Mark Hoyt stands in Nell’s living room, browsing the bookshelf. He’s gotten a haircut since his visit four days earlier.
“Ms. Mackey,” he says, turning to look at her as she closes the door behind her, laying her bag on the floor next to the couch. She can’t tell a thing from his expression. In the taxi on the way home, after telling Ian that Beatrice’s fever had spiked and she needed to go home, Nell tried to convince herself that everything is fine, reminding herself she’s done nothing wrong. Or at least nothing illegal. And yet she can’t deny the rising sense of dread she feels. Does Mark Hoyt know something about that night? Did he discover something that happened, in the moments Nell can’t remember?
The sound of someone walking down the hall startles her, and she turns to see Sebastian. “Oh good, you’re here,” he says, setting a mug of coffee on the table. “You okay?” He whispers the words, but she can sense the uneasiness in his voice.
“Yes. How’s Beatrice?”
“Good. Her fever broke. She’s sleeping.”
“Why don’t you take a seat, Ms. Mackey?” Hoyt suggests.
Nell reaches for the coffee Sebastian set down, knowing he likely made it for Hoyt, and sits on the couch. “What brings you here, Detective?”
Hoyt walks slowly to the oversize armchair near the window and perches himself on one of the arms. She resists the urge to tell him to sit properly, that he’s going to ruin the frame the way he’s sitting. The chair was a wedding gift from her mother, and Nell knows how many overtime hours at the hospital she worked to pay for it.
“Just a few questions,” Hoyt says, sliding up the sleeves of his gray cotton T-shirt. “Some loose ends you might be able to help us out with.”
“Okay.”
“First, how you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
He stands and returns to the bookshelf. “Yeah? You’re all right?” He lifts a framed photograph from the shelf, one from her wedding day, wiping the dust from the glass with his thumb. “This your dad?”
“Stepdad.”
He nods. “Nice dress.”
Nell points to the bottom shelf, to the large photo album tucked alongside some of Sebastian’s art books. “There’s the full album. Says ‘Wedding Day’ on the binding. If that’s why you’re here, to look at my wedding pictures.”
Hoyt laughs. “No, not quite.”
“That’s too bad. It was a brilliant wedding. Just sixteen people. My mother-in-law made Haitian food.” Hoyt places the photograph on the shelf. His silence feels oppressive. “So, Detective, today was my first day back at work after maternity leave. Not really the ideal time to tell my boss I need to leave early. Plus, my baby came down with her first cold after four hours at a day care. I’m a little knackered. Can we get on with why you’re here?”
“I’m really sorry about that.” He’s shaking his head, his voice tinged with good-cop sympathy. “I thought it would be better for us to go over my questions here, rather than, you know, show up at your office.”
“What questions?”
“Still trying to clear up some of the confusion about that night.” Sebastian enters the room with another cup of coffee, but Hoyt waves it away. “No thanks. Overcaffeinated.” He addresses Nell. “You’ll have to forgive me if we’ve gone over this already. My mind’s not as sharp as it once was. But as I understand it, you’re the one who organized this night out to the Jolly Llama. Correct?”
“Not really. We all—”
“You were pretty adamant that Winnie Ross join you.”
“We all wanted her there.”
“But you sent the e-mail to everyone. You wrote something—what was it—‘Everyone come, and especially Winnie. We won’t take no for an answer.’ Or something to that effect. Am I right?”
“I can’t remember exactly.”
“No?” He takes a notebook from his back pocket and flips it open. “Yes. That was it. Maybe my memory’s not as bad as I thought.”
Nell nods. “Can’t really say the same. I can hardly remember to put on pants these days. A bit sleep-deprived at the moment.”
Hoyt grins, a little-boy smile, a look Nell guesses his wife probably finds irresistible. “Let’s see. What else? Oh yes.” He looks up. “Ms. Ross’s video monitor app. Why did you delete that?”
“Why did I—”
“Peek-a-Boo, I believe it’s called? Allows a mother to watch the video monitor remotely. You deleted this app from her phone?”
Nell can feel Sebastian’s eyes on her. She’s been too ashamed to tell him she did that. “It was silly, really. We were just having a bit of a laugh.”
“A bit of a laugh?”
“Playing a joke. Winnie was looking at her phone a lot, watching the baby. The point of going out was to be away from the babies. So when she got up to get a drink, and Colette saw she’d left her phone behind on the table—” Nell tries to keep the tremble from her voice. “Of course I’m gutted about it now. Thinking how the night might have ended differently if I hadn’t done that.” Sebastian takes Nell’s hand, easing his fingers between hers. “And really, she could have easily reloaded the app. It wouldn’t have taken her more than a minute.”
“Is that right?” Hoyt nods, offers a shallow laugh. “Have to admit, I know nothing about how all the gadgets these days work. My eleven-year-old daughter—she’s always making fun of me, saying I live in the Dark Ages. Between you and me, I’m pretty sure my daughter thinks the Dark Ages began sometime around 1995. But she can find her way around my wife’s laptop with her eyes closed.”
Nell doesn’t want to hear about this man’s daughter or wife. She wants him to leave.
“And why did you call Winnie Ross’s cell phone on two separate occasions that night, Ms. Mackey?”
“Why did I—”
“Ms. Ross’s cell phone records indicate that between 10:32 and 10:34 p.m.—just around the time of the abduction, we believe—you called her cell phone twice. Or”—he holds up a hand for clarification—“I suppose I should say, someone using your cell phone did.”
She feels her palm growing sweaty in Sebastian’s grip. Hoyt raises his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, but she has no explanation. She doesn’t remember doing that.
“Why did you call her phone?”
“I was . . . I must have—”
“How many drinks did you have that evening, Ms. Mackey?”
“I already told you. Two.”
“Right. And Ms. Ross. Do you know how many drinks she may have had that night?”
“You asked me that the other day.” She wills herself to stay measured. “Honestly, who cares?”
“Who cares?”
“Yeah, how is it relevant? I don’t think she drank that night. She was having iced tea. And despite what the mob on cable news might be saying, mothers are still allowed to have a drink if they want.”
“Alcohol can make her story a little less reliable,” Hoyt says, his expression static. “The same goes for you.”
Beatrice whimpers from the nursery, and Nell’s mind clouds as she tries to decipher the cry. Is the baby’s fever back? Is she hungry? She realizes Hoyt is staring at her, waiting for her to say something.
“I missed that,” she says. “What was the question?”
“Was anyone near her when she ordered her drink? Anyone who may have had bad intentions. Who may have slipped something in it.”
“No, not that I saw.” Beatrice whimpers more loudly, sending Sebastian jogging down the hall. He closes the nursery door behind him, and Nell turns toward Hoyt. “While we’re asking questions, Detective, maybe I can ask a few of you.”
Nell sees something flash across his face, but then he steadies his expression. “Shoot.”
“Who’s talking to the press about Alma?”
“Who’s—”
“Yeah, this thing about her being in a baby-selling ring. These whispers that she might have been involved.” Nell knows she should rein herself in, but her anger and impatience take over. “Unless there’s something very concrete you want to tell me, I will swear on my child’s life she had nothing to do with this. You and the people in your department need to stop suggesting otherwise. This could ruin her life.” Nell smiles. “She may be an immigrant, but she’s still human.”