Free Hold Still by Lisa Regan

all the things Jocelyn had saved her from.
    Clink, clink. Camille squirmed as if her chair were on fire. “But she was my baby,” she pointed out weakly. “He wasn’t the one taking care of her.”
    Jocelyn laughed, the sound a short dry bark. She pushed back in her chair. “You weren’t taking care of her either. Unless you think raising a seven-day-old infant in a meth lab and putting her to sleep in the bathroom sink makes you mother of the year.”
    “It was only temporary—”
    Jocelyn raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care. She’s mine now. My daughter. You come talk to me after you’ve been clean for a couple of years. Then maybe you can see your niece.”
    Camille slumped in her chair. Jocelyn could see her give up. Her eyes wandered around the room, the intense expression on her face gone flat. There wasn’t much besides drugs that could hold Camille’s attention for longer than five minutes. As Camille lit another cigarette, Jocelyn went back to printing out the e-mails Anita had sent her.
    “One more and then you’re going down to booking,” Jocelyn said.
    Camille looked stricken. “What?”
    “You heard me.”
    Camille said nothing and took her time finishing the cigarette. When Jocelyn heard the sizzle of the lit butt being extinguished in the Coke can, she stood up and pulled Camille to her feet. “Let’s go.”
    Camille held both hands out, palms up, the handcuffs knocking against her bony wrists. “Come on, Joce. Give me a break.”
    “No,” Jocelyn said.
    They passed Kevin on the stairs. He smiled at them and opened his mouth, Camille’s name dying on his tongue when he caught Jocelyn’s icy glare. He clamped his mouth shut and gave them a wide berth. When Jocelyn returned to her desk, he stared at her until she snapped, “What?”
    Kevin shook his head. “That’s cold, Rush. Real cold.”

ELEVEN
    October 6th
    Kevin tossed the three e-mails and Craigslist ad that Jocelyn had printed out onto the heap of paperwork already cluttering his desk. “This is useless,” he said. He picked up the nub of his cheesesteak and popped it into his mouth. “The ad is for a companion—who sounds more like someone who cares for the damn elderly—and his response to it says nothing.”
    Jocelyn shrugged. “Well, it gives the time and location of the meet. I’ll send it over to my friend in computer crimes and see if she can track down the owner of the Yahoo account. She owes me a favor.”
    Kevin scoffed. “I’ll be in the nursing home before you get that back. Why bother? Just give it to SVU. You talk to the lieutenant over there? What’s his name? Vaughn?”
    Jocelyn nodded. “Yeah, Caleb Vaughn. He’s still on the street and not answering his cell.”
    Kevin leaned back in his chair, eliciting a long squeal from its rickety frame. He stretched his arms over his head, lacing his fingers behind his head. Looking around, he said, “It sure is crowded in here. What the hell is going on?”
    Jocelyn looked away from her computer screen, taking in her colleagues seated at their desks. It was very unusual to find them all in the office at one time. Answering calls kept most of them on the street throughout the shift. Normally, they’d be hard-pressed to find bodies to send out on investigations.
    Chen walked by, nudging Kevin’s chair and nearly sending him feet over head. “Slow night, Sullivan.”
    Kevin grabbed for the edge of his desk, steadying himself, the chair squealing again, this time even louder. “There are no slow nights in Philadelphia. Criminals must be on dinner break. Give it an hour and—”
    “Look at this,” Jocelyn interrupted. She tapped a finger against her computer screen. “A nine-one-one call came in last night at six o’clock. A witness saw a large light-skinned black male force a black woman into an older model gray Bonneville. Witness got the plate number. The car is registered to forty-nine-year-old Larry John Warner.”
    With a few