*****
On the other side of town, Dana picked up a file that had been dropped on her desk by the boss, Solomon Harrison, a gruff man with dark brown skin and a shaved head that shined like a well-polished shoe. MISSING CHILD was printed across a sticky note which clung to the face of it. It caught her by surprise first thing in the morning. She stood and followed Sol as he made his way back toward his office, the only one in the building with a door on it.
“What? Whose?” she asked.
“That’d be baby Edison. Little girl,” he said.
“They just had that baby, Sol. How long has it been gone?”
“Read the file. Everything I know is in there. Or would you prefer I investigated this myself?” he asked, scowl intact.
“No. It’s just shocking isn’t it—two in the same summer?”
“Shock sells, girl. Small town reporters and small town cops have the best job in the world when it’s good news, the worst when it’s bad.”
Another baby, six months old, had disappeared five weeks prior. The case was still open and the kid was still missing.
Dana leafed through the scant file. It listed the missing girl as Lily Edison, born January seventh of that same year. Paper-clipped to the police report was a photograph of a baby, an adorable little girl, but there was nothing distinguishing about her. Thin wispy hair and blue eyes made her look angelic, and just like every other baby in existence. There was a note on the file that said the parents requested help from the press. There were a few handwritten quotes from the police.
“We just want our Lily back at home, safe, where she will be loved,” one said.
Dana’s eyes filled with tears that spilled onto the page as her heart broke.
“Sol, I’m going to talk to the parents,” she said peeking in his door.
He was still scowling. It was his best expression.
“Hey, Dana, be…tactful,” he said.
“Someone around her has to be.”
He almost smiled. It was the closest thing to a compliment she’d ever received from him. She left the file but took the photo and got into her tiny hybrid to leave. More tears came on the drive.