A Blossom of Bright Light by Suzanne Chazin

adrenal glands,” said Gupta. “To put it bluntly, the baby died of shock from the cold.”
    â€œNot asphyxiation?”
    â€œNot asphyxiation. Her lungs show all the earmarks of normal respiration. It certainly appears someone tried to smother her. But it was the cold that killed her.”
    Vega closed his eyes. This was not what he wanted to hear. “And the time of death?” He tried to ask the question casually. But so much was riding on the answer.
    â€œApproximately five a.m. It appears she died only about ninety minutes before she was discovered. But certainly, she’d been there a while.”
    Five a.m. Eight hours after Rafael’s call. Vega could’ve flown to Puerto Rico and back with Adele and still had a chance to save this baby. It was his fault entirely that she died. Whether he was willing to admit it or not.
    He took a deep breath and tried to remind himself he had a job to do here. “Any idea how long she was alive? Or when she might have been abandoned?”
    â€œJudging from the condition of the umbilical cord blood, I’d estimate that the baby was born ten to twelve hours prior to her death,” said Gupta. “So that would put her birth at anywhere from five to seven p.m. on Saturday. I took some skin samples of the bruises to see if they were proximate to the time of death or possibly administered soon after her birth. Newborns bruise easily, which is good news here, because I had more to work with. I did a histological exam and it appears that there was some healing of the vessels already going on by the time of death.”
    Vega’s head was spinning. He had no idea what Gupta was trying to tell him.
    â€œDoc, I took maybe two basic science courses in all my four years in college. I can tell you how to read a spreadsheet or calculate the future value of an annuity. But I have no idea what you’re telling me.”
    â€œI’m saying the person who attempted to smother the baby did so several hours before she died.”
    â€œI have a line on someone who claims to have seen a mother and baby in those woods around eight the night before. Possible?”
    â€œEntirely possible,” said Gupta.
    â€œThe one time that drunk gets anything right . . .”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œNothing. It’s just that—my only witness is this bowlegged alcoholic everyone calls Zambo. No one ever takes him seriously. Except this time, I should have. And now I can’t find him.”
    â€œLet’s hope you do.”
    Back in her office, Vega went over her report. He took some notes, and Gupta corrected his medical misspellings.
    â€œAnd the baby? She was full-term?” asked Vega. “Basically healthy?”
    â€œNo congenital abnormalities,” said Gupta. “Do you have any leads at this point?”
    â€œOne, possibly. I’ll know more later today.” Vega gathered up his papers and stuffed them into a folder along with the autopsy report. Gupta regarded him over the tops of her glasses.
    â€œSo you were a finance major in college?”
    â€œWorse, accounting. The subject should be registered as a lethal weapon. I nearly died from it.”
    She laughed. “I’ll bet your parents made you study it.”
    Well, not parents. Just mother. But as far as Vega was concerned, she was the only one entitled to call herself a “parent” anyway.
    â€œHow’d you guess?”
    â€œWe Indians know something about parental pressure. My parents wanted me to be a surgeon.”
    â€œSo what happened?”
    â€œI preferred having no hand in my patients’ demise. An advantage in my line of work. Yours too, in homicide, I expect.”
    Vega looked down at the envelope in his hands, heavy with the autopsy report. Hypothermia. She died of hypothermia. What the hell was he thinking Saturday night?
    â€œYeah,” said Vega. “Most of the time.”

Chapter 10
    L una Serrano sat in her