by R L Dunn
"I can't, Marty," she hyperventilated.
"Yes, you can. Do you understand me? Get with the program, Mrs. Bailey. Get pissed off." His tone left no room for arguing.
"I hate you!"
"Terrific, now push!"
Austin Thomas Bailey Jr. was born on Sunday, July fourteenth at 2:39 am, weighing seven pounds, six ounces, and twenty-one inches long.
"You did it, Janey. Austin, can you see him?" Martin took his own cleansing breath. Doctor Massey held up the newborn baby boy and helped Martin cut the cord.
Martin watched the pediatrician examine Austin Jr. from outside the newborn nursery. Lois joined him and smiled. "You were as cool as could be. We were running out of choices."
"Thank you." Martin nodded, never taking his eyes off his godson.
"I'll be right back." Lois returned, cradling the newborn in her arms. "C'mon, somebody needs to meet his daddy.”
Martin opened the glass door to Austin's room. "Hey, Daddy." Martin nudged his brother's foot. "Sorry to wake you up, but I need to show you something." Austin's eyes teared up.
"Do you feel well enough to hold your baby boy?" Lois Massey brought the baby into the room.
Lois and Seth worked together to place the baby in the crook of Austin's arm. Five tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb, and the baby's other hand found its way to his mouth. The little gummy sounds made the room laugh. Eat, Austin signed.
Lois supported the hungry little man as he consumed a quick two ounces. Janey would nurse at the next feeding. She advised Martin she wanted Janey to sleep. Austin pointed at Martin to take the baby. Like a pro, he patted the baby's back. The room laughed again when the newborn let out a man-sized burp. Martin swallowed hard as what-ifs swam in his head.
Talbot Reed cuddled with Celine Moody McAllister in his Silverton home watching the ten o'clock news. The lead story pertained to a hostage situation at the hospital. Reporters focused on the connection between Austin, Elizabeth, and Martin.
A plastic-faced correspondent continued, "Tonight, in a disturbing clerical error at the Silverton Jail, Jasper Satanta, instead of being transported to a drug treatment facility, was released from the jail infirmary instead. Silverton police and the Silverton Sheriff's department are searching for him as this is the third major error committed in as many months. Clay Jenner, Director of the Department of Corrections promises a thorough investigation. In other news..."
"Talbot, how unfortunate is this for us?" Celine smirked.
"Contact Tibby and Alden. Make sure this is fixed."
Two hours after the broadcast, the killer, dressed head to toe in black, parked behind the double-wide trailer that belonged to Jasper Satanta's mother. Satanta laughed with a young girl, who waved as she carried a baby inside the adjoining trailer. The killer waited for the light in Satanta's trailer to go off. It didn’t take long to gain entrance to the festering home. The assassin slithered through the cluttered living space wearing night vision goggles. Satanta was snoring on his back in a rumpled bed, his yellow teeth glowing in the night.
The point of the scalpel anchored against his jaw. Satanta's eyes flew open as the knife slit him from ear to ear. Within seconds, life left him. A satisfied smile bloomed beneath the killer’s mask.
A kerosene heater was tucked in a corner. The killer turned it on with a press of a button, and a kick to the connection behind the stove allowed propane to flow into the confined space. Pieces of aluminum foil were scattered about the floor from used meth. An investigation would show the fire was caused by a drug-induced accident.
The murderer slipped back into the night and drove outside the park gates to wait for the heater to cycle on. It was a short time before Satanta's trailer exploded, creating day from night. Cries for help peppered the air as the killer drove away. Other nearby trailers ignited and exploded in short succession.
"Oops. Didn't mean to do that."
Patrick and Martin dozed in the on-call room. When Patrick's shrill pager fired, Martin jerked awake. "What's wrong?"
"Explosion. Multiple injured. Burns and broken bones." Patrick was out the door.
The cries from the ER filled his ears before the elevator doors opened. Patrick moved to the ambulance bay to assist in the triage of the incoming patients. An ambulance backed in, slamming on the brakes. The driver ran around and yanked the doors open. "Doc, it's a baby. Cardiac arrest."
Patrick saw the medic performing CPR on a teeny infant covered in black soot. "Inside." Thankful for the coursework necessary for a Chase Group Medical Director, he rushed them into a treatment room. "Continue CPR," he said, attaching the monitor in time to see the little one's heart was vibrating. One of the medics connected oxygen to the tiny device used to fill the infant's lungs. "Clear." Patrick shocked her, and tiny blips appeared on the monitor.
"Way to go, Doc.” The second paramedic continued breathing for the baby.
"Okay, princess, we’re going to do this." The small needle pushed through the fragile skin on her hand. Withdrawing a few ccs to fill the blood tubes, Patrick secured an IV. "Change over to a mask." The soot all over her face worried him that her airway was burned. He was contemplating his next step when he was greeted by a succession of tiny sneezes. Two blue eyes opened and right away closed against the bright lights.
The paramedic lifted the mask from the baby's face, and she gave out a raspy cry. "You're a pretty baby." Patrick gave treatment instructions to a nurse. "I'm sorry, precious, I need to look in your nose. You have a little ick." The nurse handed him a bulb syringe to suck it out. He lifted her into his arms to settle her.
Patrick swayed with her in the crook of his elbow. "Where did you find her?"
"Underneath a dead woman, likely her mom. I think the pressure of her mom's weight, not the smoke, caused the respiratory arrest. We scooped and ran. Doc, we have to go back in service."
"Good job. Thanks. " He removed her clothing to complete his exam. "She’s tiny. I'll order something for that rash. I need labs and x-rays too," he advised the nurse.
"I'll find a crib and a volunteer, but...Doctor Hedges," she read his nametag, “we need you."
Patrick picked up his phone. "Martin, can you come down to the ER? I need some help."
"Whatever you need."
"Come down, and I'll explain. I'm in the ER.” He headed to his next victim.
"Doctor Hedges, go to room three on the adult side," the unit secretary pointed.
In room three, he found an eighty-one-year-old male suffering from minor burns, and by the way he was lying in the bed, Patrick could see he had a fractured hip. "Hello, sir. I'm Doctor Hedges. Are you Mel?" He shook the man's hand while looking at the ambulance slip. "Are you having any chest pain or trouble breathing?"
"All I have is a pain in my ass. I need to find my granddaughter and great-granddaughter. I'm telling you, if that piece of garbage didn't die in the fire, I'll kill him myself."
Patrick listened to his heart and lungs. "What happened?" He made small talk to assess if Mel was using any extra effort to talk and breathe.
"Our trailer park used to be a very nice place to live, until that meth head and some of his friends moved in—the guy on the news who threatened the doctor. They let the bum out. Some mistake. His place blew sky high, and it took a bunch of other trailers with it. I fell over my footstool getting out. My granddaughter Shelly and her baby were in the trailer beside his. No one will tell me anything." Mel grimaced.
Patrick thought of the little one he just worked on. "How old is the baby? I'll try to find out."
"Lola, she's the sweetest thing. Big blue eyes. She's only a month old."
"Mel, I need to order some blood work and some films, but I think you fractured your hip. Is there a family member I can call for you?"
"I have my phone. I tried Shelly, but the call went to voicemail. She's my granddaughter. That bastard hooked her. She couldn't stop, and Lola had troubles after she was born. I'll try my girlfriend, Myra. She's a real doll. She
lives in the Peace of Heaven Gardens on the other side of Silverton."
Patrick asked, "How much pain are you in?" Mel rolled his hand back and forth. "How about I give you a little something for it? They’re going to move you a bit."
As soon as he exited the room, he was handed his next chart. The ER was in controlled chaos. Martin was standing off to the side of the nurse's station. "This was some explosion. What blew?"
"My last patient said a trailer exploded, taking a bunch more with it. I think it was Jasper Satanta's."
"The animal should be in jail."
"I don't know, but I need your help. My first patient is in guarded condition, and a bed isn't available for her yet. She needs to be monitored. Come with me; you'll understand. Martin Bailey, meet Baby Girl Doe."
"What do you need me to do?" He took in the sooty little one.
"Babysit, Uncle Martin. Could you make some calls too? We could use some volunteers. We have a lot of families involved in this mess." Patrick shook his head. "Nearest anyone can tell, her mom died. Information is sketchy."
"Can she eat?"
"A little sugar water, at least until her tests come back. Call me if she has trouble breathing again." Patrick turned in the direction of his name being called.
"Got, um, diapers?" Martin asked.
Patrick shrugged.
Martin took advantage of the baby girl's nap. "Ford, an explosion occurred at a trailer park. Might be reason to believe Satanta was involved in the fire. Also, the ER is slammed with families. They’re looking for volunteers to help stay with some of the injured kids."
"I'm on it. Where are you?"
"I'm babysitting." Martin hung up to Ford's laugh.
Martin searched the room, then filled a basin with warm water and placed it on the counter. Next, he set up a bottle of sugar water. Blonde hair spilled in ringlets to the back of the baby’s neck. She looked like Grace.
"What a bad day for you." The baby stretched and yawned. A sneeze and a cough morphed into a weak cry. "Shush, shush, shush...you’re a smoky girl, aren't you? Let's fix that, and then we’ll try to eat."
Removing the oxygen mask and the leads, he made quick disposition of the blanket the nurse wrapped her in. "Poor baby, your bottom is sore." He washed her bottom first before he soaped up a second cloth to wash her hair and body, avoiding the IV. As soon as her head and face were clean, he replaced the mask. She wasn't bothered by the water or the mask. A rumble in his gut warned him that this should annoy her.
He depressed the call button. He found some powder, gave her a fresh diaper, and a gown three sizes too large that he managed to tie around her, then he wrapped her in two receiving blankets.
A nurse scurried in. "Everything all right?"
"I gave her a bath and cleaned her up. She didn't cry. Nothing bothers her."
The nurse listened to her lungs, checked the monitor, and opened her diaper to take her temperature. "She’s content. Her temperature is normal. Her lungs sound clear, and her heart rate is regular. Doctor Hedges ordered this for her rash. My name is Colleen. Call me if you need anything else." She applied some salve before replacing the diaper.
"Well, kiddo. It's you and me." Sitting in a chair, he offered her some sugar water. A scant half ounce later, she was asleep. He rubbed her back, cradling her head against his heart.
Ford walked into the room. "Who's this?" The small bundle fit in the palm of Martin's hand.
"Baby Girl Doe. Her mom didn't make it out of the fire. What do you have for me?"
"Your source appears right. The jail released him—they’re claiming it was a mix-up. A trailer traced to Satanta's mother was the ignition point of the entire blaze. They took a crispy critter from it. It will take dental records to confirm. The ME was able to say the body was male. The Fire Marshall says it was propane, but whether it was arson or accidental—too early to tell. So far, six dead and thirty-two injured." Ford crouched down, placing one finger on the baby’s hand. "I brought six of our people with me. Looks like a tornado touched down. You’re having a helluva night. First Austin Jr. and now little Miss Doe." Ford rose and stepped into a corner to take a call.
Patrick returned. "How's she doing?" He took her from Martin's arms and placed her in the crib. "Wow, she's beautiful. The nurses are all talking. You bathed her." Patrick warmed his stethoscope. "I'm waiting on her x-rays. She's got a bed in the Peds ICU. Thanks for all the help, Martin."
"What's going to happen to her?"
Patrick sighed. "Her eighty-one-year old great-grandfather is admitted too. He told me her mom was their only other living relative. Dad, unknown. Grandpa said Satanta hooked her mom. Social Services will double-check, and if no one turns up, foster care, then adoption. Her mom was on Social Services’ radar, my guess, drugs and neglect. She's very tiny for a month old. If she's healthy, they’ll place her soon. If not..."
"Do we at least have a name?” Martin asked.
"Lola Wyatt. The unit will be here soon."
"Any news?" Martin acknowledged Mike's arrival.
With a small nod of resignation, Mike said, "No more on the fire. We just got our eyes on the forensics report from Knox's apartment. The DNA on the panties belongs to Elizabeth. The prints and DNA in the glove were Elizabeth's. The lipstick was the same brand Elizabeth said she uses. We’re still waiting for the DNA results from the Whelan scene; I believe that will be hers as well. None of us think she killed anyone, but Zach called Newsome. As soon as SPD receives the information, they'll issue the search warrant as well as a warrant for her arrest. I'm sorry. At least you got her diaries and letters out."
"As soon as they find this little one a bed, I'll shower and go pick up Elizabeth. Anything else?"
Ford bit his lip as Martin glared at him. "That CO, Locke. He died an hour ago. Catastrophic bleed. Never woke up.”
"Damn." Martin's attention was diverted by a weak cry. "I'm here, angel."
Chapter Fourteen
Ford returned to talk with Martin and Mike about a conversation he had in the ICU with Miles Gerba. "Gerba confirmed what we knew about Knox. The prisoner Knox claimed Elizabeth interfered with was Calvin Ashbrook, who came in from the Silverton Jail. He was transferred tonight to the infirmary at Strongford Penitentiary. Gerba said Ashbrook told the staff his cellmate caused the injuries, but Elizabeth didn't think so. She showed him a copy of a complaint she sent to the Silverton Department of Corrections. She went as far as claiming the injuries were at the hands of the guards. That kind of thing makes enemies. If this is caught up in our case—she is in grievous danger."
Martin blinked slowly. "Elizabeth thought Tonette Torres was raped in custody. We need to find out where the complaints went and if she spoke with anyone. I'll ask her for a copy of her letter and why she thought it was the officers."
Sunday, July 14th, 0600 hours
Elizabeth awakened feeling nauseated and feverish. Her head pounded, and she shook with chills. She hoped a cup of tea and some acetaminophen before showering would make her feel better. Drawing her robe around her, she plodded downstairs. It took an effort to fill a cozy with tea leaves and make herself a cup. She remembered the honey and put a heaping teaspoonful into her mug. With quivering muscles and chattering teeth, she made it back to her bedroom. Struggling with the bottle of meds, she managed to take two tablets with a sip of the warm, sweet tea.
Instead of feeling better, she grew worse. Violent spasms attacked her stomach. The pain took her breath away. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was light-headed, out of breath, and her belly and gut were being ripped apart. She sat on the toilet and grabbed her wastebasket as her lips numbed. As she vomited, her throat burned, and her head spun.
"Momma, help,” she said to an apparition in the doorway. Attempting to get up to reach her phone, her limbs stiffened, and lights flashed behind her eyes. Her head bounced forward, striking the edge of her vanity as she careened toward the tile floor.
Martin pulled into Elizabeth's driveway right
behind the surveillance team he assigned. "Morning." Martin handed each man a cup of fresh coffee.
"Everything is quiet, boss," Bravo team's executive officer, Josh "Hoist" Stone, reported. "We convinced Tate to go back to the hotel around 0100."
"I need to thank him." According to his watch, he was late, especially by Elizabeth's standards. He knocked on the door, and when she didn't answer, he knocked again. Josh and Kenny “Jockey” Clarke joined him on the porch. Martin's call to her cell phone went to voicemail.
"Maybe she's in the shower," Josh suggested.
After trying the call again, Martin's pulse pounded in his ears. He kicked the door in. "Elizabeth!" The house was still. "Clear the downstairs. I'm heading up."
Martin went straight for her room. Not seeing anything unusual, he surveyed the bathroom and froze. She was lying in a heap, her hair matted in a slick of blood. "Up here. Hoist, call an ambulance. Jockey, grab the medic bag."
Martin tuned out everything but his training. He listened to her breathing and reached for a pulse. "Sunshine, wake up." He ran his hands along her body, looking for the source of the bleeding. She was dry and hot to the touch. Her bowels had emptied on the floor, and he spotted the full wastebasket. Both fluids were blood-tinged.
Kenny, Bravo team's medic, initiated care with what little supplies he had available. "Ambulance is en route," Josh said as he held her head steady.
Elizabeth was unresponsive, her breathing and heart rate slow. Kenny tossed Josh a mask from the bag and Martin some gauze. "Help her breathe. Martin, direct pressure to her brow." By rote, Martin stopped the trickling blood. Kenny's expression turned ominous when his fingers slipped behind her head. "Where's the damn ambulance?"
"Jockey, what's going on? I'm here, Sunshine. Stay with us," Martin's voice lowered to a whisper.