Free Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page A

homicides, arsons, and other felony crimes.
    The body had been found, according to the website, in the far northwestern suburbs near the town of Harvard, Illinois. Sixty miles northwest of Chicago. Usually ChicagoCrime didn’t cover incidents that far out, so Georgia was puzzled until she read the details. The unidentified body had been left on the side of Route 173, which meant it could have come from anywhere, including Chicago. The victim had been severely beaten. A passing trucker called it in. The investigation was ongoing. Georgia checked the time of the report. Barely an hour ago.
    She got up and started to pace. This was just a coincidence. Had to be. Savannah was in Chicago. Not sixty miles away in Harvard, Illinois. On the other hand plenty of people say they live in Chicago when they really come from Glencoe, Franklin Park, or Hinsdale. Georgia kept pacing, and with each step her irritation grew. Why was she allowing herself to get sucked in? Why spend money, time, and emotion on what would likely be a case of mistaken identity? Was she that desperate for a family connection, however flimsy?
    She went to the kitchen window and looked out. Another storm had dumped a few inches of snow, but it was a pure, crystalline morning, and the kids across the street were building a snowman. Their squeals and laughter carried across the street. Their mother was outside too, and all three were rolling a ball of snow across the yard, tamping it down as they did. They’d already built the base.
    Georgia lowered the blinds. Harvard, less than ten miles from the Wisconsin state line, had been mostly farmland, but over time, many of the farms had failed. A Motorola plant was supposed to save the town, but it failed too and was shuttered in 2003. Harvard’s biggest claim to fame was its Milk Days Festival, held every June to honor farmers who boosted milk production during World War Two. In fact, a giant cow named Harmilda stood in the middle of the town square
.
    It was Saturday, but she went to her phone and punched in a number. She got lucky.
    “O’Malley.”
    “Hey there,” Georgia said. “I hear I owe you one.”
    “For what?”
    “You talked to Gutierrez the other day.”
    “Oh yeah,” he said in a clipped tone. Dan O’Malley was not one for rambling.
    “It’s been noted. And appreciated.”
    He chuckled. “So what’s going on? You mixed up in that homicide?”
    “Not really. I thought the vic was tailing me, but now I don’t know. Not sure it matters anymore. The trail seems to have gone cold.”
    “Yeah, well. You never know.” He cleared his throat. “How’s business? You getting by?”
    “Crime is recession-proof, remember?”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “That’s why I’m calling. I just read about a body turning up in Harvard earlier this morning. A young woman. Pregnant. Blond. Can you get me some 411?”
    “Tell me you’re not working a case that involves her.”
    “I’m not working a case that involves her.”
    His snort told her what he thought of her answer. “I guess it would be useless for me to ask why.”
    “It would.”
    A sigh. Then, “Let me see what I can do. You’ll be at this number?”
    “All the time.”
    He called back a few minutes later. “They’ll email me the police report when it comes in.”
    “Hey, Dan. You’re the best.”
    “Okay. Enough with the flattery. You should know that they actually found her about five miles west of the Harvard city limits on Route 173, in Boone County, so Harvard PD handed it off to the sheriff’s office.”
    “Why am I not surprised?”
    “And since it’s less than ten miles from the state line, they’ve got Walworth County involved too.”
    “Wisconsin cops?”
    “Yup.” O’Malley’s voice was stern. “Davis, you know the drill, right? If anyone ever finds out we talked, I deny it ’til the cows come home.”
    “Interesting choice of words, given that Harvard used to be the dairy capital of the Midwest. But you’re