A thin smile crossed David’s face. “Hello, Detective Reynolds. In fact, I was just discussing that very possibility with that officer over there.” He nodded inside the room. “Sorry I didn’t catch his name.
“Willard,” Reynolds grunted. “I’ll handle it.”
David turned to Laura. “We have to be going,” he announced, leading her out into the hallway.
Only then did Laura release her breath. Susan’s dad had not said a word to her.
Scratching his head, Reynolds watched as the enigmatic Laura followed Dr. Monroe. “Now what is that all about?” he mumbled.
“John, what are you doin’ here?” Willard frowned as he joined Reynolds at the cubicle door.
Reynolds reached out to shake Willard’s hand. “It’s your first night on, Detective. 1300 Beubien assigned me as lead, must have thought you needed a role model. How about that?” Reynolds paused to more closely inspect his new charge. “Now for your first lesson: wait for me before you leave the precinct. That way we don’t waste time.”
The younger detective reached for Reynolds’ outstretched hand and rolled his eyes. “No reason I can’t go off on my own. It’s not like I’m a rookie. Specially since the perp’s from my old neighborhood.”
“No matter. I’m senior detective in homicide and you’ll do your teething with me. And in case you’re thinking different, just because we’re both Americans of African descent, I’m not cutting you any slack. You’re gonna do things my way. Understand?”
“Got it. Truth is, there’s no homicide here. Bastard got his prick shot off by the dumb bitch over there. She spilled it.”
Reynolds took in the scene with a glance. A handcuffed and tearful young black woman surrounded by her shrieking family. “What makes her dumb, detective?”
Willard stared at Reynolds. “She shot her man’s dick off. Then she admits it to me in so many words. How dumb is that?”
“Second lesson, watch your mouth. You move up in the ranks, you have to watch what you say. Keep the gutter out of your language. You have to be both a detective and a gentleman, Detective Willard. And one more thing, since you’re gonna be my project, I assume you’re wearing a vest under that suit.”
Confusion passed over Willard’s face.
“The kind that stops bullets.” Reynolds lifted both hands in mock surrender and spoke softly. “I wear one all the time. The riots may be over, but the danger out there isn’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Cup of coffee?” David asked, joining Laura as she waited outside the urology cubicle.
“Uh, sure, okay.” Anything to get as far away from those detectives as possible.
“Let’s try to sneak through this maze of reporters,” David said. “They wanted to film one more case before leaving.”
“I saw them outside earlier. A documentary, someone said. It must have been a tough day for you,” Laura ventured. What the heck was she supposed to say to Dr. Monroe? And why had he pulled her out of her group?
David nodded. “Yes, it was in a way. But in another way, it was exhilarating. We’ve created a model trauma center here. It’s good to see it recognized on a national level.”
They fell silent for a few moments as they proceeded along the hallway. Laura blinked rapidly beneath the fluorescent lights, her contacts suddenly dry and scratchy.
“What case do you want me to see, Dr. Monroe?”
“None in particular,” David responded. “I needed an excuse to get away from this crowd and sit for a few minutes. I thought that a companion would help ward off the reporters and keep that producer away. Sort of like a decoy. I hope you don’t mind,” he admitted in a conspiratorial tone as they worked their way through the throng of white coats that intermingled with cameramen lugging their heavy equipment.
“Of course I don’t mind,” Laura said quickly. “Good.” David smiled broadly. “And don’t worry, we’ll be back in the thick of things in a few moments. You’ll see your share of trauma medicine. It’s barely half-past twelve. In the ER, the night is young.”
“It is amazing. So what’s going to become of all this filming?” Laura asked, struggling to keep the conversation going, feeling strangely awkward.
Pointing to a table for two, David responded, “I’ll get the coffee, then I’ll tell you all about it. How do you like yours?”
“I’d prefer a hot chocolate,” Laura said as she sat down. “And maybe a muffin or something?” She couldn’t believe her brazenness, but there’d been no time for dinner and she needed something in her stomach.
“Here we go,” David announced as he returned with their drinks and two muffins wrapped in cellophane. “I survive on coffee this hour of the night.”
“I’m usually a coffee drinker too,” Laura said pouring the powder into her mug, “but somehow hot chocolate seemed right.”
“I bet you miss your children when you’re away all night like this,” David said. “Cute kids. How old is the baby now?”
Laura blushed, remembering their last cafeteria encounter. She’d thought about it often, more often than she cared to admit. “Uh, yes, I certainly do miss them. Kevin’s ten months.”
“Must be difficult. Kids — the stress of med school? To tell you the truth, I was worried about you a few months ago. You were very thin, but things must be agreeing with you now. You look like the picture of health.”
“It is difficult,” Laura responded. “Impossible, no. Worth it, yes. Definitely. You know, everybody must think I’m a lousy mother, but I’m not, really.” She gave a shy smile. Self-conscious, yet comfortable.
“What you think and feel is important, not what everyone else thinks. I don’t know how you handle it all. What type of work does your husband do?” David asked. Then he held up his hands. “Stop me if I’m prying.”
She smiled. “It’s fine. He’s a social worker with Wayne County Social Services. He finished his Master’s last year, and I’m hoping he’ll go on to get a doctorate. Once I’ve finished med school, of course.”
“That’s great. Well,” David glanced around, noting and ignoring a few inquisitive stares from the ER staff. A discarded magazine lay on the table, open to a picture of Bobby and Ethel Kennedy and a passel of toothy kids. “So do you think Robert Kennedy will be our next president?”
Laura shrugged. “Sure would make for an active White House.”
“That family has had more than it’s share of tragedies.” “I’ve always admired Rose Kennedy,” Laura said finishing her hot chocolate and trying to find the courage to ask him why Detective Reynolds was here.
“Me too,” said David, pushing back his chair. “That was just what I needed. It was a pleasure to chat with you, Laura.”
He’d called her ‘Laura’. Just like the last time in the cafeteria.
On the way back to the ER, Laura saw a balding man in a plaid shirt and baggy pants issuing orders to a cluster of cameramen. He looked familiar, and she squinted to get a better look. Yes, he was dressed differently, but this was the same man she and Susan had seen with Dr. Monroe the night her tires were slashed. That had been more than two months ago, and she was no closer to knowing who’d left that terrifying note.
Suddenly David took her arm and led her toward the man.
“That’s Ted Compton,” he said, “the producer. Let’s see how the filming is going.”
“Dr. Monroe, we’ve been looking for you,” Compton shouted over the noisy din. “I just talked to my guys. We have ample material. We’re going to pack it in.”
“That’s fine,” David said, joining him near the triage station. “I’d like to introduce you to Laura Nelson. Mrs. Nelson is a first year medical student. We have a unique program here at the medical center that you may find interesting. Laura, this is Ted Compton.”
Before Compton could respond, the heavy double doors of the ER crashed open. Amid spewing obscenities and a general commotion, a huge, bald man in handcuffs barged inside. Two police officers, one on each side,
struggled to contain the hulk as he thrust violently from side to side, crashing into walls, upsetting equipment carts in his wake. A crazed expression twisted the giant man’s pasty face as all conversation stopped.
David grimaced. Was there any police back-up? What had become of Detective Reynolds and that other detective? David turned away from an ashen-faced Ted Compton to see Carrie Wilson push the hidden security button beneath the nursing station desk. Soon, hospital security would swarm the area.
The man broke loose with a tremendous jerk of his shoulders, sending the officers careening in opposite directions. Still flailing, the huge man lurched forward, one foot striking a cart full of oxygen canisters, which clattered to the floor. Struggling to stay upright, he lunged in the opposite direction, heading straight toward Laura. Before anyone could react, his powerful head and shoulders slammed into her, propelling her to the ground. Her head hit the concrete floor with a loud thud. As she lay crumpled on the ground, the giant scrambled to escape, bringing a thick work boot down solidly on Laura’s abdomen.
David dove toward Laura as the policemen rebounded and grabbed the crazed man. Meantime, reinforcements raced through the door. Four men pinned him in a prone position and forced him into a straitjacket.
“That’s ‘Schizoid George,’” a lanky young psychiatric resident called from the nursing station. “Get me a syringe with Valium. He’s a schizophrenic.”
The pair of officers secured one of George’s powerful legs as the resident injected yellow fluid into his thigh.
“This is what happens when he goes off his Haldol and tries LSD instead,” the resident explained to gawking onlookers.
David was on his knees by Laura’s side. At that horrible moment, his medical instincts totally abandoned him. Why Laura? Why not him? They had been standing next to each other. Why didn’t he step in front to protect her? It had all happened so fast. He tried to be logical and clinical, to fight off panic as ER personnel surrounded Laura.
Laura was unconscious. David quickly examined the blow to the head. No bleeding. A concussion. He had no idea how severe. As a nurse held out a blanket, Dr. Monroe said, “Not yet. Let me do a quick evaluation.” Her abdomen concerned him the most. It had taken the brunt of the blunt trauma.
Carrie Wilson had already inflated a blood pressure cuff around Laura’s left upper arm and reported a normal reading. Oblivious to the increasing circle of observers, David wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve before checking Laura’s pulse. “Normal,” he mumbled softly. Someone handed him a stethoscope. “Heart and lungs okay.”
His practiced hands moved to Laura’s abdomen. David prayed that he wouldn’t find evidence of a ruptured spleen or worse yet, a ruptured liver. He pulled up her surgical scrub gown, deftly palpating for signs of injury. When he noted the abdominal distension, his heart sunk and he felt a rush of panic. Something was really wrong. There had to be a huge amount of internal bleeding for this much swelling to happen so quickly. “Repeat the blood pressure,” he demanded. His hands palpated the four quadrants of Laura’s abdomen.
“One-ten over seventy, Dr. Monroe,” Carrie Wilson reported in a clear, clinical voice. “Pulse steady at one-twenty.”
Then David saw the blood on the floor, an expanding pool of bright red blood. Where was it coming from? That’s when he knew. The distended abdomen. Must be vaginal bleeding. She was pregnant.
“Put her on a stretcher and admit her immediately to Dr. Barrone’s service.” Edward Barrone was chairman of obstetrics and gynecology at University Medical School. “Page whoever is on call for obstetrics. STAT,” he ordered. “STAT,” David raised his voice as he looked up at the bank of incredulous stares directed down at him. Those eyes included Detective Reynolds’ and the wide-eyed other detective, David absently noted. The police had pushed George into a wheelchair and rolled him out through the big doors he’d passed through moments earlier.
“That’s Laura Nelson,” Detective Reynolds said aloud.
“Type and cross-match her blood and have six units on standby. Do a complete blood count and metabolic panel. All STAT!” David continued to shoot off orders. “Find Dr. Baronne, wherever he is.”
“Of course,” the head nurse responded. “Dr. Monroe, we do need information on the patient.”
“Laura Nelson. First year med student. This was her ER orientation.”
Two orderlies had come forward and carefully lifted Laura to a stretcher covered with clean white sheets.
“Dr. Monroe, could you repeat that? I couldn’t catch it all with the background noise,” Compton requested.
“Get the cameras out of here,” David shouted. “Get Mrs. Nelson to Labor and Delivery. STAT.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Less than five minutes had passed since the deranged man barged through the ER doors and barreled into Laura. Clear intravenous fluid was dripping into her veins by the time Dr. Danny Morgan, chief obstetrical resident, responded to the STAT page from the ER.
“Dr. Monroe, sir, could you tell me what happened?” the cherubic-faced resident inquired as he approached Laura and immediately started to palpate her rounded abdomen.
David quickly recounted the nature of the injury and the outcome of his screening examination.
“She’s pregnant all right,” Morgan confirmed. “I’d say six, maybe seven, months. We’ll get her up to labor and delivery right away. So far the fetal heart tones are okay. I guess I don’t have to tell you,” he added, “this is a high-risk situation. A lot will depend on whether we can control the hemorrhaging. We’ll start transfusing her now.”
Laura stirred on the stretcher, her eyes suddenly flickering open.
David moved to her side.
“Laura, lie very still.” Reflexively, he grasped her hand.
“Dr. Monroe, excuse me,” a new voice interrupted. It was a transfusion nurse. “We need to get another IV line in to start the blood. We have two units on the way.”
As David nodded and stepped back, Carrie Wilson appeared. “Dr. Monroe, Dr. Barrone is on the line. You can take it in the nurse’s station if you like.”
“I’ll be right there,” David said. “Make sure he holds. Tell him it’s important.”
He stepped closer to Laura once more. “You’re here in the emergency room,” David tried to explain as gently as possible. “You’ve had some blunt trauma to the abdomen.”
Laura’s eyes were now fully open and still struggling to focus. Both of her hands slid to her belly. The skirt of her green surgical scrub dress had been pulled up and was bunched around her waist. Her lower body was covered by a heavy white sheet, and intravenous lines were connected to each arm.
“What happened?” she gasped.
“You were struck by one of the ER patients,” David said softly. “You hit your head on the wall and were unconscious for several minutes.”
“Huh? I’ve got to get home.” Laura struggled to sit up.
“Please, Mrs. Nelson, you must try to lie very still.” Dr. Morgan protectively pressed his arm over her chest.
“Laura, this is Dr. Morgan, the chief ob-gyn resident.” David hesitated briefly. “We realize that you’re pregnant. We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that you and the baby are okay.”
Mrs. Wilson appeared once more. “Dr. Monroe, Dr. Barrone is quite impatient.”
“Do not let him hang up. Tell him I’m coming right now.” David patted Laura’s hand gently. “You’re going to be admitted to the obstetrical service once we get a blood transfusion started.”
As David hurried out to take the phone call, Detective Reynolds approached Laura’s gurney on the heels of a transfusion nurse, carrying a plastic pack full of blood. As the nurse hung the dark red blood on a pole, the detective was close enough to read the label.
“B-negative,” he mouthed with a deep frown.
Laura was now conscious enough to realize that something was horribly wrong. Her head hurt terribly, and the pain in her abdomen was severe e
nough to make her pant. She could also feel something bulky lodged between her legs. Her mind was still fuzzy, but she made the disastrous connection. Bleeding? Vaginal bleeding? Waves of alarm flooded her. If only she could return to that blackness again.
An orderly appeared and began to push Laura’s stretcher toward the bank of elevators beyond the ER doors. Mrs. Wilson and Dr. Morgan stayed by Laura’s side during the ride to the fourth floor and through the double doors marked labor and delivery.
The silent orderly maneuvered the stretcher into a small room made up of plain white walls with a grayish hue, dull green floor tiles, a single bed, and two chairs. It was clean but absent of any attempt at décor, so different from the shiny obstetrical suites at the private hospital where Mikey and Kevin had been born. Dr. Morgan and the orderly helped Laura transition from the stretcher to the narrow bed. A cheery labor nurse arrived and bustled about, unaware of the circumstances.
“I can’t have the baby now,” Laura declared, looking up at the strange faces.
“When is your due date, Mrs. Nelson?” Morgan asked softly.
“Not for another two months. It’s way too early.”
“Right now we’ll get you stabilized and do whatever we can to delay premature labor,” he said, patting her arm. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Myers. She’s the chief obstetrics nurse, and she’ll take care of everything. Joyce, this is Laura Nelson.”
The wiry, fortyish nurse with auburn hair and freckles plumped Laura’s pillow, keeping up reassuring bantor as she checked vital signs. “Everything’s going to be okay, honey. You’re in good hands. Dr. Morgan is the best chief resident we’ve ever had around here. I hear they’ve even got the big chief, Dr. Barrone, on the way.”
“Hello, Ed? Thanks for holding.”
“David, what’s going on? I’m in the goddamn kitchen of the Limelight Restaurant waiting for you to pick up. How the hell did you track me down anyway? Come to think of it, old man, you should be here too. Cynthia said you’d be stopping by after you finished whatever you were doing there at the hospital. Sorry to hear Cynthia’s decision. I tried to reassure her that it would be okay.”
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