"Very amusing. I'm serious."

"And you think I'm not? I don't sleep a lot. Sometimes I go a night or two without bothering to sleep, but it catches up with me eventually."

"Apparently." He nodded to her chowder. "Eat up, then I'll take you home. You're going to fall face-first into that bowl."

Because Gwen couldn't argue with that a.s.sessment, she finished up her soup and didn't complain when Jason drove the boat back to Riverside at a less-than-leisurely pace. But she put her foot down when he tried convincing her to let him drive her back to her apartment.

She made her way home and headed for the bed. No need to set an alarm-she always woke up the moment the sun hit her.

Cycles of nature, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Maybe Ian was on to something.

First thing Monday morning, Gwen went to the office of the obstetrician Erin Westland had seen when she was pregnant with Patrick. Thanks to yet another form Kyle had signed, she was given access to Erin's chart.

It wasn't strictly legal, but fortunately for Gwen, the medical profession was still sorting through the do's and don'ts of the Privacy of Information legislation. Medical-office workers spent a lot of time shuffling papers. Handing them something that looked offlcial was like ringing a bell around Pavlov's dogs: they automatically went with familiar patterns.

According to the records, Erin had come in only once, just to get a referral for a sonogram. She preferred a home delivery, so the doctor had referred her to a midwife.

Gwen went back to her car and fired up her cell phone. After a few calls, she tracked down the midwife, who'd apparently taken up organic vegetable gardening in Vermont. She introduced herself and explained briefly why she was calling.

"I remember Erin very well," the woman said. "It's hardly something I'm likely to forget."

"Why's that?"

"For one thing, the baby was born very late.""Is that really so unusual, especially for first babies?"

"I'm not talking about a few days, or even a week or two," the midwife said.

Gwen took a moment to absorb that. "Was the baby normal?"

"Yes, he appeared to be fine, if somewhat small. Erin had a remarkably easy delivery, considering that it was her first child."

"What about Erin's ultrasound? Did that show anything strange?"

"I didn't actually see the ultrasound, but I received a report. Apparently the baby was developing normally. The test showed a fetus in the sixth week of development."

"You say that as if it's a problem."

"Well, the dates just don't add up, not on either end. Patrick was born more than nine months after that ultrasound was taken. And the date on the test report was nearly two months after Erin's appointment with her obstetrician."

"So when you do the math, it turns out that Erin wasn't pregnant when she went to her doctor."

"Yet her pregnancy was confirmed by physical exam. The doctor estimated that she was nearly two months along."

"Don't they usually do blood tests to confirm?"

"Erin said she had a phobia about needles. That's why she insisted on a home birth. The idea of giving birth in a hospital terrified her."

Smart girl, Gwen noted. Most likely members of the Elder Races who checked into hospitals met the same fate as those who ended up in jail. Keeping a low profile was very high on the priority list.

"Was there anything else unusual about Erin's pregnancy?"

"You'd think that would be enough," the midwife said, "but actually, there was. The report noted that although the the fetal development was normal, there was some concern about the mother. It showed what appeared to be three ovaries, raising questions about the possibility of a tumor. The report strongly advised that she have another test."

"Did Erin follow up?"

"She told me she did, and that everything was fine."

"You don't sound convinced," Gwen observed.

The midwife was silent for several moments. "I asked questions. After all, I was responsible for two lives.

After a while, I stopped asking."

The tone of her voice suggested that lack of interest was not the reason she stopped seeking answers.

"What happened?" Gwen asked softly.

"A lot of things. Hara.s.sment. Hang-up phone calls late at night, slashed tires. Nothing I could trace to Erin-not that I thought there was any connection. Then my dog was killed. Hannah, a beautiful goldenretriever. She was pregnant at the time. She was left by my door. Her belly was slit open, the puppies left to die."

"And you think Erin had something to do with this?"

"Hannah always barked when Erin came in for her checkups and prenatal cla.s.ses. She was a lovely dog, very friendly, but she didn't like Erin at all."

Gwen heard the faint sigh of a long, steadying breath as the woman prepared to spill the rest.

"One night Hannah set up an awful racket. She was outside-she had a doghouse in the yard. I went downstairs and looked around, but there was no sign of any intruder. Hannah calmed down, or so I thought at the time, and I went back to bed. The next morning I... found Hannah. I was terribly shaken, but I had several appointments that afternoon. One of them was with Erin. When I went to get her chart out, I found that all of my notes were missing."

"So you think Erin was responsible?"

"I know she was." The woman's voice broke, and she cleared her throat. "She didn't say anything, but the look in her eye when she came in that day was... like nothing I've ever seen before. Malevolence came off her in waves."

"I'm surprised you kept her as a patient."

"Oh, I tried to drop her, but she let me know in no uncertain terms that wouldn't be a good idea."

Gwen thought this over. It didn't seem very smart to p.i.s.s off the person who'd have your life and that of your unborn child in her hands-unless you had some sort of guarantee.

"What else did she do?"

"Again, nothing I could trace to her. I received some pictures in the mail-pictures of Hannah, after..."

Again she broke off and cleared her throat. "And in the same envelope, a picture of my daughter. She's going to college in North Carolina. The picture was taken in her dorm room, while she was asleep. There was a newspaper lying on her quilt, showing the date, and her alarm clock was placed beside it."

"The picture was taken around the same time that Hannah died," Gwen concluded.

"Yes."

Well, that message was clear enough.

"Your name won't come into this investigation," Gwen a.s.sured her.

"It doesn't matter." The dullness of old grief colored the woman's voice. "I really don't care what happens to me, and my daughter's dead."

"I'm sorry," Gwen murmured. "Was it-"

"Erin Westland? No. Oddly enough, I think that would have been easier for me to deal with. Sometimes it helps to have someone to hate. My daughter died in childbirth, in a hospital. She went that route on my advice because she was having mild symptoms of preeclampsia. The doctors did nothing wrong. But Sarah had a congenital heart problem, something we'd never picked up. It was asymptomatic until the strain of childbirth..." Her voice trailed off."I'm sorry," Gwen repeated. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. It has been a big help."

She ended the call and drove in silence, thinking through this new information.

The most logical conclusion was that Elder Folk had longer pregnancies, with the extra time most likely in the early stages. Women who walked around with a b.u.mp for a year or so would draw attention, but who the heck could tell if a woman was six weeks pregnant? If Erin was figuring this out as she went along, it was possible that she'd been to more than one doctor, and had had more than one ultrasound taken.

Thanks to the whole Privacy of Information thing, getting that information wouldn't be easy. Gwen was lucky to have gotten as far as she had with signed releases from Erin's "husband." It was definitely time to bring in a heavy hitter.

She pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food joint and dialed Harley Faden. His voice-mail announcement told her to leave a message. She followed the drill and hung up.

Her cell phone rang almost immediately. "This is Harley," announced a nasal tenor voice. "What have you got for me?"

"No story. Sorry about that. I'm working on a case. Thanks for calling back so soon."

"You don't need to thank me," he said. "You need to pay me. The clock starts now."

"I need you to check on some medical records for me. One person with at least three names: Erin Westland, Vivian Meekins, Helene Tremaine. There might be more."

"I'm getting it down," Harley murmured. "What else?"

"She'd have to go to someone specializing in obstetrics and gynecology to get referrals for ultrasounds.

Several of them. I need those tests. The actual films, if you can get them, not just the reports."

"You don't like to make things easy, do you?"

"What fun would that be? Here's something that might help: this woman might have three ovaries rather than two."

"Cool. How many t.i.ts?"

"Standard issue, as far as I know."

"Just checking. These tests-what's the time frame?"

Gwen considered this. Patrick Radcliff was born about six years ago. "Go back eight years," she suggested, "and cover a period of at least two years."

"Wait a minute-one woman, two years, three egg crates, multiple names, and a photo alb.u.m of ultrasounds? What's going on here?"

"This woman gets pregnant a lot," Gwen said blandly. "She's supplying a lab doing illegal stem-cell research. One of the researchers is knocking up the volunteers himself, and selling the videos as Internet p.o.r.n. You think there might be a story in that?"

His moan sounded faintly o.r.g.a.s.mic. "d.a.m.n it, Gwen, it's not nice to tease."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On her way through the East Side, Gwen stopped at an art-supply store near the school of design and picked up a roll of white paper and several drawing pencils. She tossed her purchases into her car and called Damian about last night's bust.

"Got anything for me?"

"Not a d.a.m.n thing," he grumbled. "Archer told it straight; Jackie Teal was clean."

"You followed the evidence?"

"I met the beat cops at the station, followed our girl through the whole routine. Stuck to her like a tick. I took her over to the lab myself, stood right there while they ran a tox screen. That came up negative for all known illegals. You sure she was using?"

"I'd put good money on it." Gwen hesitated. "You talk to Quaid since then?"

"h.e.l.l, no. It was past midnight by the time they were finished."

"You should call him."

"Tried to. He's not answering his cell."

"Then call his home number. If he doesn't answer that, stop by his place."

A couple beats went by as Damian took this in. "What's going on, Gellman?"

"It's not my place to tell you. Quaid's okay, or was when I talked to him last night."

"I'm on it. Anything else?"

"How are your art skills?"

"Not worth a steaming purple c.r.a.p. Why?"

"I need you to help me do a drawing of someone."

"Huh. Something tells me you don't want to sit down with a sketch artist."

"Good call. I'm heading to my apartment. How soon can you be over?"

"Give me an hour. I'll talk to Quaid, come right over."

"Thanks. I'll leave the gate open. Park by the garage, and come right upstairs."

She drove home and set to work, cutting long sheets of the paper and taping them to her bedroom wall.

She was just finishing up when she heard footsteps on the stairs.