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<h2>15</h2>
<p>"I found him," the ancient woman said. "And he was
<em>mine</em>."</p>
<p>Her name was Greta Simon and she sat in the wheelchair in the
corner of the room, out of the light. Her hair was grey and thin
she had a shallow indentation, as wide as a tennis ball and maybe
half an inch deep, on the side of her temple. It gave her face an
asymmetric, somehow slumped appearance. Her left eye, on the same
side of the dent, was turned inwards in a violent strabismic squint
which made her look both cunning and imbecilic all at the same
time.</p>
<p>She grinned widely, showing three teeth on the left side. The
gaps gave her an odd, slavering hiss of speech as if she wore ill
fitting dentures. Her hands hugged herself constantly as if making
sure she was truly there.</p>
<p>"I loved him and I looked after him all the time," she said.
David had to bend forward to hear. "Little Tim. <em>Little Tiny
Tim</em>. He was mine you know. I had him and I fed him. All the
time. He never stopped eating. Brought me out in bruises, he did,
but I never minded that."</p>
<p>She looked up at David Harper, though with her improbable
squint, he couldn't be sure exactly what she was looking at. He
kept a fix on her right eye to be certain. It looked the most
likely.</p>
<p>This was Greta Simon who had almost been killed by the lorry
that day on Duncryne Bridge, the day Heather McDougall had decided
to go up the valley to join her dead friend. She was old and frail
and wandered, yet there was a strange life in her good eye, a
peculiar, almost mischievous and somehow sly intelligence inside
that deformed head.</p>
<p>"You can go and see her," Phil Cutcheon had told him. "I spoke
to her once or twice after the case and she's wandered all right,
but there's more to her than you'd think."</p>
<p>The former detective had poured neat cups of strong coffee in
the heated conservatory that let in the weak winter sunshine which
together with the greenery and the winter flowering blooms, made it
feel like a warm day in spring.</p>
<p>"Still miss the job," he said. "Miss the cut and thrust. You get
used to it and when you stop, it's as if you've had the feet cut
from under you. Mark my words, you've a long way to go, but make
sure you've got things to do by the time you're ready to take the
pension. I've got my garden and the bowling club, but I miss the
thinking, the real concentration."</p>
<p>He sat back and looked straight at David, much as Greta Simon
would do later, though Cutcheon had the direct look that all
policemen seem to develop. The power look.</p>
<p>"You've got yourself a mystery, same as I had. And there was an
old beat man back in the forties who had the same thing. It's got
me beat and it'll have you beat too, but there's no harm in you
ploughing the same furrow. If you turned up something, I'd be glad
of it. I always thought that driver should never have gone to jail.
Not in a million years. But he had a cretin for a lawyer and there
was nothing I could do but report the facts. From the looks of
things, he was going too fast, from the skid marks anyway, but I
would have said it was a borderline case. As far as the baby was
concerned, we spent a lot of man hours looking for it and never
turned up anything at all. What got me was that he was wrapped in a
shawl when he went over the bridge and that never showed up
neither. You'd have thought it would have got snagged in the bushes
or the brambles down on the side of the valley. Take a walk up
there and have a look, it hasn't changed in all those years."</p>
<p>"I already did," David said. The coffee was strong and thick and
he could feel his pulse speed up almost instantly. "It's pretty
steep."</p>
<p>"Yes. Right down to the Witches Pots. I used to play there as a
boy, you know. Good place to swim, but damned cold, even in the
summer. If the baby had fallen in there, it would have drowned and
died of cold pretty quickly. But I always had my doubts, because
even as a boy I knew that anything that landed in the pool tended
to stay there, even when the river was in spate. Devanney, the
driver, he was no use. He said the woman came running out into the
middle of the road. There might have been somebody else there at
the time, but he couldn't be sure and anyway he was in such a state
of shock that we couldn't get a word out of him for hours. He
worked for Carnwath Hauliers and there was a lot of bad feeling at
the time. They were a cowboy outfit and they pushed their drivers
too hard. There had been a couple of accidents before this and that
was why it was easy to get a conviction, but as I said, it was a
borderline case and to tell you the truth, the road up there's
quiet enough for anybody to hear a truck coming a mile off. It was
as much her fault, in my opinion, as his."</p>
<p>"So what do you think happened?"</p>
<p>"Christ alone knows. I was never completely sure there was a
baby on the bridge, though Greta Simon did have a kid at some
stage, at least to look after. There were enough witnesses
testifying to that, but nobody knew <em>whose</em> baby it was. She
was in a coma for weeks and once she came out of it she was as mad
as a hatter. She'll still tell you she had a baby boy and half of
the time she still thinks she's got one. But it's a mystery all
right and it's not one of my clearest memories of my time on the
force. Devanney should never have gone to jail on the basis of the
evidence. That baby was never found, and there was no clear proof
that it was there, despite the wreck of the pram on the road at the
bridge. Greta was a bit crazy before the accident anyway. The court
decided there must have been a baby and it must have died and that
was that. We searched her place from top to bottom and found plenty
of new kiddies clothes and toys, and a cot that had never been
used. To me that wasn't conclusive, but I had to go ahead and make
my report</p>
<p>"That's what we found at Heather McDougall's place."</p>
<p>"And it stank to high heaven too, as if she'd been keeping cats
or some kind of animal. There was a smell that would have burned
your eyes out."</p>
<p>"Snap."</p>
<p>"We didn't hear about McDougall until the following day, if my
memory serves me. To tell you the truth, I never linked the two
cases, for there was never any pointers to show she'd gone up to
Duncryne. I think maybe it's a coincidence."</p>
<p>"There's plenty of them, that's for sure. That's why I came to
have a chat. Mr Bulloch sends his regards by the way. He says you
and he worked together."</p>
<p>"More years ago than I care to remember. He's done well for
himself, young Bulloch. Got some distance to go too, I believe."
The big ex-policeman sat back with his coffee, looking over the cup
at David, his grey and grizzled eyebrows drawn down. He was tall,
but broad enough to disguise his height. He must have been a
formidable policeman in his day, David thought. The blue eyes were
still clear and bright. They measured everything.</p>
<p>"Anyway, what you tell he has got me interested again, though I
promised Maisie, that's my wife, that I wouldn't open any more
cases. After I left, there were still one or two loose ends to tie
up, but after a while you just sit back and let other people get on
with it. That's what they're paid for, and the last thing they want
is an old has-been breathing down their necks."</p>
<p>He grinned widely. "But you do need something to keep the brain
cells alive, so any help you need, I'm your man."</p>
<p>"It's the coincidences that puzzle me," David said. "From what I
understand, we've got two missing babies, yet nobody knows where
they came from. If the McDougall women's diaries are accurate,
there's probably more than two. Maybe as many as four, because the
diaries span a long time. I can't tell you if these kids were
begged borrowed or stolen, but I do know that Heather McDougall
never gave birth.</p>
<p>"And neither did Greta Simon. When you go down to Blairdyke
Hospital they'll tell you that. She'd never had a child of her own,
so she was looking after one for somebody else or she'd done some
sort of fostering deal that nobody knew about. That used to happen
now and again. I went through all the records at the time to find
out if maybe a child had been reported missing but even then that
would have been big news. You have to remember, the pressure was on
me at the time to clear up the Quigley murder. Back then, a murder
took precedence over an accident, no matter how serious, and I was
pretty thinly stretched at the time and so were my team. The
Quigley case was a mess from start to finish. No matter though, we
did our best to find the baby, but nothing turned up."</p>
<p>"And you think there was no baby?"</p>
<p>"Oh, there was a baby at some stage. Nobody knew whether it was
a boy or a girl. Later on Greta said it was a boy, but by that time
she was howling at the moon. There was a baby, but I am not
convinced it went over the parapet and down the ravine. We would
have found something. People said they saw somebody else on the
bridge. We never got an identity, but there could have been
somebody with Greta Simon. Who knows?"</p>
<p>"Somebody said maybe a fox had taken it. That or a dog."</p>
<p>"We had tracker dogs all over there. They'd have picked up
something, but there was nothing. All we could do was make a report
and the prosecution decided to take it all the way. It was a
railroad job, but I'm a policeman, or I used to be. I don't make
the rules. There was nothing I could do."</p>
<p>He sat back and steepled his thick fingers together. "I spent a
lot of time thinking about this later, and I can see you'll be
doing the same. What I came up with was something I couldn't
fathom. It's always been at the back of my mind, but I never really
took it further. I think maybe I made a mistake, from what you've
told me. I might owe somebody a posthumous apology. Later on, if
you want, I can get you more information, but I have to tell you,
it's a case of history repeating itself, and that's something I
don't like to see."</p>
<p>"I'm not with you," David admitted.</p>
<p>"From what you've told me, you've an almost identical case and
it's come too close to this old one. Heather McDougall came from
here and she disappeared at the same time as the baby. Now there
may be a gap of thirty years or so, but it's too weird. You didn't
know that Greta Simon herself disappeared as well, way back in the
forties, did you?"</p>
<p>David shook his head.</p>
<p>"Well, it's true. She came from somewhere across the other side
of the country. Kirkland, Levenford, around that neck of the woods.
Back then, during the war, there was a lot of movement, and there
was plenty of bombing down there on Clydeside, so people went
missing all the time. It wasn't until we really looked into the
case that we found her name on the files and in her bag she still
had her old wartime identity card. Until then, nobody really knew
who she was or where she was from. Now you've got the same thing.
Greta Simon, Heather McDougall, and now your Marsden girl. It's a
hell of a set of coincidences, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"I'm not the first to come up with the notion that it was all
too pat. I heard something like this before, a long time ago,
before your time. Before Donal Bulloch's time in fact, but I never
gave it any credence before. Now I wonder if I was wrong. Maybe
there's some sort of virus that makes women steal children."</p>
<p>"I'm still not with you."</p>
<p>"No. I didn't think you would be," Phil Cutcheon said, sitting
back in his seat and running a hand through his grizzled hair.
"Tell you what. You go down to Blairdyke Hospital. Mike Fitzgibbon,
he's the senior man there, I'll give him a call and he'll let you
talk to Greta Simon. You can see for yourself what she'd like. Once
you've done that, come back to me and I'll see what I can do.
You've whetted my appetite and there's bugger-all to be done in the
greenhouse at this time of the year."</p>
<p>Dr Fitzgibbon was tall and spare, with receding ginger-coloured
hair cut very short and wearing octagonal glasses which gave him a
hard and heartless look, but he'd a wide and friendly smile which
transformed the initial impression. He had narrow shoulders from
which a while coat drooped. It flapped behind him as he walked down
the straight corridor which was painted in that shade of green they
save for public institutions as if it's a legal requirement to be
as dismal and depressing as possible.</p>
<p>"Old Phil Cutcheon called me," he said. "It's a shame he's not
still on the force. He knows more psychology than some of the
dough-heads and wide boys here. He can spot a faker a mile off.
Don't ever tell him a lie or he'll have your guts."</p>
<p>David promised he wouldn't. Mike Fitzgibbon insisted on using
first names and led David to a small, neat office with views over a
regimented garden.</p>
<p>"Greta Simon. One of our enduring mysteries is old Greta. I've
been here for fifteen years and I still haven't a clue, but you're
welcome to talk to her. She can be friendly when she chooses, and
then again, she sometimes doesn't say a word for weeks. It depends
on the moon or whether it's raining, or if she heard a blackbird
after dinner. I know her case bugged the hell out of Superintendent
Cutcheon and I can quite understand that."</p>
<p>He crossed to the wall and opened the second drawer of a grey
filing cabinet and brought out a thick folder. "These are just the
basics. There's a bundle of case notes going way back, but there's
no harm in giving you the brief history."</p>
<p>Mike opened the file and took out a sheaf of official looking
papers. To David they looked very much like police report
forms.</p>
<p>"Greta Simon. Presented July 27 1967 at Blane Hospital, aged
approximately sixty. Suffering multiple fractures and a massive
depressed fracture of the skull following a road accident. That
much you know already."</p>
<p>"Badly injured?"</p>
<p>"Appalling. She'd got twenty pins in her legs. Pelvis was
compacted and both knee-joints shattered. The surgeons considered
amputation, but because of the head injury they thought she might
not survive. It was a miracle that she did." The doctor went down
the list. "The coma lasted approximately five weeks after which she
needed intensive therapy. The damage was to the left side of the
head, affecting the temporal lobe. She suffered paralysis of the
right side, facial distortion and speech dysfunction which is quite
common in injuries of this nature as well as in stroke and
haemorrhage victims."</p>
<p>Mike looked up. "Those were the injuries. She didn't talk for
six months, maybe seven. But there were other interesting aspects
to the case. We had her aged approximately sixty. To all outward
appearance, from bone structure and composition, she was that age.
It turned out she was nearer fifty, but that's by the way. What did
surprise the team at Blane was the fact that she was still
lactating."</p>
<p>"Lactating?" David asked. The word made him sit up straight in
his seat.</p>
<p>"Yes. Producing milk."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know. I was just surprised." In fact he could hardly
believe what the doctor had said. It was another coincidence. A
huge coincidence. Another one was about to fall his way.</p>
<p>"And menstruating." Mike Fitzgibbon said, reading from the
notes. "Very unusual. Dr Tvedt made particular reference to both.
He'd have loved to have done a post mortem, I can tell from his
notes. Just a shame she didn't die." Mike gave a grin, wide and
natural. "He was an old bugger. Horrible swine of a man. Somebody
did a post mortem on him last year. Liver failure. Too much arm
bending. He liked his brandy."</p>
<p>The young doctor went back to the notes. "Anyway, she wasn't
expected to live, not with her injuries. The worst of all was the
skull damage and naturally there was collateral brain injury. She
had three clots under the surface of the cerebrum, one of them
quite massive. That's what caused the speech dysfunction of course
and the lateral paralysis. The neuro team managed to partially
raise the depressed fracture to remove some of the pressure on the
meninges, that's the membrane covering the brain."</p>
<p>David nodded. He'd read enough post mortem reports, or listened
to them in murder trials, to have a fair working knowledge of the
terminology.</p>
<p>"And on the brain itself. What was remarkable was that the clots
dissipated very quickly, without the use of anti-coagulant.
Normally we'd try to break up a major blockage and hope it
dissolved before further damage is caused to the blood supply.
Nobody was sure of what caused that spontaneous dissolution, but
Tvedt was convinced it had something to do with the presence of
unusual antibodies in her blood.</p>
<p>David raised his head. "What was unusual?"</p>
<p>Mike quickly scanned through the notes, though it was obvious
he'd read them a dozen times or more. "There was quite a range.
They couldn't make out whether they were defences against bacteria
or virus, and remember this was back in the sixties. Things have
moved on since then. It seemed that she'd been exposed to some
infection, some invasion before the accident and her body had
either produced antibodies, or these large protein structures had
been introduced from the outside."</p>
<p>"So what were they?"</p>
<p>Mike shrugged. "Nobody knows."</p>
<p>"Haven't they been checked recently? You said things have moved
on since then."</p>
<p>"Sure they have. We're mapping the human genome and we've
techniques to identify specific antibodies, even down to their
protein coats. But that was then and this is now. About six months
after she arrived in Blane, there was no sign of them at all. Tvedt
had thought there was a never-ending supply in Greta's bloodstream,
but he was wrong. Oh, he should have kept samples, but he didn't
and there was no way his people could induce her to produce the
antibodies."</p>
<p>"What made them disappear?"</p>
<p>"Who knows. Some believe that we've got every antibody to every
disease since life crawled out of the swamp, a sort of biological
array of defences that are triggered into production to counter
every threat. What really kills us is the emergence of new
varieties and there's new ones coming along all the time. More and
more since man in his wisdom is getting down to serious genetics.
Anyway, Greta, it would seem, had produced these complex molecules
as a defence, or as an inhibitor. When the threat was gone, her
body simply turned off the supply. It's unusual for the human
immune system to leave no trace once the defences are switched off,
but not impossible. Tvedt just couldn't recreate the conditions
because he didn't know what had switched them on in the first
place."</p>
<p>Mike closed the file. "After about five weeks, she woke, which
came as a surprise to everybody, and her injuries started to mend.
They did a radio-opaque scan of her brain and found the clotting
gone, though there was still scarring at the source of impact. Her
speech aphasia was apparent for a year or more, though she hardly
talked at all. She had motor dysfunction and severe pedal handicap
because of the muscle and bone injury to the pelvic area. Apart
from that there was nothing much wrong with her except...."</p>
<p>David nodded him on.</p>
<p>"Except the brain damage was not merely confined to motor and
speech function. It left her permanently disabled, and that's why
she's here at Blairdyke. She's been variously diagnosed, but in a
nutshell, he's got the mental age of a girl of seven. That's just
one aspect of the brain injury.</p>
<p>"From time to time she exhibits varying symptoms of catalepsy,
grand and petit mal."</p>
<p>"She throws fits?"</p>
<p>"As you say. She throws fits." Mike smiled, but not
condescendingly. "While there is no clinical evidence, either
chemical or hormonal, she displays evidence of schizophrenia, which
could be attributed to new synapse pathways forming but not
connecting properly. She talks to herself. She believes she is
possessed. She occasionally believes she has a baby."</p>
<p>David sat back. Coincidence was piling upon coincidence.</p>
<p>"Does anybody know whether she ever <em>had</em> a baby?"</p>
<p>"I'm no pathologist. I'm a psychologist. But no, she never did.
Her clinical notes show that she presented with adhesions on both
fallopian tubes. One of these turned out to be a tumour which was
removed in the early seventies. Initially her ovaries were grossly
distended and fully functional. In fact they were unnaturally
active, even for a woman half her age. They were producing vast
amounts of hormone when she was first admitted and there was some
suspicion that this had been caused by damage to the pituitary
gland, though there was never any proof. What I'm saying is that
she was hormonally fertile, but physically sterile."</p>
<p>"Was she a virgin?"</p>
<p>"No. But she never had a baby, not one of her own. Shortly after
admission, at least within the first six months, the overpoduction
of progesterone and oestrogen slowed and then failed completely.
She entered menopause almost overnight. That possibly didn't help
her mental condition, but again, that was before my time. I was
still in school."</p>
<p>"Me to," David said.</p>
<p>"So what's your interest in our Greta?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," David said honestly. "I'm following a list of
coincidences that have me beat, There was a similar case to hers in
my neck of the woods, somebody who would have interested you, but
she died."</p>
<p>"Phil Cutcheon said you might want to speak to her?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I would," David said. "I don't know what I'm looking for,
I have to admit, but I'd like to check everything out."</p>
<p>"You'd make a good doctor," Mike Fitzgibbon said. He stood up
and opened the door. They went back down the dismal green corridor
which echoed like a cave, amplifying their footsteps and making
them reverberate in a shadowy back-beat. At the far end, a narrow
stairway led down to a lower level where, oddly, the corridor was
brighter and the windows let on to a small, neatly tended garden
where winter roses sparkled under a sugaring of frost.</p>
<p>Half way along, Mike opened a white door. He went in first, and
beckoned to David to come through. Inside, the spartan room was
clean and shaded. A pull-down blind came almost to the sill. For a
moment David's eyes were unaccustomed to the shade but there was
enough light coming in through the open door for him to see a tiny,
emaciated woman sitting in a wheelchair, hugging herself tight. She
shivered in a palsied tremor, the kind of motion he'd seen on
Heather McDougall's old and ruined father. The eyes at first were
just as vacant, focused into the far distance or into the far
past.</p>
<p>This old woman had lost her mind on the same day that old Callum
McDougall had lost a daughter. There was a strange symmetry in
that, an uncanny similarity.</p>
<p>"Hello Greta," Mike said brightly, walking towards the window.
He raised the blind, not fully, but enough to let light in so they
could both see without straining. A shaft of brightness caught the
old woman's eye and David saw a gleam that could have been anger or
mischief or complete insanity. She turned her head, still shivering
slightly, away from the glare. Her hair was faded and sparse,
showing a pale, mottled scalp. The light cast a shadow that focused
attention on the shocking depression in the side of her head and
cast a glint in the eye that was violently turned inward.</p>
<p>She lifted her head. In the silence of that moment, David heard
the creak of bone against ligament.</p>
<p>"Shhh," the woman said, fixing that one eye on the doctor while
the other one glared madly at the wall on the other side. "You'll
wake him."</p>
<p>"Wake who Greta?" Mike Fitzgibbon asked, turning towards David,
one eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>"You'll wake the baby, Doctor. You know he needs all his sleep,
poor wee thing. You'll waken him up again and then we'll never get
any sleep."</p>
<p>"What's your baby called, Greta?"</p>
<p>"Tim. You know that. He's Tiny Tim." She leaned forward and then
pushed back, rocking slowly. Her wizened, slumped head seemed to
waver and twist in the half-light. It gave her a gnome-like cast,
as if her face was trying to change into something else. Despite
her frailty, it gave David an eerie shiver.</p>
<p>"I found him you know." She leaned back and the chair quivered.
"Before. I found him. He wanted me, you know. He cried to me and I
saved him. He needed me and I needed him."</p>
<p>The old woman jerked in a sudden start, blinking rapidly, three
times in succession. She turned round, her good eye wide,
bewildered, scanning the room. Mike looked at David again.</p>
<p>"This is what to expect. The alterations between her states are
inexplicable and very rapid."</p>
<p>"Where is this place?"</p>
<p>"You're in the hospital Greta. You know that. And this is David
who's come to see you."</p>
<p>The old fluttery hands rubbed up and down against skinny arms,
sliding scratchily over shoulders that were fleshless and bony.</p>
<p>"David," she said, voice tremulous and weak. "David. Can you
find him? I lost him and I can't find him." Greta Simon's mouth was
twisted to the side and the words were floppy and unfinished. "She
took him. She took my baby and I can't find him any more and he
needs me."</p>
<p>"Who was that?" Mike asked.</p>
<p>"She did. She came and took him. I saw her." She stiffened and
twisted her head, making a circling motion that made her look even
more imbecilic. For a moment there was a silence in the room and
then the old woman began to hum softly. It was almost inaudible at
first, like a vocal shudder, low and quavering. Then it came
louder, not quite in time, but not far out. Hmm-hmm. Hum Hum. Dee
da. <em>Dee da</em>...</p>
<p>"<em>I left my baby lying here</em>," the words were wet and
almost drooling, but comprehensible enough. "<em>I left my baby
lying here and went to gather blueberries</em>." David recognised
the song. His own grandmother had sung it to him when he was a
child. The melody had stayed in his head, buried under his
experience, under the games and the growing. He hadn't heard the
tune for twenty years or more. As soon as he recognised it, an
image of his own mother's face came back to him somehow, not as she
was now, robust and motherly, but young and red-haired, the way she
must have been when he was too young to notice her own youth.</p>
<p>The plaintive unmelodic tune shivered out between those few
stumps of teeth. "I left my baby lying here."</p>
<p>David recalled the words of the old song. The baby was taken by
fairies. They stole babies in the old Gaelic myth. The woman
stopped rocking. She stopped singing.</p>
<p>"I left him for a moment. Just a moment on the bridge. I left
him and she came and took him."</p>
<p>"Who was that?" David asked. Mike Fitzgibbon leaned against the
table, his chin cupped in his hands.</p>
<p>"<em>She</em> did. It made her. I turned round to look at the
water and she came and took him out of the pram. I tried to stop
her. I knew what she was doing and I had to get him back."</p>
<p>"And what happened then?"</p>
<p>The old woman's good eye went still, seemed to fog over. Her
brow lifted in an expression of bafflement. Her head twisted to the
side, as if listening for something, but the bewildered gaze
remained.</p>
<p>"She's got no recollection of the accident," the doctor said.
"That's normal of course. Most of her short term memory is gone
anyway. Ten minutes from now, she won't remember who you are. Or
me."</p>
<p>Greta Simon's palsied, slumped face turned down again very
slowly and the eye fixed on David again. The fog seemed to clear
from her eye, as if intelligence of a sort had fled and then
returned.</p>
<p>"Where did the baby come from," David tried a different
thrust.</p>
<p>"He's mine," she hissed. The life came back into her, though
there was an eerie mischief in the glint of the eye. The twisted
pupil caught a shard off light and glittered grotesquely. "He's
mine, Tiny Tim, Little <em>tiny</em> Tim. That's his name, you
know. He's so small and perfect and he loves me."</p>
<p>"Your baby?"</p>
<p>"He loves me and I feed him." The hands were fluttering back on
her thin, fleshless shoulders again, hugging herself tight, as if
she held something close to body. David could imagine a mother
clutching a child.</p>
<p>"I found him," she said. "He called to me and I took him. Long
ago it was." The glitter shone in her eye and her mouth widened to
a grin. "He called to me and I took him, for he needed me. It was
in the trees, beside the water. I saw her fall down and he called
to me. You couldn't refuse a baby, could you? No. Not at all."</p>
<p>"Saw who?" David asked, but she was somewhere else.</p>
<p>She hugged herself tighter. "You don't know, do you? Nobody
knew. But I could look after him and Tim wanted me. He said
<em>take me.</em> So I took him and he's mine."</p>
<p>"Who did you take him from?"</p>
<p>"The lady died. She fell down and she died. She made a noise
when she hit. It was by the water, where we were picking the
flowers for the wine. I couldn't help her, though I tried, you
know." The voice became tremulous here. "She fell down and the baby
called to me and he needed a mother. I look after him and I feed
him. He's so hungry all the time. He could suck you to death, but
he needs me."</p>
<p>"And when did this happen, when you found the baby?"</p>
<p>The old woman squinted at David.</p>
<p>"You can't have him. He's my baby. She can't have him neither.
Bitch. Wants to steal my Timmy. Wants to take him away and mother
him. That's what she wants. But she can't." Her voice started to
rise.</p>
<p>"Nobody wants to take him away," David said soothingly. What he
was hearing was bizarre. He'd hoped for something more from the old
woman since Phil Cutcheon had told him she was still alive. He'd
only been following his instincts, at least his curiosity. But
Greta Simon was simply wandered. The dent in her skull showed up in
the slanted light like a crater on the moon.</p>
<p>Again on instinct, David asked one last question.</p>
<p>"How old are you Greta?"</p>
<p>"I'm twenty six."</p>
<p>David looked at Mike Fitzgibbon. The doctor gave an almost
imperceptible nod.</p>
<p>"And what year is it?"</p>
<p>"It's Forty one. Middle of May. Don't you know there's a war on,
silly?"</p>
<p>She grinned again and for an instant her face took on a sly
expression. The twisted eye gleamed. She bent her head and began to
hum a tune again, very faintly. She curled her hands and shifted
her arms, as if once again she really was cradling a baby.</p>
<p>"Oh, not so hard Timmy. You'll empty me right out, so you
will."</p>
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