by JL Curtis
Doc stripped off his gloves and said, “Thanks. I need to make a couple of calls. I’ll handle it. Go ahead and get John ready to go and get an ambulance back over here. Give what’s left of the vest to Gonzales for the evidence file.” Doc went quickly to his office and flipped through his Rolodex, finally finding the number for Houston Methodist Heart Center. Dialing quickly, he got through to the duty surgeon and after describing the situation, the surgeon agreed to have a full OR ready to go as soon as they could get there. Doc then called the number Angelina had left and told the person that answered they would be going into Hobby Field for a Life Flight helicopter transfer.
Hurrying back to the ER, he checked John and was relieved to see his BP had improved along with his O2 sats. Looking at the amount of O positive blood left in the IV bag, he pulled a second one out and laid it on the gurney. The medic and EMT walked into the ER and Doc filled them in on what was happening, handing them all the paperwork, x-rays and the extra pint of blood. He watched as they loaded John into the ambulance, then jumped in the back, telling the resident, “I’m going to ride to the airport with them. I’ll be back in a half hour. Any questions, ask Angelina!” With that, he closed the door and the ambulance pulled slowly from the ER bay, led by a city car, lights rotating.
Doc called the sheriff and updated him on the old man’s status and asked if anyone had been notified. He heard the sheriff cussing and talking to someone in the background. Finally, the sheriff came back on the line and said he would make the calls and asked Doc to standby for calls on his condition. Doc agreed and gave the sheriff his cell phone number.
The sheriff turned to Clay, “God, this is really a call I don’t want to make. Hell, I don’t even know what to tell Jesse. It’d take us three hours to get there to deliver the news, and I’m not sure I want to have an unknown San Antonio PD person do it.” He looked at Clay pleadingly, “Should we call, and who else do you think we need to call?”
Clay thought for a minute then said, “Screw it. Can’t drive it. I don’t know how long it will take for SAPD to get somebody out there. John may not make it, and I’d be truly pissed if I wasn’t notified immediately. Besides, Jesse knows you. So does Aaron. I think they’d rather hear from you directly than a third party. Also, I’d call Billy Moore. I’d have Billy get folks out here to sit on the house until we can figure out what is behind this.”
Steeling himself, the sheriff stepped over to a quieter area away from the crime scene, motioning to Clay to accompany him. He punched in Jesse’s cell number and hit the speaker, when Jesse answered he said, “Jesse, this is Jose Rodriquez. I’ve got some bad news. John has been stabbed and he’s on his way to Houston for surgery.”
Jesse gasped. “What? When? Aaron, Papa’s been stabbed!” Clay and the sheriff heard Aaron indistinctly in the background and the baby crying. Jesse continued, “Just a minute, sheriff, let me give the baby to Aaron.”
The sheriff and Clay looked at each other and shook their heads almost simultaneously; both thinking this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Jesse finally said, “Okay. Details please.”
The sheriff replied, “Jesse, we don’t know much. It happened at the truck stop. An unknown Hispanic male stabbed John as he picked up food. It happened in the parking lot. The knife penetrated his vest and Doc Truesdale is having him flown to Houston Memorial by air ambulance, which is on the way now. All I know is John is still alive.”
Jesse asked, “Have you let anybody else know?”
“Not yet,” the sheriff said. “You’re the first call. I know we should have told you in person, but we figured time was of the essence. I was planning on calling Billy Moore next.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said. “Protocol doesn’t always work like it should. Please call Billy and give him what details you can. I’ve got to figure out how to secure the ranch. Where is Yogi? Was he hurt?”
“No, Yogi was in the car and didn’t get hurt.” The sheriff looked at Clay, who snapped his fingers and pulled out his phone, making a quick call as the sheriff and Jesse continued to discuss the situation, then Clay spoke up. “Jesse, I just talked to Eddie and Iris Guilfoile, they’ll come up to the ranch in an hour or so and take care of the house and horses till we can get somebody in place.”
“How will they get in?” Jesse asked. “Papa’s been locking the house.”
“We’ve got John’s key ring,” the sheriff said. “Apparently, he was about to put the keys in the lock when he was attacked. I’ll send an officer out there for now. I’ll also let Felix know.”
“Okay,” Jesse replied. “Please have Uncle Billy call me after you talk to him.” With that, she hung up.
The sheriff looked at Clay. “She’s—”
“She’s just like John,” Clay said. “She isn’t one to go to pieces. I’m going to call Houston and at least one of our Rangers over to the hospital to meet them. I’ll have him set up security with HPD. Now, I’ve got get back to work, unless you need me for the call to Billy?”
“I’ll call him now,” the sheriff said. “Use any of my folks you need.”
Houston Memorial
Dr. Swean and the medical team met the old man in the OR as the orderlies transferred him carefully from the gurney to the operating table. The nurses began hooking up all the monitors and setting up the IV as anesthesiologist immediately began putting the old man under. Swean and the other surgeons looked at the x-rays Doc Truesdale had taken and his notes. Swean looked around as a tall, lean, craggy faced individual slipped into the OR. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked sharply.
“I’m Ranger Todd Johnson,” the man said. “The man on the table is a law enforcement officer with a LOD[29] injury and I’m here to observe and note anything he says. HPD has set up security, since we’re not sure what the situation is. Don’t mind me. I’ll just stand over here out of the way. If he says anything and I don’t hear it, please repeat it if I ask you to. Understood?”
All of the people in the OR nodded and went back to studying the notes and x-rays.
Swean finally said, “Well, I think this is beyond Pericardiocentesis, I think the only way we’re going to be sure is to crack his chest. I can’t tell from the x-ray whether we have the tip in the pericardial sac or actually into the heart itself. He’s losing blood somewhere in there, and I don’t see any other way. Anybody else?”
Hartsfield, the heart surgeon said, “We could do a TEE[30], use that to guide the pericardio needle and see how much blood is in the sac, and see if we’ve got effusion and how much. I don’t like what I’m seeing on the monitor. I think he’s damn close to cardiac tamponade.”
Swean nodded. “Okay, let’s do it that way. You’re driving, Hartsfield.”
Thirty minutes later, Hartsfield stepped back. “Yeah, crack it. Everybody stand by. Nurse, please make sure the heart lung is up and ready to go if we need it.” The nurse nodded and turned to check the heart lung machine as Swean stepped in and began the incision that would allow the surgeons direct access to the heart.
***
Billy paced the kitchen, staring balefully at the cell phone that refused to ring. As he took another drink of his Diet Coke, he heard a car pulling into the driveway. Shaking his head, he pocketed the phone and walked over to the door. Sure enough, it was Jesse with baby Jace. Surprised, Billy noted Aaron wasn’t with her. He went out and helped her get the baby and diaper bag out of the car, saying, “I thought I told you to stay put and I’d send the airplane in the morning.”
Jesse looked at him, shaking her head. “Really, Uncle Billy? You really expect me to sit home and wait?”
“Jesse, there isn’t a damn thing we can do right now. You know—”
Jesse chopped him off. “All I know is Papa is apparently in surgery and may not survive. That is what I know. I’m not going to sit and wait for a damn phone call.”
Billy held up his hands. “Okay, okay! I get it. Where’s Aaron?”
Jesse sighed. “He’s got to
go in tomorrow morning. He can’t take off without getting leave approved, which requires a Red Cross notice. Which isn’t going to happen, since they’re not involved in this. He’s also supposed to start his final evaluations in the morning, so I told him to go ahead and do that, and I’d call him, shit.” Shifting Jace, she pulled out her phone and dialed. When Aaron answered, she said, “I’m at Uncle Billy’s. I’ll call you or text you as soon as I get any updates. Do good tomorrow for me and Jace, Okay?” She listened for a minute then said softly, “I love you, too. Bye.”
Jesse shifted Jace on her hip as they walked into the house. “I want to be there when Papa comes out of surgery.” Handing Jace to Billy, she added, ‘Right now, I need to pee though.”
***
Two hours later, Doctor Swean finished the last stitches, closing the old man’s chest up. He stretched and groaned as he handed the last needle to the nurse saying, “Well, that was one of the more interesting ones I’ve ever done. I gotta admit, I thought we’d lost him there when that knife came out.”
“Yeah,” Hartsfield agreed. “That was a bit sporty there. Another sixteenth of an inch and he’d have died at the scene. I wonder what stopped the full penetration.”
Swean pointed at the left wrist the resident was sewing up, “I’m betting that is a defensive wound, and somehow he managed to get his arm up in time to partially block the blow. That and the vest probably saved his life.”
Hartsfield said curiously, “I thought bullet-proof vests would have stopped knives too.”
Swean picked up the bloody butcher knife and looked at it, “Not necessarily. I’m betting this gent was wearing a level two-A vest. The material is Kevlar and a knife can get through one. Look at the way this one has been sharpened down. It’s almost an icepick point, which would have, well, did allow it to slide between the fibers. But it still helped save his life.”
“If that had been a regular butcher knife, it probably would have created a big enough wound channel that it would have gotten both the aortic arch and the left atrium, instead of just barely punching into the atrium,” Hartsfield said. “If that had happened, he’d have bled out at the scene.” Stripping off his gloves he continued, “Now we just have to keep him alive to heal. Where is the knife going to go?”
Swean glanced over at the man in the corner. “Ranger, you’re going to want this, right? It’s evidence?”
“Yes,” Johnson replied, nodding. “Don’t clean it. Also, I’ll need you to fill out a chain of custody form.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a paper evidence bag, “Drop it in here, please.”
“Pity,” Hartsfield said as he handed over the knife. “I would have liked to add that one to the collection of things I’ve taken out of hearts over the years.”
“Also,” the Ranger added, “I’ll need your fingerprints just in case.”
Swean said, “But we’re all gloved. And have been.”
“I know,” Johnson said. “But just bear with me on this. You might have left a fingerprint on the outside of your glove. Now if I were you I wouldn’t want to have my fingerprint showing up on a knife that had just be pulled out of a law enforcement officer’s body. Would you?”
Swean shrugged. “I see your point, Ranger.” He said to the anesthesiologist, “How long before you can bring him out?”
The anesthesiologist looked at the monitors and then down at the patient. “He’s coming out now. Probably another five minutes. He’s breathing on his own now, but I want to wait till he’s stable before I release him to recovery.”
Swean looked around the OR. “Thanks, folks! This one was a bit of a challenge, but we can chalk another one up in the win column tonight, and that’s because each of you did your jobs to perfection. Well done!” With that, Swean walked tiredly out of the OR, shedding his gown and mask on the way. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was almost 3:00AM. No wonder he was tired.
Swean was sitting in his office writing up his notes from the OR when the floor nurse knocked. “Doctor, there is a family member and a lawyer in the waiting room. What do you want me to tell them about Mr. Cronin?”
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “Gimme about ten minutes. Cronin is on his way to recovery, and it’ll be a couple of hours before he’s conscious and alert enough to interact with anyone.”
Finishing his notes, he collected his thoughts as he walked down the hall to the waiting room. As he walked through the door, he was surprised to see Billy Moore sitting with a young lady nursing a baby. “Billy? What are you doing here?”
Billy stood and said, “Tom, if I’d known you were doing the surgery I wouldn’t have been worried. This is Jesse Miller, John’s granddaughter and her son, Jace.”
“Ma’am,” Swean said, nodding. Jesse gave him a half wave, trying not to jostle Jace as he nursed.
Swean continued, “Your grandfather came through the surgery okay. He’s in recovery right now, and it’ll probably be a couple of hours before you can see him. We were able to repair the wounds in his heart and pericardial sac, but we had to open up his chest to do it. He’s going to be in a lot of pain when you see him, so just be aware of that.”
Jesse nodded. “Understood. But he will recover won’t he?”
“As long as he doesn’t develop other complications, I see no reason he won’t fully recover,” Swean said. “But he’s going to have to take it easy for at least six to eight weeks. That’s about the minimum recovery time considering what we had to do.”
Jesse slumped back in the chair as tears ran freely down her face. “Thank God!” She hugged Jace tightly, causing him to cry and Billy motioned Swean over to a corner, giving Jesse some privacy.
“Tom, how close was it?”
“Touch and go,” Swean said. “If Hartsfield hadn’t been damn quick and damn good, we might have lost him. We had the heart-lung standing by, but Hartsfield was able to get the stitches in without having to put him on the bypass. He lost a lot of blood though. I think we put six pints in him in the OR.”
Billy whistled softly. “Damn. What about the knife?”
“A Ranger named Johnson has it,” Swean replied. “If somebody hadn’t sharpened the knife down like they did, he’d have bled out at the scene.”
Billy said, “I hope he got a chain of custody started for it, because it’s going to be needed for evidence.”
Swean nodded. “They do. Who was that we worked on?”
“John Cronin. He and I go back over thirty years, and John’s a Pecos County deputy sheriff. He was stabbed by an unknown Hispanic male last night at the truck stop while he was picking up dinner.”
“I’m glad we succeeded then,” Swean said. “He’s one of the good guys.”
Billy could only nod as it hit him how close John had come to dying.
***
Three hours later, Jesse and Billy were finally allowed in to see the old man after they showed ID to the HPD officers at the door to recovery. Inside, they were escorted back by Ranger Johnson and Jesse was shocked to see the old man looking grey and shrunken, like he’d aged ten years in a couple of hours. He was moaning softly as Jesse sat at his bedside. She reached out and took the old man’s hand, feeling it limp in her hand scared her. “Papa? Papa? Can you hear me?”
The old man rolled his head and said, “Jesse? How’d you get here? Wherever here is?”
Jesse teared up again. “It’s me, Papa, and you’re in Houston Memorial. They operated on you.”
The old man looked up. “Billy? You too?”
Billy said softly, “Hell, yes, me. I gotta keep you from saying or doing stupid things as usual.”
The old man groaned. “Gah, don’t make me laugh. It feels like somebody took a crowbar to my chest.”
Billy frowned. “They did. They had to open you up pretty good.”
Jesse’s eyebrows knitted with worry. “What happened, Papa?”
The old man shifted slightly in bed. “It was just out of the blue. I don’t know. I just. I think I recognized th
e face, but I don’t know where.”
Ranger Johnson leaned in. “Captain, any idea where you know him from? Anything?”
The old man glanced at the Ranger. “No, it-He just looked familiar.”
Jace started crying, and Jesse said, “Papa, I’ll be here for you. But I need to go feed Jace. I love you. Don’t go anywhere.”
The old man groaned. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”
Investigation
The sheriff hung up and pumped his fist. “Yes, thank you, Lord!” Getting up from this desk, he walked slowly down to the bunkroom and knocked.
Hearing a muffled comment he stuck his head in and said, “Good news, Clay. John is out of surgery and he’s alive!”
Clay sat muzzily on the side of the bunk and said, “Coffee?”
The sheriff grinned. “I just made a fresh pot.”
Clay groaned. “I’ll be right there.” He levered himself up and put his shirt and boots back on, then walked into the bathroom and rinsed his face. Stopping and getting a cup of coffee, he walked into the sheriff’s office and plopped into a chair. “Okay, Jose, fill me in.”
The sheriff said, “I just got off the phone with Billy Moore. John came through the surgery okay, but they had to open his chest. He’s in recovery now and Jesse is there with him along with one of your Rangers. HPD is pulling security for them. Billy’s got people coming in to babysit the ranch until the old man is up and about. Billy said the old man will probably spend a week there in the hospital and then six to eight weeks in recovery.”
“That’s good,” Clay replied. “Anything back on those prints we sent in last night?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Nope, no hits. I sent them to Bucky, along with the best picture I could get of the face. I don’t think we’ll get much out of it. The documents are fake, though. Apparently, there is a company in Oklahoma City by that name, but they don’t have any employees by that name, or any contracts down here. It’s sounding more and more like a cartel setup.”