Setting: Sunday, April 20, 1997; Chicago:
The hospital corridor seemed too bright. Meant to portray an image of cleanliness, rather the white walls and light grey flooring, the shiny silver supply cabinets, and the crisp white uniforms of the staff highlighted the sick and injured. Bandages even blended into the surroundings unless something like blood added a dreaded splash of color. Perhaps there was something more than aesthetics at work; possibly the color scheme was one more way to aid in caregiving: if a bandage didn't blend in it would need to be changed.
Derek Morgan shuddered as he pushed the uncharitable thoughts aside. His own mind-numbing, pain-filled hospital stay had biased him. Bias was the last thing he needed on this case; he needed objectivity.
He took a deep, steadying breath then another. Gathering his calm, the investigator followed his mentor down the post-delivery ward hallway. Stocky and muscular from years of football and other athletics, Derek turned female heads everywhere he walked. Enjoying feminine company, Derek encouraged their attention with his ready smile and friendly, flirtatious style. But somehow his normally outgoing personality felt at odds in this haven of new mothers and tiny infants. No matter how much a delivery ward might try to include the male parents of newborns, it still felt like a female-only zone to the young FBI agent. Derek smiled anyway.
Surprisingly a relatively large number of women smiled back. One or two even asked him to come see their proud new family addition. Holding up a hand in thanks, he called that he would try if he got the time. Derek figured the women thought he was visiting his own new family; he let them have the illusion. Who wanted to tell them that a newborn infant had been kidnapped from the supposed safety of the hospital mere hours before?
Stopping at the nurse's station right behind Jason Gideon, Derek watched attentively as he listened to Gideon introduce them with a soft voice. Anyone within hearing range stopped and reacted to the arrival of the FBI agents. Many of the people showed genuine horror, grief, and fear. Some showed disgust and anger. One displayed controlled misery. That was the man Jason spoke with.
Dark brown curls cut close, blue eyes scanning everywhere, capable looking hands clenched, the man in the jeans and button-down shirt stood stiff and watchful. This Lieutenant Taylor reminded Derek of a military man and a cop, exactly as Jason had described him to be. Taylor's eyes flicked assessingly over Derek who straightened, and then went back to Jason: either dismissing or accepting the younger agent.
Derek murmured his intention to talk to the Chicago detective's wife then moved down the hall when Mr. Taylor nodded assent.
When he got to the room, Derek hesitated, gathering himself for the coming interview. He took a moment to peek in and listen for whatever insight the mother's private actions could give him. His forethought showed a grieving woman.
Claire Taylor sat up against the raised back of her hospital bed. She was disheveled from her difficult delivery and post-delivery life-saving resuscitation. A tangle of damp brown curls clung to her tear streaked face and escaped down her back from a single hair band. She had her arms wrapped around herself in a self-protective hug. Soft murmurs of disjointed words and nonsensical sounds wrenched from her throat as she rocked. She should have been sharing this special day with her husband and new daughter; instead, she grieved alone while her husband aided the investigation into the little girl's disappearance.
Softly, Derek knocked on the open door to alert the woman to his presence. Her head shot up like a hunted deer, but her wide eyes were a tear-washed blue not a hunted brown. "Hey," he said.
"Chocolate honey?" her voice rasped hoarsely.
Unsure about the odd comment, Derek offered a gentle smile. "Excuse me?"
The woman sighed and said "did you bring chocolate honey?"
Derek shook his head. "No, sorry. I only brought me." He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but she interrupted him.
"Oh. I'm craving chocolate honey." She sighed and straightened in the bed. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Derek Morgan. I'm with the FBI." He stepped into the room, watching her carefully, wincing inside at her sudden look of wrenching pain.
Claire nodded and unwrapped one arm to pat the bed beside her. "I'd rather not need you." The woman seemed perfectly lucid. "What should I call you? Officer Morgan? Agent Morgan? Derek?" Then, her eyes catching a faint sparkle of mischief inherent to her personality, she added almost playfully in her sad voice, "Chocolate Honey?"
He couldn't resist his answering laugh, and he stepped over to the woman's bed. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Mrs. Taylor."
She shook her head. "No. Too formal. Please, call me . . ." she paused, as if toying with the choices and finally settled on "Sugar's nice." Claire offered a small smile then added "or Claire if you'd rather."
Meeting the woman's attempt at lightening the somber mood, Derek responded, "Okay, Sugar, as long as Mr. Sugar doesn't get upset with me."
A loud peal of laughter burst from the woman, surprising Derek and drawing her husband and Agent Gideon to the room. Claire smiled tremulously at the two newcomers and stretched out a shaking hand to her husband. "Mac, I love this guy. He's my new chocolate honey." Her voice took another sad dip as her husband joined them.
The comment bordered on the inappropriate but Jason didn't correct her. Neither did Mac. Both just turned their attention to Derek who shrugged slightly in response. He innately found the right note to handle most women. Hoping he played his hand right, Derek said, "I failed to bring the real thing."
Apparently, it was the right thing to say.
Mac moved to his wife and lowered himself to sit on the bed, his posture less stiff as he settled by the disheveled woman. The military bearing he'd displayed in the hall seemed little more than an illusion. He took her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief salute then looked up at the two agents. His voice sounded hoarse, yet controlled, as he said "I'm glad you like him, Claire. He's Gideon's trainee."
The woman nodded and leaned into her husband, her smile still playing gently over her lips, fading in and out. "Hey, Jace. It's been awhile. Thanks for coming." Her attempt at normalcy broke on a sob and she turned her face into her husband's shoulder as he wrapped her protectively in his arms.
Jason moved to stand on the same side of the bed as Mac sat. "Claire. I wish it was different circumstances. Could you tell me what happened?"
She nodded and lifted her face, fresh tears adding another salty layer to her already tear-stained face. "A nurse brought in my baby and handed her to me." She drew a deep breath, paused as if for thought, then added softly, "twenty minutes passed and a different nurse came in and told me Magnolia had to go back to the nursery. I kissed my baby and handed her over and the nurse left. Maybe fifteen minutes later, the first nurse came back for the baby. When I told her someone had already come for her, the nurse left. An alarm went off and the loudspeaker said there was a Code Adam." Claire covered her mouth with a shaking hand and sobbed "that means kidnapping. I knew my baby was the one taken."
Reaching out a sympathetic hand, Jason touched Claire's arm. "Take some deep breaths, Sugar," he said, confirming that Claire had also let him use the familiar nickname. After the woman followed his instructions, Jason turned to her husband. "Lieutenant?"
"Mac," he corrected. "I was with the doctor discussing Claire's health care when the alarm sounded. I was there the entire time our daughter was in the room and watched the woman in the nurse's uniform take her away. I followed, but only as far as Claire's delivery doctor so I could discuss Claire's care." He frowned, his face turning so severe that his Marine background became quite believable. "I had no idea she wasn't an employed nurse."
Derek asked "what did she look like?"
The ex-Marine shook his head and frowned severely. "Light brown or blonde hair, about shoulder-length. Slim, about five nine." He looked directly into Derek's brown eyes, the Chicago detective's blue eyes dark with determination. "I didn't really look at her. She wore a white knee length dress and white soft shoes polished to a shine. She had her hair down and it waved slightly. I didn't get a good look at her face, though. I was too enraptured with Maggie."
"Understandable," Jason added. "Do you know if you saw her before? Either around the nursery or even before the delivery?"
Claire nodded. "I don't know when, but I've seen her. Or she seemed familiar." She suddenly shuddered and wailed, "I should have challenged her. I should have asked for I.D." Claire buried her face in her husband's shoulder again, her entire body shaking as she sobbed.
Mac wrapped both arms around his wife and held her close, his face contorting as he fought his own grief-filled release.
Jason looked at Derek then back at the genuinely traumatized couple. Unless they were supreme actors, they hadn't been involved in the infant's disappearance. The agents would have to look further afield for answers.