The Chalk Girl by Carol O'Connell

producing identification to back up the names on their hospital badges. And he took
notes
, by God. He knew
all
their names and addresses.
    After the caregivers passed scrutiny, the policeman personally supervised every treatment, each change of IV bag and the catheter, too. He kept watch on monitors for machines that tracked vital signs of faint heart and failing kidneys. The staff found it unnerving to have medical decisions questioned by a man with a gun. However, to the officer’s credit, he had caught a conflict of medication during one of his many perusals of the coma victim’s chart.
    So
. . . if this civilian in street clothes, standing before him, thought she had a chance in hell of just waltzing past that curtain to see
his
patient, she had been cruelly misinformed.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    An easy enough question, but apparently she was stumped.
    Detective Mallory opened all the drapes to light up the front room of the apartment owned by Humphrey Bledsoe, alias Uncle Red. ‘That kid can tell me what happened here, but she
won’t
. And I
know
she’s not retarded.’
    ‘Right you are,’ said Charles. ‘Coco is
very
smart . . . and creative. She doesn’t believe Uncle Red was turned into a tree. But a nice story is so much better than a frightening reality that she
cannot
deal with. She’s only eight years old.’
    Oh,
huge
mistake. Mallory so disliked having obvious things pointed out to her.
    ‘You don’t want to get between me and a case! I need—’
    ‘Mallory, shut up! Just
listen
.’
    And she did shut up, but only because she was surprised to hear these words from him of all people. And so he had bought a moment to compose himself. Charles walked to a window that overlooked the planetarium across the street. He understood the child’s limitations
and
Mallory’s. ‘When you were her age, I know you went through worse things. But Coco isn’t
like
you.’ He turned around to see a hint of anger in her eyes. Perhaps Mallory had inferred that this spoke well of the little girl – this lack of likeness to herself. To put her straight, he said, ‘That child doesn’t have your coping skills. I wish she did.’
    And now he risked that other crime against Mallory, a repetition of facts already in evidence, but he was past caring what might offend her. ‘Coco was kidnapped, ripped out of the only world she knew. She also witnessed the violence of a man stripped and bound and carried off.
Then
she dared to go outside in the dark and confront a strange city, where she had nothing and no one. And she followed a sadistic killer into the Ramble – this little girl who has trouble with shoelaces and buttons. She was coming undone, breaking down,
shutting
down. And then you came along, Mallory. And
finally
Coco had somebody. That child only lives to please you.’ He waved one hand toward the window and its view of the planetarium. ‘She gave you the damn moon in a box.’ Never mind the small technicality that it was really the sun. ‘What a gift. What an ingrate you are.’
    Was Mallory paying attention? No, she was looking down at the floor, finding a pile of discarded clothing miles more interesting.
    ‘This is where the perp assaulted Humphrey Bledsoe and bagged him,’ she said. ‘I need to know where Coco was hiding when this went down. If she saw the perp, maybe he saw her, too. A sadist could be looking for that kid.’ Mallory smiled, and he wished she would not, for this was hardly a happy smile, not at all friendly.‘But you’re right to take her away from me, Charles. You’re so right.’ And her sarcasm said he was so wrong. ‘I only wanted to keep that kid alive. What was I thinking? I must be a
sociopath
.’
    This last word was put out there to hang in the air between them like a dare. This was the way she had been characterized in Dr Kane’s psych evaluation for the NYPD. But Charles had been her champion in this matter, and he was her defender to this day, this moment. ‘I