Jeffrey pulled out his badge and placed it on the counter beside the clipboard. 'I'm here to see Sheriff Valentine.'
The woman ran her tongue along her bottom teeth, making it look as if she had a pinch of snuff there. Finally, she gave a noisy sigh, pulled back the clipboard and turned toward her computer, where a couple of clicks brought up a hand of solitaire she'd obviously been playing.
Jeffrey looked at Sara, as if she could decipher the goings-on of the hospital. She shrugged, and he was thinking they'd been given the brush-off when the receptionist heaved another heavy sigh, then said, 'Follow the green line to the elevator, take it to the third floor, then follow the blue line to the nurses' station. They might know what you're talking about.'
He looked down. There were five painted lines under their feet. Two led down a hallway, one led toward the elevator, and the last one, a red line, led to the exit, which was less than ten feet behind him.
Jeffrey picked up his badge and tucked it back into his pocket. He let Sara walk ahead of him toward the elevator. As if by magic, the doors slid open on their approach. The floor of the car was reddish-pink from dirt, and the faint odor of Pine-Sol and vomit filled the air.
Sara stopped. 'Maybe we could take the stairs?'
'What about the blue line?' Jeffrey asked, only half-joking.
She shrugged and got on. He followed suit, pressing the three button, noticing that there was a two but not a one. They both stood there, waiting for the doors to close. Nothing happened, so he pressed the three button again. Still, nothing happened. He pressed the two button and the doors closed. Above them, machinery whirred, and the elevator moved upward.
Sara said, 'I really shouldn't be here.'
He hated that she felt so out of place. 'I want you here.' He tried to sound more convincing. 'I need you here.'
'You don't,' she insisted, 'but I appreciate the lie.'
'Sara—'
She turned around, studying the notice board screwed to the back of the elevator. 'Meth is Death!' one of the posters warned, showing before and after photos of a beautiful blonde teenager who, after a scant year on meth, turned into a soulless crone with no teeth and festering wounds erupting from her once perfect skin. A number at the bottom was scribbled over, a crude drawing of a joint obscuring the last two digits. Another poster outlining the steps to performing CPR took up most of the remaining space. This one was vandalized with the usual graffiti you found in spaces like this: dirty limericks, phone numbers for loose women, and messages for various people to go fuck themselves.
Finally, the elevator doors groaned open and a bell dinged. A dimly lit hallway greeted them, and Jeffrey guessed the lights had been turned off so that patients could sleep. The emergency exit sign across from the elevator gave off a warm red glow, pointing toward a doorway at the very end of the hall. Jeffrey glanced around, holding the elevator doors open, wondering if they were on the wrong floor.
'There's the stripe,' Sara whispered, indicating the single blue line on the floor. Jeffrey saw that it went to the right, past the emergency stairway and around the corner. He looked up the hall to the left, but all he could see were more patients' rooms and another exit sign.
They followed the painted line to the nurses' station. He realized as soon as they got there that the hallway circled around and that they could have just as easily taken a left and gotten to the same place.
'This is why people hate hospitals,' Jeffrey told Sara, keeping his voice low. 'If they can't make you feel sicker, they drive you crazy.'
Sara rolled her eyes, and Jeffrey remembered the first time he'd told Sara that he hated hospitals. Her response had been almost automatic: 'Everybody hates hospitals.'
The nurses' station was oblong, open at both ends, and packed to the gills with charts and colored sheets of paper. There was one desk with a lamp casting a harsh light over the blotter. A newspaper was folded to the crossword, some of the squares filled in. Jeffrey guessed from the half-eaten pack of crackers beside an open can of Diet Coke that whoever had been sitting there must've been called away mid-snack.
Sara leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest. 'The nurse must be making rounds.'
'I guess we'll wait here.'
'We could find Lena on our own.'
'I don't think the sheriff would appreciate that.'
She gave him a curious look, as if she was surprised that he cared.
He was about to respond when he heard a toilet flush behind him. 'Guess the nurse just finished her rounds.'
They both waited, Sara leaning against the wall, Jeffrey pacing, reading the signs that had been taped to some of the patients' doors. 'No Water.' 'No Solids.' 'No Unattended Toilet.'
Christ, they knew how to bring you low in these places.
He heard water running from the bathroom faucet, then the familiar squeak of a paper-towel dispenser. Seconds later, the door opened and a gray-haired man in a uniform came out. He did a double take when he saw Jeffrey. 'Chief Tolliver?'
'Jeffrey,' he offered, walking over to shake the man's hand. He realized a second too late that he wasn't talking to the sheriff. The insignia on the dark brown and taupe uniform identified the man as a deputy. 'This is my wife, Dr. Sara Linton.'
'Donald Cook.' The man shook Jeffrey's hand, nodding at Sara. He had a loud, booming voice, and didn't seem to be worried if he woke up any of the patients. 'Sorry if I kept y'all waiting.'
Jeffrey got straight to the point. 'How's my detective doing?'
'No trouble at all,' Cook answered. 'She's been quiet as a mouse.'
In a different situation, Jeffrey would have made some joke about mistaken identity. 'Was she burned? Your sheriff said there was some kind of explosion—'
'She's got smoke inhalation, some cuts and scrapes. Doc says she'll heal up fine.'
Jeffrey waited for Sara to press the man about Lena's condition, but she just stood there, listening. This wasn't like her. The hospital was Sara's element. He'd expected her to at least ask for Lena's chart or try to find the doctor in charge.
Then again, Sara didn't usually tag along when he was working. Jeffrey guessed she was trying not to interfere. He asked the deputy, 'Can you tell me what happened?'
'Best talk to Jake about that.' The man made his way behind the counter and fell back into the desk chair with a groan. He picked up the phone, saying, 'Sorry I can't offer y'all a seat.' He slipped on a pair of reading glasses so he could make out the numbers on the telephone. 'They had a junkie in here last night who puked all over the chairs. Easier to just throw them out and order some new ones.'
'No problem,' Jeffrey said, tucking his hands into his pockets, trying to resist the urge to resume pacing. Though Sara seemed to be keeping her own counsel, he could see that she was just as surprised by the situation as Jeffrey. Lena's armed guard was a joke. The deputy should be sitting outside her room, not eating crackers and taking a crap when the mood suited him. Sara had been right. Jeffrey should've looked for Lena on his own instead of attempting to play the diplomat.
Cook unnecessarily held up his hand for silence, saying into the phone, 'Jake? He's here. Yeah, brought a doctor with him.' He nodded, then hung up, telling Jeffrey, 'Jake said he's just pulling into the parking lot. Went home to get some supper. We figured it'd take a little longer for you to get here.'
'What was she arrested for?' When the man didn't answer, Jeffrey gave him some options. 'Property damage? Criminal neglect?'
Cook's lips turned up in a grin. 'Not exactly.'
Jeffrey knew what a 'not exactly' meant – they had charged her with something small in order to buy time to figure out how to charge her with something big. He glanced back at Sara, feeling pulled in two different directions. Bringing Sara here was probably not one of his brighter ideas. Everything about the hospital was likely reminding her of the malpractice suit, the fact that somewhere back in Grant County her professional and private lives were being raked over the coals.
With some
effort, Jeffrey shifted his focus back to Lena. 'Can we go ahead and see her?'
'Might not be a good idea,' Cook said, sliding a cracker out of the pack. Jeffrey felt his stomach rumble and realized he'd missed supper. Cook must have heard it because he offered, 'You want one?' Jeffrey shook his head, and the man held the pack toward Sara, who shook her head, too.
Cook sat back, chewing his cracker. He raised his eyebrows at Jeffrey. 'Bad situation.'
Jeffrey knew that he was being played by the old man. Cook was probably bored out of his mind doing babysitting duty. Tossing Jeffrey a bone and seeing if he'd fetch was obviously more entertaining than doing the crossword. What the deputy didn't count on was that the dog might bite. Jeffrey looked at his watch, thinking he had wasted enough time. He could get his chain pulled in the comfort of his own home.
He told the deputy, 'I'd really like to see her.'
'That explosion was deliberately set.' Cook's tone was a warning.
Jeffrey heard Sara shift behind him. 'That so?' he asked.
'Yep.'
He couldn't help himself. 'You think my detective started it?'
'Like I said—'
'Talk to Jake.'
'Right,' Cook said, crumbs dropping onto his uniform as he chewed the cracker. Out of nowhere, he announced, 'I worked with Calvin Adams.'
Jeffrey guessed he meant Lena's father.
'Good man, Cal,' Cook continued. 'Took two in the head on a traffic stop. Liked to killed me when it happened.'
Jeffrey didn't respond, but he knew all too well the feeling of losing a fellow cop. It was a loss that haunted you every day of your life – harder, maybe, than losing a family member or a spouse.
Cook was still leaning back in his chair, fingers laced over his belly. 'You took me for the sheriff, huh?'
'Sorry?' Jeffrey asked. His mind had been wandering. 'Yeah,' he answered, realizing what the man had said. 'My mistake.'
'I've been wearing this uniform going on forty years,' Cook proudly stated. 'Finally threw my hat into the ring for the sheriff's job. Lost it to Jake.' Jeffrey knew that the sheriff's office was an elected position. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he didn't have to campaign every two years to keep his job. It was a good position if you could get it. The sheriff's pension and benefits were some of the best in law enforcement.
Cook said, 'Jake Valentine,' with a chuckle. 'Sounds like some kind of soap opera star. Boy ain't been off his mama's tit more than three years.'
Jeffrey wasn't in the mood to gossip about the sheriff. He wanted to know more about the explosion, whether it was deliberately set, who else was hurt, and what in the hell Lena had to do with any of it. He knew Cook wasn't about to offer up answers on a silver platter, so he asked, 'Do you know Hank Norton?'
'Sure I do. No-good piece of shit is what he is.'
Jeffrey realized that he was relieved to hear the man talking about Lena's uncle in the present tense. He asked, 'Has Hank been in trouble?'
'Caught somebody passing meth at his place three weeks ago. We closed it down, but Norton was so wasted I doubt he even noticed.'
'I thought he was sober now.'
'I thought my wife was a virgin when I married her.' Cook blanched, remembering Sara. 'Sorry, ma'am.' He leaned his elbow on the desk, directed his words toward Jeffrey. 'Lookit, Norton's been a junkie from the word go. Must've started when he was around sixteen, seventeen. You don't stay away from that kind of thing for very long.'
'Speed, right?'
'So the story goes.'
The elevator dinged, and Jeffrey heard the metallic whir of the doors sliding open. Two sets of footsteps echoed up the hall. The pair was having an animated conversation in hushed tones. As they drew closer, Jeffrey saw that one of them was a nurse. The other had to be Sheriff Jake Valentine.
The young nurse seemed to be hanging on the sheriff's every word as he described an elaborate scuffle he'd had with a drunk driver. Cook had been right about Valentine. The man looked about eighteen if he was a day. He was so tall and lanky that the gunbelt around his waist was pulled to the last hole, the end flopping out of the buckle like a tongue. A smattering of facial hair over his upper lip seemed to imply a mustache and the wet spot on the crown of his head suggested a cowlick he'd tried to tame before coming to the hospital. He was at least two inches taller than Jeffrey, but the stoop in his shoulders and the turtle-like bend in his neck blew the advantage. Jeffrey imagined that his mother had spent every day of his young life telling the boy to mind his posture.
'Jake!' the nurse shrieked, punching him on the arm.
Cook made a groaning noise, indicating he'd heard the drunk driver story the sheriff was telling one too many times. He said, 'Jake, that chief's here to see you.'
Valentine seemed surprised to find Jeffrey standing in front of the nurses' station. Jeffrey wondered at the act. Even if Cook hadn't made the phone call, the hallway wasn't that dark.
'Jake Valentine,' the sheriff offered, shooting out his hand.
'Tolliver.' Jeffrey returned the gesture. Despite Valentine's slight appearance, the young man gave him a firm handshake. 'This is my wife, Dr. Sara Linton.'
Sara shook the man's hand and managed a forced smile.
The nurse went behind the counter and Valentine's demeanor changed to solemn as if a switch had been flipped. He told Jeffrey and Sara, 'Sorry to be meeting y'all under these circumstances.'
'Can you tell us what happened?'
Valentine indicated his deputy. 'I figured Don here filled you in.'
'Thought I'd leave you the pleasure,' Cook returned, giving Jeffrey a wink.
'Dark,' Valentine said, meaning the nurse, 'mind if we step into your office?'
'Suit yourself,' she answered, thumbing through a patient's chart. 'Lemme know if y'all need anything.'
'Actually,' Jeffrey said, 'I'd really like to know how my detective is doing. Lena Adams?'
'She's fine,' the nurse replied. 'Just got some smoke in her chest. Give her a few days and she'll be good as new.'
'Good,' Valentine said, as if he'd been the one to ask the question. 'Up this way.' He stepped back, indicating that Jeffrey and Sara should precede him.
Sara offered, 'I can stay here if—'
'That's okay,' Jeffrey interrupted. Considering how quiet Sara was being, he wasn't crazy about leaving her alone right now.
He let Sara take the lead up the hallway, trying not to be too obvious about checking the names of the patients on each door they passed.
Valentine spoke in a harsh whisper as they walked. 'We found her at the high school last night. I live across the street. I could see the flames from my living room.'
Jeffrey slowed his pace, wanting the younger man to catch up instead of nipping at his heels like a puppy.
Valentine continued, 'We think it was a Cadillac Escalade. No plates or registration on it, so we're having trouble tracking it down. Parked right in the middle of the football field. Fire chief says there's obvious signs of an accelerant, probably gasoline.'
'Wait a minute.' Jeffrey stopped him, trying for clarity. He'd been told that there was an explosion and that Lena had been hurt. Jeffrey had assumed this had taken place in a building. 'The Cadillac was torched? That's what exploded?'
'Right.' Valentine nodded. Still keeping his voice low, he explained, 'The car was sitting smack-dab on the fifty-yard line. I've never seen anything burn so hot in my life. They're gonna have a devil of a time getting an ID on the body. Fred Bart, that's our coroner, says the heat was so intense it shattered the teeth.'
Sara had stopped a few feet away. 'There was a body in the Escalade?'
'Yes, ma'am, in the backseat,' the sheriff confirmed.
Sara pressed her lips together, looked at the floor. She didn't seem surprised or even shocked by the news. Jeffrey knew what she was thinking. It had finally happened. Through stubbornness or blatant disregard, Lena's actions had finally led to someone's death.
Valentine misinterpreted her
silence for confusion. 'I'm not telling this right, am I? I'm sorry, I just assumed Don—'
Jeffrey told him, 'Don said he'd let you explain.'
'Right.' Valentine nodded again, but in a way that gave the impression that he didn't quite believe what Jeffrey was telling him. 'Let's just go in here,' he said, indicating a closed door.
Jeffrey turned around, sure the man was joking. They were standing in front of a linen closet.
'Give us some privacy,' the sheriff offered, though as far as Jeffrey could tell, no one was around.
Sara crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at the closet with obvious trepidation.
Jeffrey asked, 'Are you sure this is necessary?'
'This way we won't have to worry about waking anybody up.' Valentine reached past him and opened the door. 'After you.'
Jeffrey was annoyed at the cloak-and-dagger, but he was willing to play along with the sheriff for now. The most important thing right now was figuring out what kind of mess Lena had gotten herself into. He felt around for the switch and turned on the light. Rows of sheets were stacked on the right, towels on the left. The remaining space was about eight feet deep and three feet wide. There were cells at the county jail that were larger than this.
Sara obviously wanted to stay outside, but he indicated she should go in ahead of him. Jeffrey followed and Valentine brought up the rear, closing the door. The closet got even smaller.
'So,' the sheriff began, flashing a smile. He was talking in a normal voice now, and he leaned against one of the shelves, acting as if they were just a group of pals chatting before a football game. 'About eleven o'clock last night I was sitting around watching the TV and I see these flames shooting up over by the high school. First thing I do is call the fire department, thinking the building's on fire again – we've had some kids try it before but the sprinklers stopped them in their tracks, which is a good thing because the fire department's all volunteer and it like to took forever to get them all there. Anyway, I got dressed and walked over to the school to see what was going on. It was faster to walk. Like I told you, I live right across the street.'
A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege Page 85