Jacqueline Diamond - The Doctor's Little Secret

Her assigned patrol area today encompassed the central section of Villazon. There was nothing flashy about Rachel’s hometown, she mused as she merged into the flow of traffic, her windows rolled down so she could monitor street noises. Despite its location within a dozen or so miles of Hollywood, movie stars never set foot here unless they got lost fleeing the paparazzi.

The community of fifty thousand offered a mix of shops and office buildings in its core area, along with blocks of Craftsman cottages dating back to the twenties and thirties. Cruising past yards filled with rosebushes and tricycles, Rachel enjoyed the town’s old-fashioned feel. Even its special events had an endearing corniness, she reflected.

Each May, the Pickle Parade celebrated the town’s former claim to fame as the site of a large pickling plant that had processed cucumbers from surrounding fields. The fields were gone, and the pickle factory survived as a farmer’s market that imported most of its produce from either Imperial County, California, or Mexico. Rachel wasn’t sentimental, though. She liked shopping for gifts at In a Pickle.

As she wove a random pattern through the neighborhoods and listened to the radio chatter, she kept watch for Nina. Three feet tall, twenty-five pounds, straight dark locks and brown eyes that smiled from the photo clipped to Rachel’s visor. Last seen wearing blue pants and a pink top with a white bunny on the front.

The searchers near the park hadn’t found her. One witness reported a child of a similar description entering a car driven by a gray-haired man. As Rachel noted the information, her heart squeezed. Kids that age were so helpless and trusting. The possibility of someone harming a child aroused a deeper anger in her than any other crime.

Rachel didn’t remember much from her own life at that age, and what she did recall, she preferred to forget. An alcoholic mother, absent father…Luckily she’d been adopted by a new family who provided as much love and support as a child could ask.

Nina’s image stayed at the forefront of Rachel’s thoughts. After pulling over and citing a gray-haired driver who’d run a red light, she visually inspected the car’s interior and asked him to open his trunk. He complied willingly once she explained the reason, and revealed nothing more threatening than a bag of groceries.

Later, she backed up another officer checking on an elderly woman whose daughter couldn’t reach her by phone. Rachel scanned the children who gathered outside to gawk at the squad car, but none resembled Nina. Indoors, they found the woman with a broken hip and requested an ambulance.

As Rachel returned to her car, early-winter twilight was closing in. On the radio, the exchanges about the search acquired a grim tone. With this lengthy an absence, the possibility of foul play increased.

Still, the story of the gray-haired motorist might be a red herring. If an older child had found Nina and invited her to play, perhaps they’d headed for a playground near the civic center.

Rachel checked out the nearest one, but the slides and climbing equipment stood empty. It was nearly six o’clock. If any children had been there earlier, they were long gone.

Frustrated, she cruised an alley behind the library, passed the post office and crossed the boulevard to the town’s medical complex. This late on a Friday, the doctors’ building beside the Mesa View Medical Center would be deserted, but she decided to make a circuit of the parking structure just the same. You never knew when you’d come across a stolen car listed on one of the hot sheets from briefing.

On the second level, past a support pillar, she glimpsed something that made her mouth go dry. A little girl, the bunny on her T-shirt smeared with dirt, sat on a car bumper while a man knelt on the concrete floor. He’d pulled up one leg of her blue pants and was holding her ankle.

All Rachel could observe of him was a tailored suit and powerful shoulders. Then, evidently hearing her approach, he glanced back. The flat overhead lighting showed nearly black hair graying around the temples.

As Rachel braked facing the suspect, adrenaline surged. She notified dispatch about the girl, the man and the location, and emerged ready for action.

First priority was to ensure the girl’s safety. Second, to secure the suspect. Mr. Power Suit had an inch or two on her, and judging by his muscular frame, he’d be no slouch in a fight. He might also be armed.

Releasing his grip on the girl, the man rose to greet Rachel. He made no sudden moves, but she noted tear tracks on Nina’s cheeks and a torn knee on her pants.

“Step away from the child, sir. Move to your right.” Although she strongly considered reaching for her gun, several recent scandals and a tarnished public image had inspired a departmental policy urging caution when confronting citizens.

That kind of caution could get cops killed. Still, Rachel restrained the impulse.

The man shifted a couple of steps, but irritation flashed in his slate-blue eyes. “I found her wandering in the garage, Officer. She said she hurt her knee.”

He gave the words a convincing, gruff inflection. The guy was attractive with a personable air. Well-dressed and accustomed to giving orders, not taking them, she judged.

To her, that made him all the more loathsome if he’d endangered the child.

“Sweetheart, come stand next to me,” she told Nina.

“He gave me candy,” the girl replied earnestly.

That didn’t surprise Rachel. “Is that why you got in his car?”

“Wait a minute!” the suspect snapped. “She was never in my car.” He glanced at child. “It’s okay, honey. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The youngster eased toward him, holding out a hand. That was too much for Rachel. “Move away from him, Nina!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, you’re scaring her!”

The girl had drawn close enough to be grabbed. Despite the shrill of an approaching siren, Rachel couldn’t wait for backup.

“On the ground!” she shouted. When the man failed to respond, she lunged forward, spun him around and slammed him against the vehicle. Before he could recover, she wrenched his arms back and reached for her cuffs.

With a shocked cry, the little girl retreated.

“You’ve upset her! Keep those things off me!” The man’s twisting motion threw Rachel against the pillar and sent a jolt of pain through her hip.

Breathing hard, the suspect held his position. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Officer, but nobody pushes me around.”

Rachel drew her gun. “Hands overhead. Face the car.”

Reluctantly he complied. When he glanced over as the screech of tires announced her backup’s arrival, he didn’t appear the least bit frightened.

Elise Masterson exited the cruiser. “Need help?”

“Officer, would you please talk sense to Ms. Byers?” The suspect must have read Rachel’s nametag. “I was walking to my car when I found this little girl.”

Nina merely stared at the three of them, eyes round as pepperoni slices. Rachel kept her weapon trained on the man. “He assaulted me.”

“That’s not true!” he answered tightly. “Besides, you had no business shoving me into the car.”

The matter wasn’t up for debate. “Hands behind your back!”

He looked to Elise, who produced her cuffs. “Do it,” she confirmed.

Resentment darkened his gaze. Mr. Power Suit was definitely used to running the show, Rachel mused. He’d better recognize who was in charge. In one more second, two policewomen were going to take him down.

The rumble of another car reached her ears. Good.

Then she heard a whole bevy of car engines, until the structure echoed like the parking lot of the Villazon Doughnut Emporium during a two-for-one sale. Which reminded her of another unwelcome change in her turf—under the new chief’s regime, officers were no longer allowed to accept free doughnuts.

As Elise clicked the cuffs into place, the cars bumped into view around a curve of the ramp. In the lead, Chief Willard Lyons halted his unmarked sedan. With the suspect under control, Rachel holstered her gun.

Behind the chief came a patrol unit, followed by a station wagon she recognized as belonging to Tracy Johnson, editor and lead reporter for the weekly Villazon Voice. In its wake rolled a van bearing the logo of an L.A. TV news program.

Busybodies from the press—ugh. Rachel loathed the spotlight, and she couldn’t allow them to talk to Nina, who had to be interviewed and driven to the hospital for an exam.

The suspect shook his head in disgust, as if the newcomers simply compounded an already obnoxious situation. For once, she and he agreed on something.

When the child sniffled, Rachel took her hand. It felt small and moist. “You’ll be fine, sweetie.”

“Big cars!”

“They sure are.”

“I’ll escort her to the hospital,” Elise said.

“Thanks.” Reluctantly Rachel surrendered her charge. She had work to complete here. Booking this suspect was going to be a pleasure.

Elise helped the tot into the cruiser. They had only half a block to drive, so with luck the girl would be reunited with her parents soon.

Chief Willard Lyons stepped out of his car. An imposing, barrel-chested figure with a thin mustache and close-cropped brown hair, he’d been hired the previous year, six months after the former chief retired under a cloud. Several embarrassing incidents had hurt the department’s reputation, and Lyons’s job description called for cleaning things up.

He crossed to Rachel and the suspect. “Who do we have here?”

“I haven’t had a chance to check ID,” she responded.

“My wallet’s in my jacket,” said Mr. Power Suit. “Upper left…” A frown. “I can tell it’s not there. I must have put it in my pants.”

Rachel patted him down for a weapon from shoulders to ankles, trying to ignore an unaccustomed awareness of the guy as a fine specimen of his gender. But fine specimens didn’t kidnap little girls. They also didn’t lie about having a wallet.

“No ID,” she reported.

“I must have left it at the hospital. This is my car, Officer. The registration’s in the—” He broke off as a camera operator hoisted a minicam. “What the hell?”

The chief signaled to a rookie. “Keep them behind that pillar, please. Tell them we’ll have a statement in a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer marched toward the interlopers.

“Chief—You are the chief, right?” the suspect snapped. “I’d found this child right before your officer jumped me. I heard the Villazon cops were a bunch of cowboys, but Dr. Graves assured me there was nothing to the rumor.”

At the mention of the hospital administrator, the chief’s expression mutated into a frown. “You work for Dr. Graves?”

“I’m on the staff,” the man answered grimly. “My office is in the medical building here.”

He stood taller. Funny how a guy could appear in command despite having his hands cuffed behind him.

“You’re a doctor?” the chief asked.

A nod.

Okay, make that Dr. Power Suit, Rachel thought. No wonder he acted so arrogant. He wouldn’t be the first doctor to confuse himself with God.

“Nevertheless, we’re going to take you in,” Lyons responded.

Rachel expected the suspect to bluster. Instead, he glanced past them toward the reporters. “I think my ID just arrived—along with my alibi.”

She and the chief swung around. Waving at them from behind the rookie was Marta Lawson, a good friend of Rachel’s who ran the hospital gift shop.

“Dr. McKenzie!” The short, brown-haired woman hoisted a leather packet. “You left your wallet on the counter.”