the woman said. “I don’t know who this kid is.”
“Mommy …” said a tiny wail.
“Wait a minute!” the woman snapped.
Decker said, “If you’ll just take your time …”
“I said I don’t know who she is!”
Decker lied, “But I was told by a neighbor down the street that you might know—”
“Who told you that?”
“One of your neighbors.”
“Which one?”
“Uh, let me look at my notes,” Decker said, flipping through an empty notepad.
“Was it Jane?” she fired out. “Did Jane tell you I know this kid?”
Another kid screamed, “Mommy, Andrea hit me!”
“I said wait a minute!”
Decker squinted, trying to get a better look at Patty Bingham. They were still talking through the chain.
“Yeah, it was Jane,” Decker said.
“Well, Jane is a liar!”
The door slammed in Decker’s face. He thought the interview was over, until he heard the chain unlatch and the door opened all the way. Patty Bingham was wearing cutoff shorts and a T-shirt. She was a decent-looking woman and was tight in all the right places, but looked as if she’d traveled more than a few miles in her life. She seemed to be an angry woman, but her eyes gave Decker a quick once-over and her expression softened. She cocked her hip.
“Look, sir …” She let out a small laugh. “I don’t know what Jane Hickey told you, but I don’t know who that kid is. And I’ve got five of my own—”
“Five?”
“Well, three are from my husband’s first marriage. They’re visiting him for the summer. Ain’t that a riot! What did you say your name was?”
The phone rang.
“Want me to get that, Patty?” yelled another voice.
“Yeah.” She faced Decker. “Your name?”
Decker showed her his badge again.
“Jane has a kind of big mouth,” Patty said. “Know what I mean?”
“But why would Jane say you knew this kid if you didn’t?” Decker asked. “Please Mrs. Bingham, the kid’s in a foster home, and we don’t know who her parents are. If her parents don’t want her—”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Patty said. She turned red.
“Why?” Decker asked.
“I mean … who wouldn’t want such a cute kid like that?”
“Some parents are very strange.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Want some coffee? We could drink in the backyard. Ain’t so noisy back there.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Bingham. So you have no idea who she belongs to?”
“No idea.”
“Does she look like anyone you know around the neighborhood?”
“Nope. Sure you don’t want to come in for a cup of coffee?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Decker said. “I still have quite a few more doors to knock on. Take one more look.”
“It won’t do any good.”
“Humor me,” Decker said.
Patty gave a cursory glance at the photo, then shook her head.
Decker said, “I just hate to see such a cute little kid like her in a foster home.”
“I’m sure her parents will turn up,” Patty said.
“I don’t think so,” Decker said.
Patty bit her thumbnail. “Well, it’s not my problem if they don’t. I’m not the savior of the world, you know.”
Decker said. “Maybe you want to keep the photo, just in case—”
“Waste of time.”
“Please. Just show it to your neighbors.”
Patty bit her thumbnail again. “You’re a stubborn man.” She took the photo, looked at it, and stuck it in her hip pocket.
Decker said, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Bingham.”
“Sure. And don’t listen to Jane. She’s got a big mouth.”
Decker smiled and walked away. Once inside the unmarked, he radioed in a request for the address of a Mrs. Jane Hickey. She lived a block and a half away, one of the houses where no one had been home yesterday. This morning she was outside, watering her small patch of front lawn, wearing a sunsuit. Her hair was wrapped in a kerchief, her face was deeply tanned.
“Mrs. Hickey?” Decker said. “I’m Sergeant Peter Decker, LAPD. I was wondering if I could have a couple of words with you.”
Jane looked at the badge. “What do you want?”
“I just spoke with one of your neighbors, Patty Bingham,” Decker said. He pulled out another picture of Baby Sally. “I’m trying to identify this little girl and locate her parents. I showed the picture to Mrs. Bingham, and she said it looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it. Do you have any idea who this child might be?”
Jane eyed the picture and laughed.
“What is it?” Decker asked.
“She looks a little like Patty’s youngest,” Jane said.
Decker’s eyes widened.
Jane said, “Of course, it isn’t Andrea.”
“Do they look a lot alike?”
“Just a little around the eyes … and the hair.” Jane handed the picture back to Decker. “All kids that age kinda look alike. Chubby little faces … you know. I don’t know who this one is, though.”
“Never saw her around the neighborhood?”
“No,” Jane said.
“You’re sure?”
“There’s a lot of kids around here,” Jane said. “I’m not positive that I’ve never seen her, but I don’t know the kid personally.”
Decker said, “Thank
