at the door, his countenance clouded. "So what else we got, Lil?"

"Just this blonde, college-aged girl," Lilly recounted as they wandered back to the main room. "Twice mentioned, never identified. Lisa Underwood seemed pretty sure it was Sarah Bryant, but we couldn't find any way to prove it."

"It would make sense," Stillman concurred. "Right looks, right age, right place, right time—"

"Not right place or right time," Lilly reminded him. "According to Vera and Jeffries, she was in Virginia when this all went down."

Stillman dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Kids lie, Lil. Especially when they're under pressure. If she's in any way involved, she'll be shaking in her boots. Just the right time to bring her in and lean on her till she cracks. Unless she's got an alibi, she's the strongest thing we've got."

"Bad news, boss." Vera sprang up mournfully the minute they stepped in. "Jeffries just called. They stopped by to pick up Sarah Bryant and she's gone. House was empty when they got there and her parents as clueless as we are. Or so they say. They're coming in later."

"Oh, crap," Lilly fumed, letting herself slump into the nearest chair, feeling suddenly tired enough to drop. And why shouldn't she be? She'd been up since four o'clock that morning, thanks to that goddamn idiot phone lunatic. The only thing that had kept her on her feet was the welcome possibility of a lead. Now that was gone, her mood deflated like a balloon. "Now what?"

"Parents," grunted Stillman in disgust. "They give any sort of explanation?"

"According to Jeffries, she told them she was going on a business trip two days ago and disappeared. Haven't heard from her since."

"What do the people at work say?"

"There was no business trip. She asked for some flash vacation time and took off. Left everyone's head spinning. Her boss wasn't too pleased."

"I should say," Lilly grumbled. "Dammit, boss. What're we gonna do? Our main suspect's on the run. And what do we have on her, anyway? She's not even the mother."

"No, but this running away doesn't make me think too highly of her," Stillman stated. "The way you described Lisa Underwood's conversation, it sounded like the girl showed up and the forceps vanished."

"It did sound that way. Still… Sarah Bryant is into business management," Lilly puzzled. "How could she possibly know what the thing was for? How could she know what it was, even?"

"Must've got Swanson to deliver those kids somehow," Vera reflected. "I hear his polygraph was inconclusive. So it could pretty much go either way. Though wasn't he the first person to mention a blonde girl with Jane Doe? Why give her away knowing she'd just point her finger right back at him?"

"Good point," Stillman sustained. "Unless what he did wasn't illegal. Like delivering stillborns, for example."

The phone on Vera's desk rang and he sauntered off to answer it.

"Well, it's unethical, to say the least," Lilly rambled on, unable to let go. "He said so himself. Frannie was telling me a woman could die giving birth in those circumstances. It's criminal medical negligence at least—if not positive murder. We have no idea if this mother is even alive. What if she's not? What if her body's buried in that yard, as well?"

"CSU would've found it," Stillman tried to pacify her. "They raked the yard pretty effectively. Still, the idea of her not being alive is worth considering. Sarah Bryant will doubtlessly shed some light on the subject. If we can ever find her."

"Boss," Vera called, hanging up hurriedly. "Here's something interesting. That was the registrar over at Shenandoah University in Virginia, where Sarah Bryant claims to have studied. Turns out there's no way of knowing if she was on campus at the time or not. She was signed up for classes around that time, but none of them kept track of attendance."

"Oh, damn," Lilly scowled.

"Wait—haven't reached the good part yet. I had the registrar tell me what classes she had signed up for, so we could grill her on that if we ever did find her. And look at what I got," gloating as he displayed a piece of paper.

"Physiology," Lilly read aloud. "Comprehensive perinatal care." Her mouth dropped open. "What on earth? These have nothing to do with business."

"Nope." Vera smirked. "'Cause it turns out she wasn't studying business back then. She was in, I quote, 'the Certificate Program of Nurse-Midwifery'. Which, suspiciously enough, she quit shortly after—in June 2003."

"So that's the real reason she was stuck in college for so long," Lilly realized, her eyes widening.

"And a midwife would know exactly what to do with a pair of forceps if she saw one," Frannie added, appearing unexpectedly at their side. "They're not trained to use them, but they've seen OBs often enough. Believe me—this girl, even if she has an alibi, is a serious suspect."

Scotty's heart gave a little thrill of anticipation as they marched into Dr. Swanson's office. He was really looking forward to rubbing this new evidence in his face. Oh, this is going to be sweet, he thought, barely checking the huge Cheshire cat grin that threatened to break across his features. Finally that haughty son of a bitch was going to get a taste of his own medicine.

His expression on running into them for the second time that day was absolutely priceless. "What more could you possible want from me?" he demanded reticently. "I've given you everything you wanted—explanations, blood, a lie detector test—!"

"How about your little old Simpson forceps?" Scotty drawled offhandedly, leaning on the water purifier across the hall from the good doctor's door.

For once Swanson seemed at loss of words. His carefully-shaved jaw hung in midair in the most ridiculous way. "How would you know about that?"

"Oh, we know a lot of things about you now, Greg," Scotty egged on, thriving in the other man's discomfort as half a dozen bulging patients looked eagerly on. "Lots of things your friendly ex-girlfriend Lisa Underwood shared with us."

"Now I know you're bluffing," muttered Swanson, lips tight, retreating back into his office. "She's not even in the country. You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

"Hold on just a damn minute," Jeffries objected, grabbing his white-coated elbow calmly but firmly. "This is a crime we're talking about, Dr. Swanson, not some minor detail. Lisa Underwood is back in town. And we had an interview with her just this morning."

"Interesting, talkative gal," Scotty remarked helpfully. "Didn't like to hold anything back, did she, Will?"

"Nope. She told us all about that old tool of your grandpa's."

"So what?" Swanson's voice tried hard to remain impassive, but his darting eyes gave him away. He was nervous. Nervous as hell. "There's no law against having medical instruments in your own home. Especially if they're related to your job."

"Your ex-girlfriend was kind enough to inform us it conveniently went missing right around the time of the twins' birth and death."

"Ain't that a coincidence?" crowed Scotty.

"Sure is," Jeffries agreed.

"She told us something else, too. There was a blonde girl in your house. And wasn't there a blonde girl with the woman who had that ultrasound? You said so yourself. Big mouth catching up with you, Greg?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Those things never disappeared. They're a relic—they haven't been used in 30 years. Maybe more. They were my grandfather's. What could they possibly have to do with anything?"

"Twenty bucks says they're what delivered those kids."

"Smashing their heads in the process," threw in Jeffries. "Now the question is, were they dead or alive when that happened? And who would dare or know how to use those forceps but you?"

"You're all crazy." Dr. Swanson shook his head disbelievingly. "How many times do I have to tell you I don't know anything about those kids? Aside from doing the ultrasound—and you don't even know if they're the same—"

"You still have these forceps?"

"Yes—at my house. In my closet, where they've always been."

"Wanna take us to them?" Scotty's voice oozed with triumph as he brandished the warrant, unable to hold the grin back any longer. "And afterwards you can come down to the station and play a nice game of show and tell with our boss."

Jenny and Beau Bryant, ever the model middle-aged couple, looked entirely out of place sitting opposite Vera and Lilly in the cold, shadowy interrogation room. Jenny's blue eyes were round with shock as she clasped her husband's arm for dear life.

"I really don't know what to say," she was stammering. "We've told you everything we know. Sarah said she was leaving on business. We didn't ask her where."

"Did she say when she'd be back?"

"Not really. Her trips usually last three days or so. She gets sent to New York City a lot."

"I take it you know by now her employers deny having sent her anywhere," Lilly acidly notified them.

"Yes. The other detective told us." Beau's voice trembled somewhat as he went on, "Do you honestly think my daughter had something to do with this?"

"So far she's our main suspect. She and Gregory Swanson, the obstetrician who lived next to you back in 2002. Sound familiar?"

"The name does," said Jenny tentatively. "We weren't too acquainted with that family. But Sarah couldn't have had anything to do with him. She barely knew those people. She had already left for college when they moved in."

"His girlfriend assures a girl fitting Sarah's description who introduced herself as 'living next door' came to her house in March 2003, asking for some bleach," maintained Lilly.

"That's impossible." Beau shook his head. "She was at school back then. We left the house alone."

"Two people have already said the house never seemed empty."

"She never told us she'd be coming back." Jenny's eyes filled with tears. "Why wouldn't she tell us? It was still her house—she would've been welcome to it. All she had to do was ask. Maybe that's why she never…" She broke off. "Are you saying these babies buried in our yard—are hers?"

"No, we know she's not the mother," Vera clarified. "DNA has told us that much. But everything points to the fact she knew the mother—witnesses saw them together at Dr. Swanson's office in November 2002. As midwife, she could have assisted the birth of these babies. She might not be responsible for their death, but she probably did help cover it up."

"Now, we'll do everything we can for Sarah," Lilly promised them earnestly. "But first we need the complete truth. So tell me, did you find anything suspicious about your house when you returned?"

"No," Jenny said, shaking her head.

"Any indication someone had been there? Any trash? Rumpled beds? Leftover groceries?"

"No."

"We think this may be the twins' mother," Vera said, slapping the composite of Jane Doe down on the table. "You recognize this girl?"

Beau and Jenny Bryant traded a long, meaningful glance.

"Yes," Jenny declared at long last, fingering the picture shakily. "She looks like one of our daughter's old college friends."

Lilly's heart skipped a beat. No way they'd get so lucky. "A college friend?" she pressed on. "You remember the name?"

"It was like a president—" Beau began.

"Regan," Jenny cut him short. "Regan O'Donohue. She spent Thanksgiving with us, that last year Sarah came home. 2002."