by Karl Tutt
Chapter 16
Dr. Galliano entered the room in the same outfit that Ev and I were forced to wear. He smiled beneath the mask.
“I’ve already talked to Doctor Ling here at the hospital and asked him if I could consult. He’s a very good man. Skilled, smart, patient, and he has called in a couple of specialists for a second opinion. But this case has them all very confused. He signed off on my request to examine Ricky. I need to ask you both to leave for a few minutes. Have some coffee, walk around. You both look like you could use a break.”
I followed Ev out and snatched off my mask. Even with the hospital smell blanketing the air, it felt good to breathe without the synthetic fabric cloying at my face. We walked down the hall to the waiting area. Actually the machine coffee tasted pretty damned good, but it was probably because I hadn’t eaten since last night. Neither of us spoke. Ev sat and I stretched for a moment then settled beside her. I placed my hand on her knee. She folded her arms and began to shake, like winter had suddenly dropped into the room. I had a hard time not joining her, but I wanted to hear very clearly when Dr. Galliano spoke. That’s what happened about ten minutes later.
He didn’t know much more than we did. I asked him about his theory of an Ebola carrier, a man who could transmit the disease, but wouldn’t be affected by the virus, himself.
“I can’t say for sure. We do know that what Ricky has is not Ebola, but it is viral and it is resistant to any kind of treatment that we can administer at this time. We’ve got to keep him hydrated and control the fever. Past that, we wait. I will go online. We physicians have our own websites and reference through the CDC and other agencies. Perhaps I will find something. There is always hope.”
Yes, I thought . . . and there is always death.
I told him about Grace’s call and ask about “the Mondatti.” He shook his head, but promised to include it in his search. He started back down the hall, removing the scrubs as he went.
Four days later Evelyn had hardly left the room. I was trying to keep the business going, but without Ricky, I wondered if I could . . . or if I even wanted to. I spent hours in the room, insisting that she leave at least once a day to shower and change clothes. Each time she protested, but finally left, only to come back within an hour. Dr. Ling made rounds morning and afternoon, joined by Dr. Galliano in the late afternoon. We spoke outside the room after every visit, but the news was always the same. On the fifth night it happened.
It was near 2 A.M. Ev and I were asleep in the chairs on either side of his bed. I woke with a start. Something was different. I shook my head to get my senses. My focus fell on Ricky. His chest no longer rose. Then a panicked glance at the monitor. The line was flat. A nurse rushed into the room and took his pulse. She radioed for a defibrillator, but the yellow beneath his skin had been replaced by the gray color of soft clay. I didn’t cry. Neither did Ev. That would be for later when each of us was alone in the darkness.
The ME asked for a release to do an autopsy. Still posing as the wife, I signed the document . . . but I requested that the body be released for cremation within 48 hours. They assured me they would do the best they could, then transfer the body to the funeral home that Ev and I had agreed on.
Ricky had always made it clear that he wanted no obituary, no formal ceremony, just the services of a Catholic priest and a quiet goodbye to those who were close in life. That was me and Evelyn. We both loved him, maybe in different ways, but it was love, nevertheless. I had known Father Martinez ever since I came to Lauderdale. I was never much for religion, hadn’t been inside a church in years. But Ricky had told me once that even though “he wasn’t a very good Catholic,” he was born one and would die one. I guess he got his wish. The well intentioned priest met us at the mausoleum. It was quick and nobody said much.
As we turned to go, I saw Captain Sullivan standing beside his unmarked about twenty-five yards away. He took a step or two toward us and waited. When we got close, he took my arm and spoke in a near whisper.
“Bijet and his boys have lunch most days around two P.M. at hole in the wall called The Caribbean Dream. It’s on a side street just north of downtown. 203 Garvey Lane. Can’t tell you why, but the boys in blue rarely cruise that neighborhood in the afternoons. Saving themselves for the nighttime. That’s when the serious thugs come out to play. Just thought you might like to know.”
I looked at him and mouthed the word thanks without making a sound. Ev had heard every word. She squeezed my hand and we went to my car. When we had closed both doors, Evelyn put her hand on my forearm and turned to me. I expected tears, but instead an image of grim determination was etched into her face.
“Sorry Dee . . . no discussion . . . you have a new partner. It’s me. I apologize for the short notice. I’ve already resigned at the firm and made a few calls. My PI license is at the courthouse.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. The silence was as thick as smoke.