given birth. Amaia didn’t make a big deal of it. She kept her tone entirely casual. “But amniocentesis reveals the child’s sex. It’s shown in the lab results, or am I wrong? Over.”
“That’s correct,” the physician confirmed. “Over.”
“Did Mr. Davis ask for that information? Over.”
“I can’t answer that. It’s confidential. Over.”
“No problem. Let’s take a different tack. You’re not going to tell me, but I’m free to continue making my assumptions, right? Well, my belief is that Mr. Davis expressed a great deal of concern about the progress of the pregnancy, right from the first. Am I right? Over.”
“That’s hardly unusual, so I have no problem commenting. His wife is no longer young—when it comes to giving birth, I mean. Any husband would worry about a miscarriage. Over.”
Or he might pray for one, Amaia thought. God, take from me this bitter cup! Aloud, she said, “I believe Mr. Davis pretended he didn’t mind when his wife didn’t want to know the results, except in so far as they related to the normal development of the fetus. But I also believe that later, when no one else was around, he asked about the sex. And you gave him that information. Over.”
Owen tiptoed around that one. “The law provides that the father and the mother have the same rights and obligations concerning a child. Over.”
“I suppose the sex of a child shouldn’t be terribly important to a father who already has both a son and a daughter; and yet for him it was. My thought is that he wasn’t very happy to hear they were expecting another son. I’m sure that seemed odd to you. If he already had a boy and a girl, the sex shouldn’t have made any difference, right? You’d probably have found that reaction strange, especially on the part of a man who’d been following the course of the pregnancy so closely. Over.”
She heard Steve Owen, MD, sigh heavily. “I will admit you have an impressive intuition and ability to formulate convincing hypotheses. I don’t think I would care to be married to you. Over.”
They ended the call. Amaia was handing the microphone to Annabel when a woman’s voice came through the radio. “Assistant Inspector! Over . . . Assistant Inspector Salazar, this is Paula Thibodaux. Over.”
Taken by surprise, Amaia checked with Annabel, who encouraged her to answer. “Go ahead, Paula. Over.”
“Maybe this seem silly, but you know I was listening . . . Over.”
“Sure, Paula, and I’m really grateful. Is there something you wanted to mention? Over.”
“Well, yes, in fact. Listening to that doctor, I remember Cousin Tim’s wife say she didn’t want to know the baby sex till she had it. We thought it just a shame to visit the hospital without the right present, depending if it was a boy or girl. We figured out we could go and call the hospital florist. They get a list every day of all the new little boys and girls and the room numbers. We just gave her the mama’s name and found out she had a girl. Then, we waltzed in there with everything pink—baby clothes, bracelets, cuddly toys, pink flowers even! My sister-in-law still wondering how we knew!” She laughed. “If you want, I can try. Over.”
“Great idea, Paula,” Amaia responded, beaming. “It’s the women’s health care center at Seton Medical Center in Austin. Over.”
Paula called information and got the number. After a few moments of silence, they heard a dial tone, rings, and an answer. Her voice had a cheery lilt. “Hello, good morning there! I like to send two dozen roses to a Seton patient who just had a baby. Oh, and some balloons, please, but I don’t know the room or if it is a boy or a girl.”
“What’s the patient’s name?”
“It’s Mrs. Davis, Natalie Davis. I know they expect to induce.”
“Well, honey, you’re a little bit ahead of yourself. Your friend is scheduled to be admitted the day after tomorrow. But you can pay for the flowers now, and we’ll deliver them as soon as the baby arrives.”
“Oh, okay, then I have plenty of time to come in and pick ’em myself,” Paula chirped. “And I can get the balloons and a nice card too.”
“As you like.” The florist hung up. Paula giggled. “What you think? Over.”
“You’re a genius, Paula! Thanks! This is Salazar, out.”
68
IS IT NIGHT IN BAZTÁN ALREADY?
The swamp
Dupree studied Amaia again. She held tight to the deck railing as if it were somehow feeding her inspiration. He moved closer,