The ambulance pulled away, but Felix couldn't leave yet. He needed to find out who had abandoned the infant. The umbilical cord was still attached—likely the mother was nearby. Judging by the circumstances, if she hadn't made it to a hospital in time, she could be in danger herself.
He surveyed the dumpster and its surroundings. It was a large, square container over a metre tall, with several smaller bins nearby. This wasn't a desperate choice made in panic—it was calculated. If the mother had left the child beside the road or in one of the small bins, the crying would have been heard; the baby might have survived. In a container like this, without someone happening to hear it, the outcome was almost certain.
The dumpster sat against the side wall of an apartment building. To the right was a movable food truck; to the left, a small parking lot. Foot traffic here was steady, but enough time had passed since the baby was abandoned that tracing through passersby alone would be unreliable.
He scanned the nearby rooftops and spotted a camera pointed in this direction—but it only covered the food truck, not the dumpster itself.
He decided to start there. If the food truck staff had noticed a heavily pregnant woman passing through—or anyone who seemed anxious, exhausted, or unsteady—they might remember. If not, he could try to obtain surveillance footage.
Pulling footage in the U.S. wasn't as simple as it sounded. Cameras could capture information that infringed on privacy or exposed liabilities. If the owner feared that, they could simply refuse, and the police would have to walk away. Without consent, the only way was to file for a court order—and even then, the footage could only be used under strict conditions: no unauthorised copying, no leaks, no personal misuse.
Felix approached the truck. Inside, a young woman—likely Latina—was working the counter. The moment she saw a uniform, she froze, visibly nervous.
He understood immediately.
"Don't worry, I'm not immigration. I just have a few questions."
"O-okay."
"What's your name?"
"Everilda Cux-Ajtzalam."
"That's a beautiful name."
She forced a small smile. "Thank you."
Seeing her guarded, Felix scratched his nose, then went on,
"What time do you open? Have you been here since then? Are you alone?"
"Yes. Just me. We open at seven, and I've been here since then."
"That's a long shift. You look exhausted."
This time, she didn't even smile.
"I'm asking because I need to know—have you seen a pregnant woman pass through here? Maybe behind the truck? Heard anything strange? Any woman who looked distressed or extremely tired?"
"No. I didn't see anything. I didn't hear anything." The reply was instant, reflexive.
Felix paused, drawing a slow breath. That was too quick. Too clean. A normal person would at least stop to think.
He studied her pale, weary face again, replaying that immediate denial. A thought surfaced.
"The baby's yours, isn't it?" he said suddenly.
Her eyes widened. "What?!"
"The doctor said his condition is bad. As his mother, how do you feel?"
"I… I had no choice…" Her face drained of colour. She clutched her face with both hands and began to sob. Then she went limp, collapsing to the ground. Blood seeped through her skirt, pooling dark on the pavement.
Felix grabbed his radio.
"Adam 3-8-8 to dispatch—send another ambulance. I've located the mother. She's in bad shape—severe blood loss, extremely pale. Needs immediate medical attention."
"Do you have any family we can contact? A boyfriend? Husband?"
"No. They can't know. Especially not Laton. He didn't want this baby. If I didn't get rid of it, he would leave me. I had no choice…"
Just as he'd suspected: a young woman giving birth behind the truck, abandoning the newborn for reasons that, when spoken aloud, sounded almost unreal.
Felix found himself wanting to meet this Laton, to see what kind of man could twist a girl into this.
The ambulance arrived quickly. The medics took one look and said she was in worse shape than the child—outdoor delivery, manual placenta removal, massive bleeding—and still working the shift. Another hour and she might have died in that truck.
That evening, Felix recounted the story to Rachel, his voice heavy.
Rachel rested her chin in her hand, thinking, before asking suddenly, "If I got pregnant, would you keep me—and the baby?"
Felix choked on air. "Where did that come from? Don't be ridiculous. Want an orange? I'll peel one for you."
"Don't change the subject. Answer me." She was watching him closely, refusing to let it go.
"I… "
Silence.
"How about I buy a stockpile of birth control pills instead?"
More silence.
"Fine. Of course I'd keep you. Happy now?"
"You only said that after looking at me. You're just reading the room."
Out of options, Felix went for the only tactic left—leaning in, closing the space, silencing her in his own way.