by Sandra Brown
“That could be a good sign.”
“But what—”
“Are you Detective Wesley?”
He spun around. A nurse in green scrubs approached. “Dr. Newton sent me to tell you that she would be out in a few minutes. She asked you to wait.”
“What about Wick? The patient? What about him?”
“Dr. Newton will be out soon.”
She turned and went back through the double doors. Grace reached for Oren and pulled him back down beside her. He covered his face with his hands. “He’s dead or she would have told us something.”
“She didn’t tell us anything because that’s not her job.”
“He’s dead. I know it.”
“He’s as strong as an ox, Oren.”
“It’s Joe all over again.”
“No it’s not.”
“The only difference is that when I found Joe he was already dead.”
“It’s not Joe. It’s not the same.”
“I wasn’t there for Joe, and I wasn’t there for Wick.”
“You weren’t responsible for what happened to either of them.”
“If Wick’s dead—”
“He isn’t.”
“If he is, Grace, I’ll have let Joe down. He would’ve expected me to take care of his brother. Watch over him. Protect him from something like this.”
“Oren, stop it! Don’t do this to yourself. You can’t take the blame for this.”
“I am to blame. Weren’t for me, Wick would still be in Galveston. Safe. Not dying on that fucking motel-room floor.” His voice cracked with emotion. “He asked me if that place was the best the police department could do. I told him to stop his bellyaching, that he’d slept in worse, and that it was several rungs up from that dump he’d been living in. Jesus, Grace, I can’t take this. I swear I can’t.”
“Wick is not dead.”
“How do you know?”
She smiled at him gently. “Because he’s too ornery to die.”
He wanted to believe it, but Grace was a professional counselor. That was what she did all day, every day. She earned her living from knowing good things to say in bad situations. But even if they were platitudes, he was glad she was here beside him, saying the things he wanted and needed to hear.
It was another twelve minutes before Dr. Newton came through the double doors. The sight of her wasn’t encouraging. She looked like a battle-scarred soldier who’d lost the battle.
She had pulled on a lab coat, but it didn’t hide the bloodstained tunic of her scrubs. Strands of hair damp with sweat trailed from beneath her cap. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, and she looked like she could stand a hot meal or two.
She didn’t prolong their suspense. As she approached, she said, “He survived the surgery.”
Oren expelled a deep breath and hugged Grace tightly. She pressed her face into his chest and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. They held each other that way for several moments. He finally released Grace and wiped his eyes.
Grace extended her hand to the surgeon. “I’m Grace Wesley.”
“Rennie Newton.”
“Thank you, Dr. Newton.”
After the two women shook hands, Dr. Newton handed Oren a plastic bag containing a bloody Phillips screwdriver. “I’m the only one who touched it.”
Then she pushed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and went straight to business. “The wound was deep. The solid part of his right kidney was penetrated. The organ was repaired and should heal without any adverse effect to his renal system.
“He also suffered some muscle damage. I called in our orthopedic specialist. He did an outstanding job of repairing the muscle. He’ll be available for consultation later today if you wish.”
“He lost a lot of blood,” Oren said.
She nodded. “Once I found the main source of the bleeding—a severed artery—I was able to direct the blood flow back to the kidney. Fortunately we got to him when we did. Otherwise, he might have lost the organ or died of exsanguination.”
If they’d waited on Sugarman he might not have survived. That was what she was telling him. Oren asked when they could see him.
“Right now, if you like. Come with me.”
She turned and they followed. Grace must have sensed the underlying animosity between them. She gave him a quizzical look and mouthed, “What’s going on?”
He shook his head. Later he would explain to her the intricacies of the situation. Once he did she would understand why his conversation with the doctor was polite but stilted.
She led them through two sets of automatic sliding doors into the surgical ICU. “He’s still under heavy anesthesia, and I should warn you that he doesn’t look very good. Something happened to his face.”
“He fell on it.” Dr. Newton stopped and looked back at him, her eyes wide, revealing more feeling then she’d shown thus far. “He was attacked from behind,” he explained. “Apparently when his assailant let go of him, Wick collapsed and landed hard on the floor facedown. That’s how the paramedics found him.” He was too ashamed to tell them that he was responsible for busting open Wick’s chin.
“The orthopedist X-rayed his face,” she said. “His cheekbone wasn’t broken, but he’s… well, you’ll see.”
She motioned them into one of the units. Grace, who was braver than he, went directly to the bed, took one look at Wick, and began to cry. Oren hung back, but he could see well enough. His first reaction was to curse beneath his breath.
Wick lay on his left side, propped up in that position by a body pillow. The right side of his face, the one visible, was so badly swollen and bruised that he was hardly recognizable. Both eyes were closed but he couldn’t have opened his right one if he had wanted to—it was that swollen. A breathing tube was taped to his lips. The cut on his chin seemed inconsequential compared to the other injuries, but that was the one that caused Oren to grimace.
“We’re giving him antibiotics through his IV to prevent infection, although there’s nothing to indicate that the bowel was punctured, which would have complicated his condition considerably,” Dr. Newton explained in a voice that sounded mechanical and detached again. “He has a catheter. There was blood in his urine initially, but it’s cleared.”
“That’s a good sign, right?” Grace asked.
“Definitely. His heart is strong, pulse steady. We’re keeping a tight check on his blood pressure. We’ll be taking him off the respirator as soon as he regains consciousness. Naturally he’ll be sedated for pain. His good physical condition helped him survive and it will help him recover. He’ll remain in ICU for several days, and I’ll continue to watch him closely, but his prognosis is good.”
The three stood and stared at him in silence for a couple more minutes, then Dr. Newton motioned them out. “Is there someone who should be notified? Does he have a family? We didn’t know if there were someone we should call.”
“Wick isn’t married,” Grace said, answering before he could. “He has no family.”
Dr. Newton’s hands disappeared once again into the pockets of her lab coat, delving deep, as though she were trying to push her fists through the bottom seams. “I see.”
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
She gave Grace a wan smile. “Presently, no. Once he’s released, he’ll need someone with him for at least a week. He’ll require a lot of bed rest. Until then, our capable nursing staff will take good care of him. By late tomorrow I’ll allow him to have visitors, but only on a limited basis.”
Oren said, “Unfortunately, Dr. Newton, I can’t allow him to have visitors. He was the victim of a crime. He’s also a key witness.”
“To what?”
“Murder.”
Chapter 16
“A young woman was in the room with Wick when he was attacked,” Wesley said. “She was dead at the scene.”
Rennie schooled her features not to show any reaction. It wasn’t easy. Mistrusting her voice, she only nodded.
“The CSU is going over the room now. The motel housekeeper, who’d been a nuisance until this morning, saved his life. She came into Wick’s room with her passkey. If she hadn’t interrupted when she did, he would have died too.”
“Did she see who did it?”
He shook his head. “The bathroom window was left open. We figure he climbed out just ahead of her coming in. She had knocked first. He was scared off.”
“So she can’t give you a description.”
“Unfortunately, no. And motel rooms are hell to gather evidence from because hundreds of people come and go through them.”
“Footprints outside the window?”
“Blacktopped alley. So far, we have no clues. But hopefully our techs we’ll find something useful.”
“What about that?” she asked, pointing to the bagged screwdriver.
“We’ll get what we can from it.”
Rennie wanted to ask him if he had any suspects in mind but was afraid of what his answer would be.
“As soon as Wick wakes up, I’ll need to question him, find out what he knows,” he said.
“I understand, but keep in mind that he fought for his life last night. He’ll need rest. I don’t want my patient to be agitated.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Wick’s recovery,” he said irritably.
“I’ll trust you not to. Now, I must excuse myself. I have another operation scheduled in half an hour.”
“But you look exhausted,” Grace exclaimed.
“I just need some breakfast.” She smiled at Grace Wesley, whom she had liked instantly, then turned back to the detective. “Obviously you and Mr. Threadgill are more than professional associates.”
“Friends. Virtually family.”
“Then I’ll leave word with the ICU nurses that if you call they’re free to give you an update on his condition.”
“I would appreciate that consideration. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Grace Wesley thanked her again for saving Wick’s life.
The detective said a clipped “I’ll be in touch,” then punched the Down button on the elevator.
Rennie went back into Wick’s cubicle and asked the nurse if he had shown any signs of coming around. “He’s moaned a couple of times, Doctor. That’s all.”
“Please page me when he does. I’ll be in the OR, but as soon as he wakes up I want to know about it.”
“Of course, Dr. Newton.”
Before leaving, she gazed down at her patient, but curbed the impulse to brush a wayward strand of hair off his forehead.
* * *
She showered in the locker room and put on fresh scrubs, then went to the cafeteria on the ground level. She had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice, but she ate it only because she needed fuel, not because she wanted it or enjoyed tasting the food.
Back on the surgical floor, she reviewed her next patient’s charts and spoke to her briefly. “Your oncologist and I agree that the tumor is contained. Once that section of bowel is removed, your prognosis is very good.”
The woman thanked her groggily as the anesthesiologist administered the heavy sedative into her IV.
Rennie scrubbed methodically. It felt good to be performing a task that was familiar and routine. Her carefully organized life had slipped out of her control. Ever since she heard about Lee’s murder, ever since the appearance of the roses in her living room, nothing had been in order.
But, she thought as she scrubbed ruthlessly between her fingers, she could get back that control. All she needed to do was focus on her work. Work was her handle on life. Get a grip on her work and she had a grip on her life.
In the operating room, she was slicing through adipose tissue on the patient’s abdomen when the assisting resident surgeon said, “Heard you had some excitement around here this morning.”
“Our Dr. Newton is a regular heroine,” said the scrub tech.
Rennie, whose mind was on her task, asked absently, “What are you talking about?”
“It was all over the news this morning.”
Rennie glanced at the anesthesiologist, who’d spoken from his stool behind the patient. “What was on the news?”
“How you saved the cop’s life.”
The resident said, “Threadgill’s brother died in the line of duty a few years ago. You prevented him from doing the same.”
“Except that this Threadgill wasn’t on duty at the time,” said one of the circulating nurses.
“I don’t know anything about him,” Rennie said coolly. “Suction, please. I responded to an emergency, that’s all.”
“According to the news, the girl was beyond help,” the anesthesiologist remarked.
The talkative resident picked up the story. “I heard straight from the paramedics who responded to the nine-one-one call that she was found in the cop’s bed. Apparently whoever attacked Threadgill killed her first.”
“Jealous boyfriend?”
“Or husband.”
“Could be. The way they’ve pieced it together, Threadgill was in the shower.”
“Speaking for myself,” the resident quipped, “I always have a cigarette first. Then shower. What about you, Betts? Do you smoke after sex?”
“I don’t know,” replied the circulating nurse. “I’ve never looked.”
Everyone laughed.
The scrub tech bobbed her eyebrows above her mask. “If this cop looks anything like the picture they printed in the newspaper, I’d say the girl died smiling.”
“Could we please get back to business here?” Rennie snapped. “What’s her pressure?”
The anesthesiologist replied in a subdued, professional tone. Rennie’s brusqueness had quelled the joking. She kept her head down, her concentration focused on the surgery. But when her pager chirped, she asked the circulating nurse to check it for her.
“It’s surgical ICU, Dr. Newton.”
“Would you call them, please?”
She listened as the nurse placed the call. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” She hung up.
“Threadgill’s waking up.”
“Thanks.”
Although she sensed the raised eyebrows above the masks, no one dared to comment. From there the talk related only to the procedure they were performing. Finally Rennie withdrew her hands and nodded for the assisting surgeon to clip the last internal suture. She probed the area with her gloved finger to make certain all the sutures held. “Looks good.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Excellent job, Dr. Newton.”
“Thank you. Would you mind closing up for me?”
“Your wish is my command.”
“Thanks. Good job, everyone.”
She peeled off her bloody gloves and pushed through the door, knowing that as soon as it closed behind her she would be the topic of speculative conversation. Let them wonder, she thought.
She reported the satisfactory results of the operation to the patient’s anxious family, then hurried to the locker room, took a second shower, and reached the ICU just as the nurse was urging Wick to cough up his breathing tube.
He suffered the choking sensation all patients did, but eventually the thing was out. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it, Mr. Threadgill? You did real good.”
He moved his lips but the nurse couldn’t hear him, so she leaned down close. When she straightened up, she was chuckling. “What did he say?” Rennie asked.
“He said, ‘Get fucked.’ ”
“You don’t have to tolerate that from him.”
“Don’t worry about it, Doctor. I’ve got a husband and four sons.”
Rennie took her place at Wick’s bedside. “Wick, do you know where you are?”
He grunted an unintelligible reply. She placed her stethoscope on his chest and listened for several moments. “You’re doing fine.”
“Thirsty.”
“How about some ice chips?” She looked across at the nurse, who nodded and left on the er
rand. “We’ll start you out on ice chips, Wick. I don’t want you to drink anything yet and get nauseated.”
He grunted again and was struggling to open his right eye, unaware that it was swollen shut. He would be groggy and disoriented for hours yet. “How’s the pain, Wick? I can increase the dosage of your pain medication.” He mumbled something else she couldn’t interpret. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
The nurse returned with the cup of crushed ice and a plastic spoon. “Give him a few spoonfuls every time he wakes up.” She made the necessary notations on his chart. Before leaving she said, “I’ll be either here or at my office. Page me if there’s any change.”
“Certainly. Oh, Dr. Newton, I think he wants to speak to you.”
Rennie returned to Wick’s bedside. He groped for her hand. Despite the IV port that was taped to the back of his hand, his grip was surprisingly strong. She leaned down close. “What is it, Wick?”
He whispered only one word.
* * *
“Lozada.”
Detective Wesley frowned at her from the other side of his cluttered desk. “Anything else?”
“Just that. ‘Lozada,’ ” Rennie repeated.
“When was this?”
“Around noon today.”
“And you’re just now telling me?”
“I had to sort it out first.”
“Sort what out?”
Other personnel in the Criminal Investigation Division appeared to be going about their business, but Rennie was aware that she was an object of curiosity. “Is there someplace we can talk more privately?”
Wesley shrugged and indicated for her to follow him. He led her into the same room where the interrogation had been videotaped. They sat in the same seating arrangement. She didn’t particularly like the implication that she was once again being placed in a defensive position, but she didn’t remark on it. Instead she immediately resumed the conversation.
“Could that mean it was Lozada who attacked Wick last night?”
“Oh, you think so?”
She felt her cheeks turn warm. “Apparently that’s not a news flash to you.”
“Hardly, Doctor.”
“May I ask you a question?” He shrugged with indifference. “What is it about me that rubs you the wrong way?”