“Angels healed a troubled kid?”

Karen smiled. “Do you know everything there is to know about the cosmos? Because if you do, you’re a smarter woman than I, Sergeant.”

D.D. scowled at her. “How many of your kids has Andrew worked with?”

“You’d have to ask him. I rarely refer his services; mostly, other parents do.”

“Sounds like he worked with the Harringtons.”

Karen didn’t say anything.

“Danielle implied that he interfered with your care of their son, recommending that Ozzie be discharged before the docs thought he was ready.”

Karen shrugged. “It was a gray area. Ozzie was definitely improved. I would’ve liked more time to ensure his recent changes in behavior stuck, but they felt it was more important to get him back to a home environment. There was logic to both sides of the argument. Now, for the record, Ozzie never bounced back here. So I have to believe that the Harringtons’ approach worked for their son. Andrew worked for their son.”

“The Harringtons were murdered.”

“By the father, I thought.”

“We’re not sure of that.”

Karen faltered for the first time, hands dropping to the table, blinking behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “Are you saying… Ozzie?”

“It’s possible.”

The head nurse didn’t defend Ozzie. She sighed instead. “It’s hard to know with these kids. They’re not out of control because they’re weak or lazy. They suffer from physiological differences, issues with brain chemistry, hormones, DNA. And there’s so little we can do for them. So few tools available to us.”

“Hence Lightfoot, a handsome white knight, promising to save lost children while reducing your pharmaceutical bill. Gotta like that.”

The nurse manager didn’t say anything, so D.D. took it one step further. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“My husband would object.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know.”

“My conscience would object.” Karen shook her head. “I understand you’re skeptical of Andrew. In many ways, I also held his looks and background against him. But if you watch him with the kids… He is genuinely tender, exceedingly patient. He doesn’t just soothe them, he teaches them to soothe themselves. I never thought I’d be advocating energy cleansings in a clinical environment. And yet I’m respectful of the results.”

D.D. scowled, refusing to be convinced. “What about other members of your staff. Say, Danielle? Andrew’s good-looking. She’s young and pretty.”

“You would have to ask Danielle.”

“She’s a bit of a mess,” D.D. commented.

Karen didn’t take the bait.

“I mean,” D.D. continued conversationally, “her father slaughters her whole family except her. There’s some baggage to carry. And now she works with a whole ward of violent kids. It’s like she needs the drama.”

For a moment, Karen was silent. Then: “In policing, don’t you see officers who come from a long tradition of policing? Sons, daughters, nieces, nephews of other cops?”

“True.”

“Our line of work is like that, too. You want to dig, most of our staff has stories that will break your heart. They didn’t grow up happy, driving them to preserve for others the childhood they never had. By that logic, Danielle isn’t the exception in our unit. More like the norm.”

“Really? What’s Greg’s story?”

“Greg?” The nurse manager seemed surprised by that name, of all names. “I’m not sure Greg has a story. He’s not one to talk about his personal life.”

“How long has he worked here?”

“Five years.”

“Any complaints? Issues?”

“Not one,” Karen answered firmly. “He’s quiet, conscientious, brilliant with the children. Both adults and kids like him, which is not something I can say for all of our staff.”

“Adults?” D.D. asked.

“The parents. Some of our people…” Karen hesitated. “Some of our staff are in this line of work because they have an immediate rapport with children. Unfortunately, that rapport doesn’t always extend to adults.”

D.D. thought about it. Gym Coach Greg was a good-looking guy. Strong, fit. She’d bet some female adults did have an immediate rapport with him.

“What are the requirements for an MC?” she asked now, pulling out her spiral pad to make a note. “Does he have a special license, or have to pass board certification?” What could D.D. have Phil look up as part of Greg’s background report?

But the nurse manager was shaking her head. “Our nurses have degrees and board certification, of course. The MCs are only required to have a high school education, and a lot of energy and creativity with kids.”

“You’re kidding me. The majority of your staff are MCs, and you’re telling me they have no special training?”

Karen looked at her. “Sergeant, what classroom module could ever prepare someone for the kids we see here?”

Good point. “Greg have a family?” D.D. asked with a frown.

“He doesn’t talk about one.”

“Girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.”

“So he has eyes only for Danielle,” D.D. supplied.

“I don’t get involved in my staff’s personal lives,” Karen answered coolly.

“Really? Because everyone’s talking about it. Greg says yes. Danielle says no. Around and around they go. Sounds like a lot of flirtation on company time. You can’t be happy about that.”

“I’ve never seen either one act anything other than professional.”

“Maybe you ought to get out of Admin more.”

The head nurse glared at her.

D.D. waited a moment, then decided she’d had enough of all the tap dancing. She cut to the heart of the matter: “Don’t you think it’s odd that two families affiliated with this unit have been murdered, right around the anniversary date of one of your staff member’s own family being killed?”

“It’s odd-” Karen started.

“Then,” D.D. cut in, “a girl was hanged last night, who also happens to be working with the same staff member whose family was murdered almost exactly twenty-five years ago. Another coincidence?”

“These things happen.”

“Really? How many kids have you found hanging in the hospital? How many patients have you discharged who’ve wound up murdered?”

Karen didn’t reply anymore. She looked as tired as Lightfoot. The head nurse sighed, then reached for a stack of paperwork on her desk. She pulled out a report, then looked back up at D.D.

“When were the Harringtons killed?” Karen asked. “Wednesday? Thursday?”

“Thursday evening.”

The nurse glanced at the report. “Danielle worked that night. In fact, she pulled a double, working night shift on Thursday and day shift on Friday.”

“What time is night shift?”

“Seven to seven.”

D.D. considered the matter. The Harringtons had presumably died around dinnertime. Considering how long it would take to subdue an entire family, clean up, make it from Dorchester to Cambridge… “What time did she clock in?” D.D. asked.

“Danielle arrived at six-thirty and prepared for her shift.”

“And Friday night?”

Karen thinned her lips. “Technically speaking, Danielle concluded her day shift at seven p.m. She remained on the unit, however, debriefing with me, then catching up on paperwork until after eleven. At which time she was involved in an altercation with Lucy, who had a violent episode.”

“The bruises on Danielle’s neck,” D.D. said, remembering.

“Exactly. So while Danielle was not on the clock, she was here, and I have it documented, per hospital policy.”

D.D.’s turn to thin her lips. Meaning Danielle had alibis for both the Harrington and Laraquette-Solis murders.

“She was working last night when Lucy disappeared,” D.D. said.

“Correct.”

“Now, call me crazy, but you’re saying she worked Thursday night, Friday day-lingering until after eleven p.m.-then was back for Saturday night shift. That’s a lot of hours in a short span of time.”

“Our staff tends to lump their shifts, pulling doubles in order to maximize their days off. Work-three-days, play-five kind of thing.”