Inspector Queen’s Own Case

Jessie said, without turning from the sink, “What would you say, Inspector, if I told you I have his footprints?”

“What!”

“Mrs. Humffrey’d bought one of those baby books put out by the Chicago Lying-In Hospital — you know, where you keep a record of feeding, teeth growth, and so on. There’s a place in them for recording the footprints. I pressed his feet on that page myself.”

“And you have it?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. After the funeral I asked Mrs. Humffrey where she wanted me to put the book. She got hysterical and told me to take it away, she never wanted to see it again. So I appropriated it,” Jessie said defiantly. “He was a lot more my baby than hers... Wait, I’ll get it for you. It’s in one of my bags.”

She hurried into the bedroom and came out with an oversized book with a baby-blue cover.

“Of course, we couldn’t fill in the birth data except for the date of birth—” Jessie gasped. “The date of birth!”

“This is going to be a cinch,” he chortled. “With these footprints and the birth date, it’s only a question of locating the hospital. Finner brought the baby to that Pelham meeting in the morning, so the odds are he picked him up in a New York hospital. I’ll have these prints photostated first thing tomorrow, and... Jessie, what’s the matter?”

She was staring blearily down at the tiny black feet impressions. “Nothing, Richard.” She fumbled for a handkerchief, turning away.

He started to touch her, withdrew his hand awkwardly. “It’s a brutal business, Jessie...”

“He was so little,” Jessie sobbed. “That perfect body... his feet... I used to kiss his toes one at a time reciting Piggy, and he’d gleep...” She blew her nose angrily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happened to me lately.”

“You’re a woman,” he muttered. “Maybe you haven’t had time to find that out before, Jessie.”

She kept her face averted. “What do I do, Richard?”

“The first thing you do is recognize the spot you’re in.”

“The spot I’m in?” She swung about at that.

“If I’d known about your having this baby book, I’d never have let you get into this. It’s a dangerous thing for you to have. Finner was murdered because he was a link in the chain leading to little Mike’s mother. This book, with his footprints, is another such link. Who knows you’ve got it?”

Jessie sank into a chair, staring at him. “Only Sarah Humffrey, I suppose. For all I know, maybe even she doesn’t know. She may have assumed I destroyed it.”

He scowled. “Maybe the killer’s assumed the same thing. Or doesn’t know it exists. All the same, Jessie, you’re going to have to watch your step. In fact, the more I think of it the less I cotton to the idea of your living in this apartment alone. I wish—”

“Yes?” Jessie said.

“Well, I can be your bodyguard in the daytime, anyway.” He smiled down at her. “What would you like to do today?”

Before they set out Monday afternoon with the photostats, Richard Queen said, “It’s going to be a long pull, Jessie. There must be seventy-five or eighty hospitals in Manhattan and the Bronx alone, not to mention Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, Westchester, Long Island, and nearby Jersey.”

“Why not start off with the maternity hospitals?” Jessie suggested. “Those would be the logical places.”

“Which is why Finner would have avoided them. And he’d certainly not use places like the New York Foundling Hospital or the Shelter for Unmarried Mothers. No, I think he’d figure a big general hospital would give his brood mares a better chance of getting lost in the shuffle. Let’s start with those.”

“All right, suppose we make a list and split it up. That would halve the time.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he said firmly. “Besides, I doubt if you could get access to hospital files, even in the places where they know you. I’ve got a natural in with this shield.”

On Wednesday afternoon, the third day of their hunt, they were leaving a hospital in the East 80’s when Jessie said, “What’s wrong, Richard? You’ve acted strange all day. You said yourself it’s going to be a long search.”

He steered her across the street to her coupé. “I didn’t think it showed,” he said dryly.

“You can’t fool me. When you’re worried about something you get all tight and quiet. What is it?”

“Watch. In the rear-view mirror.”

He started the Dodge and moved out into traffic, heading north. Jessie slid over close to him and kept her eyes on the mirror. As they passed a corner, a black Chrysler sedan badly in need of a washing moved out from the side street and turned in after them. For a moment it was just behind them and Jessie caught a glimpse of the driver’s face. It was all jaw and cheekbone in sharp angles, hard and gray. The man was alone.

Then the Chrysler fell back, other cars intervened, and Jessie lost sight of it. But when the Inspector turned west a few blocks north of the hospital, Jessie saw the gray-faced man turn west, too.

“We’re being followed.” Her mouth felt sticky.

“He’s been on our tail all day.”

“A city detective?”

“City detectives generally work in pairs.”

“Then who is he?”