by CJ Lyons
"I'm just going to get cleaned up, then I'll take my car back."
He escorted her up to the front door. She waited there as he quickly scoured the house for any signs of intruders. Cassie couldn't believe that someone actually wanted to kill her. Maybe tonight's events had been more designed to frighten and intimidate her. After all, wouldn't that further Virginia Ulrich's cause more? To have Cassie drop her allegations, maybe even resign in disgrace.
Jimmy returned. "All clear," he told her. He surprised her with a quick kiss on the cheek. "Take care now. I'd better get to work sorting all this out."
Cassie watched him go, one hand on her cheek where he'd kissed her. At least one cop was on her side.
But what to do about the other?
<><><>
The nurses kicked Drake out after half an hour. Denise waited in the family room, leafing through a year-old Newsweek. "How is she?" she asked when he sank into the chair across from her.
"Stable," he quoted the nurse. "I think I hate that word. What the hell does stable mean when she's anything but? She could stay in a coma, she might need more surgery, she could wake up like Richard King did–missing bits and pieces of her memory and God knows what else!"
Denise moved to perch on the arm of the chair. "It's going to be all right."
He frowned. Coming from her, the assurances didn't mean very much. He wished Hart was here with him. She'd know the right questions to ask the doctors and nurses, how to interpret their jargon–she would tell him the truth instead of pointless platitudes.
"I can't believe Hart got you into this," Denise went on. "I swear that woman can cause more trouble without even trying–"
"Don't," he snapped, jumping to his feet and moving to the window. "Don't blame her. It's my fault. I froze out there."
"What could you have done? You're still on inactive duty. You don't even have your gun."
And that was the point, wasn't it? Drake stared into the night. The angel glowed in the light of a spotlight aimed up at her face. Please God, don't let anything bad happen to her, he prayed for both his mother and Hart.
"I believe Hart," he said, the words coming slowly, but they felt right, felt true. For the first time that evening the knot between his shoulder blades began to loosen.
Denise opened her mouth, then closed it again, staring at him. Finally she nodded. "She couldn't do better."
He saw her smile, and he frowned. What the hell was she so happy about?
"All right, then. Charlie Ulrich's mother is trying to hurt him. What do we do now?"
Her sudden change of mind surprised him. Then he realized her choice of pronouns and had to smile himself. Hart, like it or not, wasn't going to fight this battle alone.
He returned to sit across from her, knees brushing the coffee table between them as he outlined strategy. "Jimmy's looking into anyone who could have been involved with tonight. But we have to think of a way to convince Children and Youth to place Charlie into protective custody until we can get this all straightened out one way or the other."
"Can't a police officer take a child into custody if he thinks he's at risk?"
Drake shook his head. "Not unless the danger is clear and imminent. We need someone to put pressure on Children and Youth." He thought for a moment. "I think I know just the people."
"Who?"
"How about a Pulitzer prize winning journalist and her husband, the former managing editor of the Cleveland Plain Dealer?"
"Your Aunt Nellie?"
"And Uncle Jake. They should be here soon. They both have friends at the Post- Gazette. And there's nothing the bureaucrats at Children and Youth would hate more than to be the object of media scrutiny."
Scott Thayer took his sweet time to answer the phone, knowing who was on the other end. A little suspense was good for the soul, he told himself.
"It's me. Did you take care of everything?" Virginia's words were clipped, impatient.
"Of course." Wasn't that what he did? Solve everyone else's problems for them. "But Hart–"
"I heard. That's all right, I'm sure she learned her lesson. And better yet, it seems like this has alienated her from Drake. From the way he was yelling at her, I doubt he'll be rushing to help her anytime soon."
"Do you still want Richard King at the Executive Committee in the morning? Would it be overkill? Hart's career was already in shambles. But King's testimony against her would be the final nail in the coffin."
She made a humming noise as she thought. He could almost see her hand stroking the handset, imagined her touching him. "Yes. Tell him to be there bright and early."
"Don't worry. He's looking forward to it. Thinks he has a shot at getting Hart back if she loses everything. Thinks she'll be desperate enough to come running back to him." He thought of the former surgeon whose fashion accessories now consisted of drool bibs instead of Italian silk ties and smiled. Hard to imagine Virginia had ever seen anything in Richard King. But she was his now–and his alone.
"They deserve each other," she said in a frosty tone.
There was a long pause. "I miss you," he finally said. "When can I see you again?"
"Not until this is all over and Hart is taken care of."
"Everything's all right with the baby?" Even after all these months, he still felt a rush at the thought of her carrying his baby. Their little girl might start out with Paul Ulrich's name and all the money and prestige that went with it, but it wouldn't be long before he and Virginia and their baby would be together forever. He just had to be patient.
Be patient and watch for the right opportunity. Two things Scott excelled at.
CHAPTER 22
Cassie stripped free of the remainder of the gauze bandages Ed Castro had encased her legs in. They made her feel like a victim. And she refused to play that role. Not after what it had cost her to leave Richard. Never again.
She took a warm shower, wincing as the jets of water beat against her battered skin and scalp. Gingerly, she washed mud and street grime from her hair, careful to avoid the laceration with its staples. She stepped from the shower, grabbing a towel, and tried to convince herself that the damage didn't appear as bad as the mirror reflected.
Long sleeves and jeans covered the worst of it. She left her hair down–pulling it back hurt too much, besides it would do what it damned well pleased, anyway.
Her fingers brushed against the St. Jude medallion sitting on her dresser. A shiver raced over her as she remembered Sheila Kaminsky's warning. Silly superstition, what good could a cheap nickel medal do? But she put it back on, tucking it under the shirt. And felt better wearing it.
She sat on her bed, tying her Reeboks. Damn, she was sore already–would be worse in the morning. She ran her hand over Rosa's quilt and thought for a moment.
Then she smiled and bundled the heavy collection of velvet and silks into her arms. It was the least she could do for Muriel. And who knew? It might help.
At least it would make Cassie feel better knowing that Rosa's quilt guarded Muriel from further harm. Just as good–no, better–than the St. Jude medallion she wore. Because she knew Rosa's quilt had magic, it had saved Rosa's life.
<><><>
Drake looked up as the waiting room door was flung open. A striking woman with black hair and fierce dark eyes rushed in.
"What happened? Is she all right?" Muriel's older sister, Eleanor DeAngelo Steadman, wasn't one to mince words.
"She's fine, Nellie," Drake assured her, getting to his feet and embracing his aunt.
She still smelled of Jean Nate. He remembered the fragrance from summers spent at their house on the shore of Lake Erie. Nellie may have won the Pulitzer, not once but twice, but she'd won his heart at an early age with her ability to bait a hook and almost effortlessly pull bluegills from the Lake. It seemed like magic to a four year old. Then, when Drake was older, Nellie had given him his first sailing lessons on an old Snark, Uncle Jake looking on from his lawn chair while he'd proofed galleys.
; Nellie gave him a peck on the cheek, holding him at arms' length, scrutinizing his face, as if doubting his words. Then she nodded. An older man, taller than Drake, but with thinning hair and a slight build came in behind her.
"She's going to be all right, Jacob," Nellie told him, taking his hand.
Jacob Steadman nodded, and his face relaxed into a smile. Drake looked at the two of them. They'd gotten older, he realized with a pang. When had that happened? Suddenly there were glints of silver in his aunt's dark hair, fashioned as always into a French knot. And Jacob's blonde hair, usually cut short, allowing pink sunburned scalp to peak through, was almost gone, replaced by leathery skin mottled with brown splotches.
"They say only one visitor at a time," he told them. "Don't expect much. She's being kept under heavy sedation. They've hooked her up to a ventilator because they want to control her breathing, and her face looks pretty swollen and beat up. The surgeon says this is all very normal," he reassured them, repeating the spiel the nurses had given him.
Nellie blanched as she gripped Jacob's hand tighter. This was the woman who had single handedly brought down the Cleveland Mafia when it tried to take over the local unions? Drake wondered. All his life he'd heard stories about Nellie's fearlessness: her tangle with the KKK in the early sixties during a Freedom Ride, her unflinching exposure of corrupt public officials. He'd never seen his aunt frightened before.
Jacob placed an arm around her and squeezed her tight. "It's going to be all right," he promised, his lips grazing the top of her head. Nellie closed her eyes for a second. Drake watched her take comfort from his uncle and his stomach clenched. They'd been married for forty-one years and still needed each other desperately. He could only hope for a love like that.
Nellie straightened and reluctantly disengaged herself from Jacob's embrace. "I'm ready," she told Drake. He led her to the ICU and waited until Muriel's nurse came to escort her. He saw her swipe at tears before she reached the bed space. Drake sighed and returned to the waiting room.
"Denise had to get home to the kids," Jacob told him, handing Drake a cup of coffee and taking one for himself as well. "She said you needed my help."
Drake nodded, draining the cup without tasting it. He quickly explained to Jacob about Charlie Ulrich and Hart's crusade to protect the boy. To his surprise, Jacob merely arched an eyebrow and nodded when he detailed Hart's suspicions of Virginia Ulrich.
"Munchausen's by Proxy. We did a story on that a few years back," the former editor said, closing his eyes as his almost encyclopedic memory roamed. "Lady in Toledo killed three of five kids before the doctors could prove anything. She killed herself before the trial started. Another in Parma, a babysitter, no a foster mother, was poisoning the kids she was supposed to be taking care of. And there was the lady in Philadelphia–I think nine or ten kids died. Called it SIDS but it wasn't."
He opened his eyes and looked up at Drake. "Of course, the big controversy now is that a lot of doctors are saying that it really doesn't exist. In England, they've overturned hundreds of convictions of women accused of Munchausen's. Nasty business. Your lady friend certain?"
"She can't prove it, but she's certain."
"And you? This could get ugly–case in Toledo polarized the entire city. Some said the doctors and prosecutors drove the mom to suicide, others said she was a homicidal maniac. You up for that?" His eyes darted to the door, and Drake knew he was thinking of Muriel.
"If someone was trying to kill Hart because of her suspicions, then the only way to keep her safe is to prove them." Drake frowned. Making this public was also a good way to put Hart back in the sights as a target. Someone's sights. He would just have to find out who before anything happened. Anything more, that was. "And the only way to keep Charlie safe is to get him away from his mother."
Jacob nodded. "I'll bet that's where I come in, right?"
"Right. I thought you might be able to put some pressure on Children and Youth, convince them to place Charlie into protective custody until we get to the bottom of this."
His uncle considered. "Would a sympathetic judge help?"
Drake inclined his head. Uncle Jake was better connected than even he imagined. "Yes."
"Let me make some calls." Jacob moved to the corner of the room and pulled out his Blackberry.
Drake sat down, then bounced to his feet once more. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't sit here all night. He quickly discovered that the room was twenty-seven paces by thirty-two. There was no reading material newer than nine months old, and the free coffee was designed to erode the stomach lining in the most efficient way possible.
Jacob's glares soon chased him out into the hallway where he continued his pacing. He rounded the corner and came up short in front of a set of sliding doors labeled "Pediatric ICU".
Once he entered, he really understood why he hated hospitals. All those kids, surrounded by beeping machines and plastic tubing going in and out of their bodies. Drake shuddered and looked around the windowless room. He recognized Virginia Ulrich from Hart's description. She hovered over a small boy, dwarfed by the large ICU bed, his leg swathed in bandages.
Two nurses talking at the desk looked up when he entered. "Can we help you?" one of them, Gail Robbins her nametag read, asked.
Drake joined them and produced his credentials.
"Detective Drake," the other nurse said in a melodic Island accent. "You probably don't remember me, I'm Rachel Lloyd. I'm a charge nurse down in the ER."
Drake looked again at the woman with the dark complexion, her ebony hair pulled back in an elaborate configuration of braids. "Yes, I do remember. How are you?"
"Dr. Sterling warned us about Charlie, but I didn't know the police were involved as well," Gail continued. "We've been watching him closely. Dr. Hart hasn't even been up here today."
"You don't have to worry about her," Rachel put in. "I heard that she'll be suspended. Tomorrow there's an Executive Committee hearing about her."
Drake tried to hide his surprise at the nurses' condemnation of Hart. "Has Dr. Hart been a problem?"
The nurses exchanged glances. "She's an excellent doctor, always has our patients stabilized before sending them up," Gail said hesitantly.
"But that's her problem," Rachel interjected. "She's too good in some ways. Never asks for help, doesn't trust anyone–has to do everything her way. That's how she got into this trouble in the first place. I told her that protocol on pediatric patients was to call Peds to place difficult lines, but she insisted that there was no time, that he needed fluids immediately. So she placed the intraosseus line and now it's infected."
"You should have seen Dr. Sterling's reaction to that," Gail said. "I thought he was going to hit the roof. But, I have to admit, by the time Charlie got up here, his perfusion was much better and we were able to place a femoral line without any problems."
Drake wasn't certain that he understood all of the medical subtleties. "So Dr. Hart did the right thing and it helped Charlie?"
"Well, yeah, but you have to understand that an IO is a very painful procedure. And Dr. Sterling is very protective of his patients–especially the Ulrichs, they've been through a lot."
"And Dr. Hart's other patient?"
"Antwan? He's a sad case. Dr. Hart saw him a few days ago and diagnosed an ear infection. Apparently the mother never gave him the antibiotic, and he came back with meningitis. Dr. Sterling called CYS to report the mom's neglect, but Dr. Hart came up here and talked to the mother. She told her it wasn't her fault, that she hadn't done anything wrong because no oral antibiotic could have treated the bacteria that was growing."
"Was she right?"
"Yes, but that's beside the point. She's always coming up here, following her patients she calls it, but it seems more like she doesn't trust us to take care of them after they leave the ER. None of the other ER docs do that, they realize that when it comes to kids, we've got the best doctors in the city."
"Like Dr. Sterling?"
"Oh yes. He's the best. It's too bad he doesn't see as many patients now that he's chairman of the department. He's devoted to his patients."
"That's why he was so upset about the way Dr. Hart treated Charlie," Rachel said. "And Virginia is so nice, she'd never complain unless it was really bad. She even came down to the ER after Charlie was admitted to thank me and to express her concerns about the way Dr. Hart interacted with her and Charlie. She said she was so happy when Dr. Sterling arrived and took over–that she got the idea that Dr. Hart thought she was lying about what happened."
Gail shook her head. "Virginia is one of the best mothers we have. It's so helpful that she has a medical background and can understand better what the doctors are doing. She probably just intimidated Dr. Hart because she is so assertive and knows what the proper care for Charlie is."
Rachel nodded her agreement. Drake looked past them to Charlie's bed space and was surprised to see Virginia Ulrich nonchalantly reach up and turn off the monitor connected to Charlie. Then she began to rummage through his bedside table, pulling out various medical supplies.
"Should she be doing that?" he asked the nurses.
"Yes, it's time for Charlie's dressing change. Virginia likes to do it herself, it comforts her and it's a big help to us. You see, Detective, we treat entire families here, not just the patient."
"So I see. Well, thank you for your help, ladies, I'd better be going."
"Don't you want to meet Virginia?"
"Not right now, she looks busy. I'll be back later when she has more time to talk."
"Don't worry, Detective. We'll keep a close eye on Charlie for you," Gail said.
Drake nodded and left the ICU. He paused outside the doors, thinking about the small boy who had set all this in motion. What if Hart was wrong, and he was yanking a sick child away from his loving mother?
He moved into the stairwell, Hart's favorite thinking spot, and sat down on the top step.
Footsteps echoed up the stairwell and a few moments later Hart appeared, carrying a bulging garbage bag. She stopped on the landing below him, tilted her chin up at him. "Everything all right?"