“We have to finish our report,” explained William. He held a weather-beaten clipboard in the crook of his left arm. In his right hand he struggled with a pencil, licking the end every so often.

The group was standing in Michelle’s vacant room. It included Cathryn, two Boston police officers, the evening charge nurse, and the assistant administrator. The administrator was a tall, handsome man, dressed in an elegant gray business suit. He had a curious habit of smiling after each sentence, reducing his eyes to narrow slits. His face was gloriously tan as if he’d just returned from a vacation in the Caribbean.

“How long were you out of the room?” asked William.

“I told you,” snapped Cathryn. “Five minutes… ten minutes. I don’t know exactly.”

“Uh huh,” murmured William, printing the answer.

Michael Grady, the other Boston police officer, was reading the temporary guardianship papers. When he finished, he handed them to the administrator. “It’s a child-snatching case. No doubt about it.”

“Uh huh,” murmured William, moving up to the top of the form to print “Child Snatching.” He didn’t know the code number for the offense and made a mental note to look it up when he got back to the station.

In desperation, Cathryn turned to the administrator. “Can’t you do something? I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”

“Paul Mansford,” said the administrator before flashing a smile. “No need to apologize. We are doing something. The police are here.”

“But I’m afraid something is going to happen to the child with all this delay,” said Cathryn.

“And you saw a man pushing a child to surgery?” asked William.

“Yes!” shouted Cathryn.

“But no child went to surgery,” said the nurse.

William turned to the nurse. “What about the man with the X-ray form? Can you describe him?”

The nurse looked up toward the ceiling. “Medium height, medium build, brown hair…”

“That’s not too specific,” said William.

“What about his blue eyes?” asked Cathryn.

“I didn’t notice his eyes,” said the nurse.

“What was he wearing?” asked William.

“Oh God!” exclaimed Cathryn in frustration. “Please do something.”

“A long white coat,” said the nurse.

“Okay,” said William. “Someone calls, gets Mrs. Martel out of the child’s room, presents a bogus X-ray request, then wheels the child off as if he’s going to surgery. Right?”

Everyone nodded except Cathryn who had put a hand to her forehead to try to control herself.

“Then, how long before security was notified?” asked William.

“Just a couple of minutes,” said the nurse.

“That’s why we think they are still in the hospital,” said the administrator.

“But her clothes are gone,” said Cathryn. “They’ve left the hospital. That’s why you have to do something before it’s too late. Please!”

Everyone looked at Cathryn as if she were a child. She returned their stares then threw up her hands in exasperation. “Jesus Christ.”

William turned to the administrator. “Is there someplace in the hospital someone could take a child?” he asked.

“There are lots of temporary hiding places,” agreed the administrator. “But there’s no place they won’t be found.”

“All right,” said William. “Suppose it was the father who took the child. Why?”

“Because he didn’t agree with the treatment,” said Cathryn. “That’s why the temporary guardianship was granted: so that the treatment would be maintained. Unfortunately my husband has been under a lot of stress, not just the child’s illness, but his job.”

William whistled. “If he didn’t like the treatment here,” he said, “what was he interested in? Laetrile, something like that?”

“He didn’t say,” said Cathryn, “but I know he wasn’t interested in Laetrile.”

“We’ve had a few of those Laetrile cases,” said William, ignoring Cathryn’s last statement. Turning to his partner, Michael Grady, he said: “Remember that kid that went to Mexico?”

“Sure do,” said Michael.

Turning back to the group, William said: “We’ve had some experience with parents seeking unorthodox treatment for their kids. I think we’d better alert the airport. They might be on their way out of the country.”

Dr. Keitzman arrived in a whirlwind of nervous motion. Cathryn was tremendously relieved to see him. He immediately dominated the small gathering and demanded to be told everything. Paul Mansford and the charge nurse teamed up to give him a rapid report.

“This is terrible!” said Dr. Keitzman, nervously adjusting his rimless glasses. “It sounds to me like Dr. Charles Martel has definitely had some sort of breakdown.”

“How long will the little girl live without treatment?” asked William.

“Hard to say. Days, weeks, a month at most. We have several more drugs to try on the child, but it has to be sooner rather than later. There is still a chance for remission.”

“Well, we’ll get right on it,” said William. “I’ll finish the report and turn it over to the detectives immediately.”

As the two patrolmen walked out of the hospital a half hour later, Michael Grady turned to his partner and said, “What a story! Makes you feel terrible. Kid with leukemia and all that.”

“It sure does. Makes you feel thankful your own kids are at least healthy.”

“Do you think the detectives will get right on it?”

“Now? You kidding? These custody cases are a pain in the ass. Thankfully they usually solve themselves in twenty-four hours. Anyway, the detectives won’t even look at it until tomorrow.”

They climbed into their patrol car, checked in by radio, then pulled away from the curb.

Cathryn opened her eyes and looked around in confusion. She recognized the yellow curtains, the white bureau with its doily and collection of bric-a-brac, the pink vanity that had doubled as her high school desk, her yearbooks on the shelf, and the plastic crucifix she’d gotten when she’d been confirmed. She knew she was in her old room that her mother had compulsively maintained since she had left for college. What confused Cathryn was why she was there.

She shook her head to rid herself of the numbing remnants of the sleeping pills Dr. Keitzman had insisted she take. Leaning over she snatched up her watch and tried to make sense out of the numbers. She couldn’t believe it. It was a quarter to twelve. Cathryn blinked her eyes and looked again. No, it was nine o’clock. Even that was later than she’d wanted to sleep.

Slipping on an old plaid flannel robe, Cathryn opened the door and hurried down to the kitchen, smelling the aroma of fresh biscuits and bacon. When she entered, her mother looked up, pleased to have her daughter home no matter what the reason.

“Has Charles called?” asked Cathryn.

“No, but I’ve fixed you a nice breakfast.”

“Has anybody called? The hospital? The police?”

“No one has called. So relax. I made your favorite, baking-powder biscuits.”

“I can’t eat,” said Cathryn, her mind a whirl. But she wasn’t too preoccupied to see her mother’s face immediately fall. “Well, maybe some biscuits.”

Gina perked up and got out a cup and saucer for Cathryn.

“I’d better get Chuck up,” said Cathryn, starting back to the hall.

“He’s up, breakfasted, and gone,” said Gina triumphantly. “He likes biscuits as much as you. Said he had a nine o’clock class.”

Cathryn turned and sat down at the table while her mother poured the coffee. She felt useless. She’d tried so hard to be a wife and mother and now she had the feeling that she’d bungled it. Getting her adopted son up for school was hardly the criterion for being a good mother, yet the fact that she’d not done it seemed representative of her whole incompetent performance.

Battling her emotions, she lifted the coffee cup to her mouth, mindless of its temperature. As she took a sip, the hot fluid scalded her lips and she pulled the cup away, sloshing some of the fluid on her hand. Burned, she released her grasp on the mug and let it go. The cup fell to the table, shattering itself and the saucer. At the same moment, Cathryn broke into tears.