Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  Mr. Silverstein: And then what happened next, after you pushed the button to call for security?

  Ms. Watson: Well, I asked Mr. Duncan to please step away from the bed and outside into the hallway, but I kept my distance from him.

  Mr. Silverstein: Go on.

  Ms. Watson: He said to me, “just a moment,” and turned to Mr. Montoya and whispered something to him.

  Mr. Silverstein: Do you know what he whispered?

  Ms. Watson: No, I couldn’t quite make it out.

  Mr. Silverstein: Please continue.

  Ms. Watson: Well, I kept my distance as he got up and moved toward the door and hallway. About that time, right about when he was at the door, security arrived. Two of our guards grabbed him from each side and took him down the hall somewhere.

  Mr. Silverstein: And what did you do?

  Ms. Watson: I went over to the patient and looked at him and then checked his vital signs.

  Mr. Silverstein: What did you observe?

  Ms. Watson: Mr. Montoya was very pale—much paler than I’d seen him earlier in the evening. His heart rate was falling and his blood pressure dropping. I called for the CCRT by pressing the button by the bed.

  Mr. Silverstein: What is the CCRT?

  Ms. Watson: It’s the Critical Care Response Team. It’s a team that responds to critical situations inside the hospital when a patient looks like they may be going into some sort of life threatening event, such as vital signs falling rapidly.

  Mr. Silverstein: You thought that Mr. Montoya was going into such an event?

  Ms. Watson: I did. Absolutely, I did. We were losing him fast. The alarms were all going off on his monitors.

  Mr. Silverstein: Excuse me, could you explain what you mean by that—the alarms were going off on his monitors?

  Ms. Watson: The alarms are on the heart and blood pressure monitors. If they drop to a certain critical level, alarms are set to go off to notify staff.

  Mr. Silverstein: Continue then. What happened next?

  Ms. Watson: Well, I began preparing for the arrival of the CCRT by moving all the chairs away from the bed and pulling back the curtain from around the bed. We have a great staff, and the team was in the room in a very short time. They sort of take over at that point. I know they administered a medication to stabilize his heart rate and another for blood pressure. It helped get those stabilized for a while.

  Mr. Silverstein: Tell us then about the rest of the night.

  Ms. Watson: Well, the CCRT was with him for nearly an hour, and when they left, Mr. Montoya’s vitals were finally stable. Meaning that they weren’t getting worse, but they were definitely not what they had been earlier in the evening, prior to Mr. Duncan’s visit.

  Mr. Silverstein: And what happened after the Critical Care Response Team left?

  Ms. Watson: I was, of course, very shaken up and took a short break while another nurse watched both my patients. When I came back, I checked on Mr. Montoya several times, and his vital signs were still not like they had been earlier. At some point, not long after coming back from my break, I remember hearing alarms going off again from Mr. Montoya’s room. I raced back in there, pushed the button, and the CCRT arrived soon after. This time he faded fast, and they couldn’t resuscitate him, despite tremendous efforts.

  Mr. Silverstein: How many hours after Mr. Duncan’s visit was it that Mr. Montoya died?

  Ms. Watson: The log reports show that it was two and a half hours later.

  Mr. Silverstein: Thank you, Ms. Watson. I have no further questions, Your Honor.

  Judge Nelson: Ms. Yates, your witness.

  Ms. Yates: Thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Watson, you’ve stated that the patients on the Critical Care Unit tend to have more serious medical issues than say, a general medical floor, is that right?

  Ms. Watson: They tend to, yes.

  Ms. Yates: As they tend to, as you say, have these more serious issues, is it at all unusual to have a patient die while on the Critical Care Unit?

  Ms. Watson: It doesn’t happen every day, but it does happen, yes, a few times a month, I’d say.

  Ms. Yates: Is that a guess? A few times a month? What’s a few?

  Ms. Watson: No, it’s not a guess. I’ve seen the statistics for the unit. We average 3 to 4 deaths a month, pretty consistently.

  Ms. Yates: So, the death of Mr. Montoya, in and of itself, was not necessarily something that was unusual in the overall context of what happens on the Critical Care Unit—is that right?

  Mr. Silverstein: Objection, Your Honor. This is an irrelevant line of questioning.

  Judge Nelson: Overruled. Proceed, Ms. Yates.

  Ms. Yates: Thank you, Your Honor. So, Ms. Watson, leaving out any of the specific circumstances for the moment, the death of Mr. Montoya, in and of itself, is not unusual for the Critical Care Unit?

  Ms. Watson: No, it’s not.

  Ms. Yates: And was Mr. Montoya on the correct unit of the hospital?

  Ms. Watson: I’m not sure I understand your question.

  Ms. Yates: Did Mr. Montoya’s medical condition warrant him being on the Critical Care Unit?

  Ms. Watson: Definitely, yes. He needed the close supervision we offer. He had sustained some very serious wounds.

  Ms. Yates: So, on the Critical Care Unit, it is not uncommon to see patients die, and Mr. Montoya was in the correct unit of the hospital. Have I got that right?

  Ms. Watson: That seems to be right.

  Ms. Yates: Seems to be? Is it right or not?

  Ms. Watson: It’s right.

  Ms. Yates: Thank you, Ms. Watson. I have no further questions, Your Honor.

  Judge Nelson: Redirect the witness, Mr. Silverstein?

  Mr. Silverstein: Yes, thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Watson, a few moments ago, Ms. Yates asked you to put aside specific circumstances when characterizing Mr. Montoya’s death. Let’s now not put those aside. Taking all the facts that you related to us earlier surrounding Mr. Montoya’s death—the visitation by Mr. Duncan, the vital signs that suddenly went so wrong so as to set off alarms—would you say there was anything typical about Mr. Montoya’s death when comparing it to others that you’ve experienced on the unit?

  Ms. Watson: No, it was all very unusual.

  Mr. Silverstein: Thank you. I have no further questions, Your Honor.

  Judge Nelson: Re-cross, Ms. Yates?

  Ms. Yates: Yes, thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Watson, you mentioned in your testimony to Mr. Silverstein that you saw Mr. Duncan near Mr. Montoya’s bed. Is that right?

  Ms. Watson: Yes, he was sitting on a chair next to his bed.

  Ms. Yates: And at any time did you see Mr. Duncan touch Mr. Montoya in any way?

  Ms. Watson: I did not.

  Ms. Yates: And at any time did you see Mr. Duncan touch any of the equipment that was attached to Mr. Montoya?

  Ms. Watson: I did not.

  Ms. Yates: And, as per your earlier testimony, the only thing that you saw Mr. Duncan do related to Mr. Montoya, was sit by him and whisper something in his ear. Is that correct?

  Ms. Watson: That’s all I saw.

  Ms. Yates: So, you just stated to Mr. Silverstein, referring to Mr. Montoya’s death, that “it was all very unusual,” is that right?

  Ms. Watson: I think that’s what I said.

  Ms. Yates: You “think” that’s what you said. It was only a few minutes ago. Are you having a hard time remembering what happened only a few moments ago? How is it possible you can clearly recall what happened over six months ago?

  Mr. Silverstein: Objection, Your Honor. This is simple badgering of the witness.

  Judge Nelson: Sustained. If you’d please keep to direct questions, Counselor.

  Ms. Yates: Ms. Watson, shall I have the transcript read, or do you recall saying that in regards to Mr. Montoya’s death, “it was all very unusual?”

  Ms. Watson: I did say that.

  Ms. Yates: And you also stated that you never saw the defendant ever once touch Mr. Montoya or any equipment
attached to Mr. Montoya, is that correct?

  Ms. Watson: Yes.

  Ms. Yates: And would it also be unusual to have a patient’s vital signs suddenly go so wrong so as to set off alarms by merely having a person whisper something in that patient's ear?

  Ms. Watson: It would be unusual.

  Ms. Yates: How unusual? A little, somewhat, or very?

  Mr. Silverstein: Objection, Your Honor. She is calling for the witness to speculate.

  Judge Nelson: Overruled. It is within the scope of this witness’s experience to answer the question. Proceed.

  Ms. Yates: Again, Ms. Watson, tell us how unusual it would be to have a patient’s vital signs, in the condition Mr. Montoya was in, to suddenly go very wrong by someone merely whispering something into that patient’s ear?

  Ms. Watson: It would be extremely unusual.

  Ms. Yates: Thank you, Ms. Watson. I have no further questions, Your Honor.

  Judge Nelson: As I’ve been advised by the prosecution, the testimony from our next witness may be longer than normal. I think it would be best to take a short afternoon recess now, before we start with the next witness. Court is in recess until 3 p.m.

  Agent Westmore put the document into his briefcase and left the restaurant. The sky was dull with low-hanging clouds as he got back onto the Interstate and headed east. Within a few minutes, small drops of rain began to strike his windshield. As he put the car into cruise control, for some reason his mind reflected back to the letter from Mick. There was one line in particular that was bothersome to him, like an itch deep inside his mind needing to be scratched.

  Wear it every day until someone comes for it, and someone will come….

  He had fallen into traps before in his life; he didn’t like being set up. As the rain started falling harder, the reasoning part of Agent Westmore’s brain pulled him back to its side. No one could set up a trap this extensive! Mick just happened to be in the fast-food restaurant at the same time the agent went in for a chocolate shake; Mick just happened to have come across Matthew Duncan and got hold of his prison uniform; Matthew Duncan had no way of knowing it would be a man named David Westmore who loved chocolate shakes that would be assigned the task of finding him; he had no way of knowing the agent would drive, rather than fly, to Colorado, and certainly no way of knowing he’d stop for the night in Ontario, Oregon, in a motel across the street from a restaurant where Mick would happen to be hanging out with friends. It was all one big, outrageously lucky coincidence—a roll of the cosmic dice and nothing more. The agent comforted himself with thoughts of rolling dice as he drove east into an intensifying rain, though all the while, the itch persisted.

  Thirty-Seven

  In the Garden

  Throughout the morning, Deputy Sparky and Sheriff O’Neil had searched everywhere in Cottonwood and in and around McCann Park for Old Blind Carl. There was not a trace of him to be found. As instructed by the sheriff the night before, Sparky had stopped by the Reese’s to pick up Old Blind Carl’s cane and had also taken some fingerprints from the blind man’s house.

  Cottonwood’s only two law enforcement officers now sat in the sheriff’s office, the cane resting next to the desk, and Sparky watching the sheriff taking the last few bites from his jumbo-sized Tasty Burger. The sheriff found the jumbo size to be necessary in times of stress and especially tasty at such times as well, besides offering the best value. Tim’s Tasty Burger was conveniently located on Main Street, just a few leisurely steps from the sheriff’s office.

  “I think it’s time we refocus our search, at least for the time being, from Old Blind Carl to Mr. Duncan,” said the sheriff as he wiped his face with a wad of napkins imprinted with the distinctive red and yellow lettering of the Tim’s Tasty Burger logo. He stuffed the dirty napkins into the empty bag on his desk and tossed the whole thing into the trash.

  Sparky hadn’t eaten anything since the quick bowl of cereal he had early that morning before coming to work. The unmistakable smell of Tim’s Tasty Burger now permeating the small office made Sparky’s mouth water.

  “I think I know a good place to start then,” said Sparky.

  The sheriff said nothing but simply raised his eyebrows waiting for Sparky to continue.

  “He was with Rebecca D’Arcy at Ernie’s. They must have left together,” Sparky continued as he watched the sheriff take a long sip of soda from a straw poked into the top of an extra-large drink. “It’s funny, but I think he must have known I was watching him somehow, or why else would he slip out the back of Ernie’s like that?” Sparky watched the condensation building up on the side of the sheriff’s drink. His own mouth was dry from a morning of walking and riding a bike all over Cottonwood looking for Old Blind Carl.

  Sheriff O’Neil reached down beside his desk and picked up Old Blind Carl’s cane. He paused as he rolled it in his fingers and studied it closely. Sparky thought it looked as if the sheriff was almost looking for some further evidence on the cane or, perhaps, something else.

  Finally, after watching the sheriff for a few moments, Sparky said, “Do you see something there, Sheriff? Some blood or something?”

  The sheriff paused and then looked up at Sparky. “Nope. All I see is a beat up old cane that used to belong to a very nice old blind man.” The sheriff set the cane back down next to his desk. “I guess we ought to make our way over to Ms. D’Arcy’s house then and see if we can locate Mr. Duncan. I’ll be most interested in his story about how he came into possession of Carl’s cane.”

  Rebecca’s house was several blocks from the sheriff’s office, and Sparky and Sheriff O’Neil had made the decision to ride bikes over to it. Ordinarily, the sight of the two of them riding the slightly undersized bikes down the streets of Cottonwood would have been the most interesting thing people in Cottonwood might see all summer. The only bikes they could find on short notice were more appropriate for young teenagers rather than two grown men. With the stoppage of vehicular traffic, lots of people were now riding bikes, and the two men rode through Cottonwood with barely an eyebrow raised, though tiny Bethany Crawford did let out an equally petite giggle as the two men rode past her house. With her sense of the comical being piqued as she observed the barrel-chested and overweight sheriff riding side by side with the long and lean deputy, her thoughts briefly reflected back to a circus act she had seen as a child—involving bears and bicycles.

  At Rebecca’s, the two men parked their bikes on the sidewalk leading to the front door, with Sparky’s bike almost immediately falling over onto the grass as the kickstand was too loose to support it. Sparky didn’t bother to pick it up as he followed the sheriff up to the door.

  The front door was closed. The sheriff rang the doorbell. There was no response. They waited a moment and he rang it again. Nothing. He knocked a few times on the door and waited. Still no response.

  “I don’t think anybody’s home,” said Sparky. The sheriff shot him the official John O’Neil thinks you’re an idiot look. Once you’ve had this look from the sheriff, you never want it again. Sparky had seen the look more times than he could remember.

  “Don’t suppose it would hurt for us to have a look around back,” said the sheriff, already bounding off the side of the porch and toward the side of the house, crushing a few petunias in a small planter garden in the process.

  Sparky followed the sheriff, his stomach growling and the image in his mind of his hands around a jumbo Tasty Burger, with the savory and tender ground beef melting in his mouth.

  The backyard was surrounded by a short, white picket fence, but just inside the fence was a fairly thick hedge that went around the entire backyard. There was an arch carved through the hedge just inside the gate. The majority of the backyard wrapped around the back of the house toward the left and was not visible from the gate.

  “Hello?” Sheriff O’Neil said loudly as he stood at the gate. “Anybody here?” There was no reply, but the sheriff did cock his head to one side as he thought he heard something. The silence that
had fallen on Cottonwood was profound enough that sounds normally unnoticed began to stand out. Though neither man knew what species of bird it was, a Western Meadowlark sang out:

  Tweeta…tweet…tweet…tweetatweet.

  “Sounds like a bird,” said Sparky.

  The sheriff gave him another look.

  “Thank you for that keen observation,” said the sheriff. “I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna have a look out back.” He pointed toward the front yard. “You go back to the front, in case anyone decides to come out the front door. Just hang out there and be alert. We wouldn’t want Mr. Duncan to avoid us by pulling another Ernie’s Diner routine, would we?”

  Sparky shook his head and turned back toward the front yard as the sheriff undid the latch, opened the gate, and stepped through the archway cut into the tall hedge.

  Cautiously, the sheriff moved forward and peered to his left around the back corner of the house, into the main part of the backyard. There was no one in sight, but what he did see impressed even him, as he was not the kind of person to normally care much for gardens or plants in general. He had never been in Rebecca’s backyard before, but he now found himself looking at one of the most beautiful backyard gardens he’d certainly ever seen in Cottonwood or perhaps anywhere. There were flowers of all types and all colors, flowering vines, and flowers in pots scattered amongst others that were planted in the ground. Mixed in with the flowers were ornamental grasses of various types, short and tall. The backyard was rather long and oval-shaped, and a stone footpath meandered around the perimeter of the oval. The path led to the far end of the backyard, where amongst the flowers and grasses there rested a small stone bench. The bench was covered by an arch of flowering vines of pink and white flowers. Sitting on the edge of the bench was a tan and gray bird with a yellow breast accented by a striking black V-shape across it.

  Tweeta…tweet…tweet…tweetatweet sang the meadowlark.

  The sheriff stared at the small creature for a moment, finding it odd that the bird didn’t seem frightened.

  “Here I am,” said a man’s voice from behind the sheriff.