In the Bleak Midwinter

“Sure we do,” Darrell said, “It was the Jacksons, Dave and Tessa. They live out to Cossayaharie, where we used to. You wanna phone number so you can check up on them or something?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Russ said, omitting the “yet.” “While I’m here, do you have a sample of Katie’s handwriting I could take with me? Printing would be best. I’ll send it on to the state lab to see if they can match it to the note that was found with the baby.”

“Let me check her room,” Brenda said, hoisting herself from the couch.

“Why d’you need that if you know the baby is Katie’s?” Darrell said.

“Just another way of making sure. The medical examiner sent a scraping of Katie’s genetic material down to Albany for DNA testing. That will prove Cody is her son. That’s the baby’s name, by the way. Cody.”

Darrell rubbed his lips with the edge of his hand. “I heard about that DNA testing on some news report.”

“It’s one hundred percent accurate. Once we have an idea who the father is, we can do the same thing. It takes a few months to get the lab work back, but there’s no way to fudge your DNA. It either matches, or it doesn’t.” He paused, let that one sink in. “What kind of car do you drive, Mr. McWhorter?”

“Huh? An ’eighty Ford Ranger pickup.” He ground the cigarette stub out in the standing ashtray. “Look, Chief, I don’t know what Kristen told you and I don’t care, I ain’t seen Katie since she left for Albany this summer. And neither has my wife.”

Brenda hurried into the room, puffing from the exertion. “Here. It’s a college application she didn’t finish. She printed it, like it says on the form.”

Russ took the thin sheaf of papers from Brenda. “Thank you.”

“What do you need to find the father for, anyway?” Darrell asked.

“In the first place, the father has rights to the child. Either to take custody of the boy, or to consent to adoption. Understand, we were looking for Cody’s parents before we discovered Katie’s body. More important, now we’re working on the theory that the man who fathered Katie’s child either killed her, or has knowledge that could lead to her murderer.”

“And if the father ain’t found, we’re the closest relatives of the baby, right?” Darrell’s eyes lit up with the greatest interest he had shown so far during the interview. The thought of placing a baby with this pair started the acid sizzling along the nerve edges in Russ’s stomach. The Burnses would be Parents of the Year material compared to these two.

“Right,” he said.

“So, we should get custody of the boy, right?”

At this, Darrell’s wife frowned. “Honey, we’re kinda old to be having a baby around again.”

“Naw, naw, that baby belongs to us. How do we get ahold of the people who got him now?”

Russ pulled one of his cards out of his breast pocket. “I’ll write down the number at DHS you can call.” He leaned over an oblong table reeking of ashes and dusting spray, fishing for his pen. “The other side of this card has my number on it. Call me if you think of anything that might have slipped your mind. I know it’s been a shock.” Though they seemed to have recovered mighty quick.

“A shock,” Brenda agreed. Darrell took the card, reaching out his hand to Russ, who gritted his teeth and shook hands.

“Thank you for telling us about Katie,” Darrell said. “And about our grandson. We’ll call DHS right away and see about that little boy.”

Russ paused at the door. “DHS hasn’t gotten my paperwork yet, identifying Katie as Cody’s mother. You may have to wait a day or two.” Maybe he could lose it. Not that it would do Cody any good in the long run. Just give him an extra week with the foster mother before McWhorter got his hands on him.

Brenda looked distinctly unhappy. Darrell smiled. “It’ll be worth the wait. It’ll be just like having a little piece of Katie back with us again.”

Clumping down the stairs, Russ was in what his mother would have called “an old cow stew.” When a door inched open, revealing a bearded man with spectacularly bad teeth, Russ glared at him with such venom the man nearly caught his facial hair in the frame as he slammed the door shut. Russ toyed with the idea of shouting “Washington County Probation Department!” to see how many residents would cut and run. It would feel good to do something constructive, even if it did mean filling out packets of forms at the county jail.

What would the McWhorters want with Cody? More accurately, what would Darrell want with Cody? The monthly foster child support check from the state? Jesus Christ, what if Darrell’s tastes ran to little boys? It was a stretch, but, still . . . Russ wiped the hand Darrell had shaken on his parka before opening the outside door. Either he convinced Kristen to make a complaint against Darrell McWhorter, or he had better find another candidate as the baby’s father right quick. Because if he didn’t, Cody would be one of those slack-faced little kids sentenced to poverty and neglect. Or worse.

CHAPTER 10