A male nurse approached. “Naftali, time for your tête-à-tête with Doctor Sonia.”
Naftali smiled, his mood broken. “Zut! But what do I have to complain about, eh? My doctor’s blonde, thirty-two, legs like Bardot.
“But what did you hear last night, Naftali?”
“Ah, the bird flies into the house.”
Riddles, the man spoke in riddles. But she had to keep prodding if he’d heard Drina last night.
“Mais didn’t you say you heard the woman screaming in Romany? What was she saying?”
He shrugged his frail shoulders. “At first I thought I’d dreamed hearing that, but I don’t sleep much.”
The nurse leaned over, listening as he tucked Naftali’s blanket into the wheelchair.
“Can you remember anything you heard, Naftali?”
“Scratch a manouche and you’ll find superstition,” he said, patting her hand, then letting it go. A deeper sigh. “When the crows in the field circled close, les manouches shooed them away, yelling to scare off the spirits. To them, a bird flying into the house brought death.”
How did that make sense? Naftali’s attention caught on the scudding clouds overhead as the nurse bent to release the wheelchair brake.
“Naftali, please try to remember,” she said, touching his thin, blue-veined wrist. “A manouche woman was abducted from Ward C last night. I think you heard her. It’s important.”
“You mean a kidnapping?” He raised his shrunken left shoulder and leaned on the chair’s armrest. “She was screaming about the birds, and that the boy needs to know … what was it? The … non, that’s it … the boy Nicu needs to know the truth.”
“CONFIDENTIALITY PRECLUDES MY discussing a patient or their treatment,” said a young doctor. A different one.
Aimée set down her oversized Jackie O sunglasses on the desk in his office in the hospital. “But the patient’s missing, Doctor. She was pulled off a hemodialysis machine. Every hour is crucial.”
He checked his files. “I don’t see her chart.”
This wasn’t working. She’d try another way in—stretch the truth. “Drina Constantin’s grief-stricken son, Nicu, hired me to find his mother.”
“Hired you?”
She slipped her Leduc Detective card over the desk, which was piled high with reports. “Abductions and kidnapping are my forte.” She paused. “Have you seen him this morning?”
“No visitors allowed in the morning, Mademoiselle.”
Where was Nicu? What could she say next?
“You wouldn’t want your hospital’s negligence pointed out, its credentials called into question.”
He snorted. “You’re threatening the Laennec, a hospital that’s closing next year, Mademoiselle—” He looked at the card. “—Leduc? Confer with the police in charge of the investigation, not me.”
As helpful as the reception staff.
“But Drina Constantin’s life’s in danger,” she said. “Time is of the essence. How long can she last without hemodialysis?”
“Not for me to say.” He shook his head. “Doctor Estienne, the attending physician last night, has gone off shift. Look, I shouldn’t be talking to you.” His pager bleeped.
“We know the abduction occurred during shift change.”
“Again, I’m not the one to talk to. Doctor Estienne was in charge.”
He looked at his watch. She had to stall, to get something from him. A knock came from the open door—a trio of interns stood there, charts in hand.
“We’re ready, Doctor.”
“Time for my rounds.”
He stood up. Now she’d lost him. One last try.
“Look, I spoke with Doctor Estienne last night, after the abduction.” True. “He stressed the hospital staff would help in any way possible.” Not so true. “He’s more than concerned.” Another lie.
He paused in the doorway. “Talk to Marie Fourcy, our public-health liaison.” As Aimée joined him at the door, he beckoned to a small-boned black-haired woman with an aquiline nose who was talking to staff in the hallway. The woman, who reminded Aimée of a sparrow, broke off from the group and joined them.
The young doctor hurried away as soon as he had introduced the two women and explained Aimée’s concerns.
“We’ve sent an alert to all facilities in the system for Drina Constantin,” Marie said, repeating the party line back in the doctor’s office. “As soon as she shows up, we’ll be notified.”
Aimée wondered what the chances of that were. “Have you spoken with her son, Nicu?”
“Her son? I haven’t seen him, Mademoiselle.” Marie glanced at the reports on the desk. “But from what the flics told me, you’ll get nothing out of him, unless it’s something he wants you to know. People like him send people like you in circles.”
No sympathy there. But Aimée’d get nowhere fast if she accused Marie of prejudice. She’d have to try something else.
“Marie, can you help me understand some things here? I don’t get why Nicu would have brought his mother to this hospital unless they lived in the quartier.”
“Gypsies, here in the seventh? With the prime minister?”
She’d wondered that too.
Marie rubbed her brow. “Bien s?r, we maintain our public ward, as all hospitals do. Laennec was founded as a hospital for incurables.” Marie shrugged. “My job’s coordinating public health outreach,” she said, by rote, it seemed to Aimée. “The more integrated and assimilated manouches are musicians or those working the markets.”
Markets. She remembered Drina Constantin’s market-vendor ID from last night.
“I need Drina Constantin’s address.”