She was in her early forties, with dark hair threaded with silver and pulled into a low ponytail, and eyes sharp enough to make people confess things before they had even been questioned.
She looked at the blood.
Then at the empty bassinet.
Then at Ryan.
“Mr. Parker,” she said, “where is your wife?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is your son?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you leave the house?”
“Friday morning.”
“And when did you notice your wife was injured?”
Ryan swallowed.
“She said she was bleeding.”
Detective Bennett’s face did not change.
“She said?”
“She’d just had a baby. I thought…”
He stopped himself.
There was no harmless way to finish that sentence.
The detective stepped closer.
“You thought what?”
Ryan looked down at the nursery floor.
“I thought she was exaggerating.”
The silence afterward felt worse than yelling.
“Did you call a doctor?” Bennett asked.
“No.”
“Did you call an ambulance?”
“No.”
“Did you check on the baby?”
Ryan’s face collapsed.
“No.”
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