his buttocks on the sidewalk. "I should have known," she said. "You bring me home to your wife?"
"I'm not married," said the janitor. "This kid isn't mine."
"I'm sure you're telling the truth on both points," said the woman. "But you better let him help you up the stairs anyway. Mama's waiting." She started to walk away.
"What about my forty gilders?" he asked plaintively, knowing the answer even as he asked.
She made an obscene gesture and walked on into the night.
"You little bastard," said the janitor.
"I had to talk to you alone," said Bean.
"Who the hell are you? Who's your mama?"
"That's what I'm here to find out," said Bean. "I'm the baby you found and brought home. Three years ago."
The man looked at him in stupefaction.
Suddenly a light went on, then another. Bean and the janitor were bathed in overlapping flashlight beams. Four policemen converged on them.
"Don't bother running, kid," said a cop. "Nor you, Mr. Fun Time."
Bean recognized Sister Carlotta's voice. "They aren't criminals," she said. "I just need to talk to them. Up in his apartment."
"You followed me?" Bean asked her.
"I knew you were searching for him," she said. "I didn't want to interfere until you found him. Just in case you think you were really smart, young man, we intercepted four street thugs and two known sex offenders who were after you."
Bean rolled his eyes. "You think I've forgotten how to deal with them?"
Sister Carlotta shrugged. "I didn't want this to be the first time you ever made a mistake in your life." She did have a sarcastic streak.
"So as I told you, there was nothing to learn from this Pablo de Noches. He's an immigrant who lives to pay for prostitutes. Just another of the worthless people who have gravitated here ever since the Netherlands became international territory."
Sister Carlotta had sat patiently, waiting for the inspector to wind down his I-told-you-so speech. But when he spoke of a man's worthlessness, she could not let the remark go unchallenged. "He took in that baby," she said. "And fed the child and cared for him."
The inspector waved off the objection. "We needed one more street urchin? Because that's all that people like this ever produce."
"You didn't learn nothing from him," Sister Carlotta said. "You learned the location where the boy was found."
"And the people renting the building during that time are untraceable. A company name that never existed. Nothing to go on. No way to track them down."
"But that nothing is something," said Sister Carlotta. "I tell you that these people had many children in this place, which they closed down in a hurry, with all the children but one taken away. You tell me that the company was a false name and can't be traced. So now, in your experience, doesn't that tell you a great deal about what was going on in that building?"
The inspector shrugged. "Of course. It was obviously an organ farm."
Tears came to Sister Carlotta's eyes. "And that is the only possibility?"
"A lot of defective babies are born to rich families," said the inspector. "There is an illegal market in infant and toddler organs. We close down the organ farms whenever we find out where they are. Perhaps we were getting close to this organ farm and they got wind of it and closed up shop. But there is no paper in the department on any organ farm that we actually found at that time. So perhaps they closed down for another reason. Still, nothing."
Patiently, Sister Carlotta ignored his inability to realize how valuable this information was. "Where do the babies come from?"
The inspector looked at her blankly. As if he thought she was asking him to explain the facts of life.
"The organ farm," she said. "Where do they get the babies?"
The inspector shrugged. "Late-term abortions, usually. Some arrangement with the clinics, a kickback. That sort of thing."