The nurse just stood there smiling kindly in a confused sort of way.
‘‘What’s wrong with you? Alert hospital security before he gets away,’’ said Diane.
‘‘If you sit down, I’ll get a doctor,’’ said the nurse.
‘‘Dammit, I know one loses a lot of credibility in these idiotic hospital gowns, but I’m telling you I was attacked in that examination room—as you can see by the disarray inside. Call security—now.’’
‘‘I think if you just sit back down.’’ The nurse looked at the tossed examining room. ‘‘We’ll have to find you another bed.’’
‘‘I have one over there.’’ Diane pointed to the cubicle she was previously sitting in. ‘‘I’ll go back there.’’ She paused and looked the woman over. She wondered if she was a volunteer or maybe another patient who liked to dress in scrubs and wander about the hospital. ‘‘Do you work here?’’
‘‘I’m a nurse’s aide,’’ said the woman, straightening her shoulders.
‘‘My attacker is probably long gone, but let me explain something to you. That room’’—Diane pointed to the curtained area that the attacker had pulled her into—‘‘is not to be touched until my crime scene people have processed it for evidence. My name is Diane Fallon and I’m director of the Rosewood Crime Lab. Are you understanding this?’’
A worried looked crept into her eyes. ‘‘Yes, but I thought you were just bleary from a procedure. Patients get like that sometimes—you know—confused,’’ she said.
‘‘I didn’t have any kind of procedure. I was waiting on X-ray results,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Diane, look who I found.’’
Diane turned toward Lynn Webber’s voice. Frank was beside her carrying a suitcase.
‘‘Frank,’’ said Diane. She smiled at him. Relief flowed over her like fresh water. ‘‘How—’’
‘‘Neva called,’’ he said. ‘‘She collected some of your things for you and said you would need a place to stay.’’
‘‘I’m glad you’re here—’’ she said.
‘‘Are you all right?’’ he interrupted. ‘‘Your face is red.’’ He walked over to her, set down the suitcase, and took her by the shoulders.
‘‘Did something happen here?’’ Lynn was looking at her more closely now too.
Diane explained about the attacker, fighting him off and trying to chase him. She kept it short, but the nurse’s aide stood openmouthed as she listened.
‘‘I need to see if you’re hurt,’’ said Lynn.
‘‘I’m fine,’’ said Diane. Truthfully she ached all over and her face hurt, but she was not going to be examined one more time.
‘‘Did you call security?’’ asked Frank.
‘‘He’s probably long gone,’’ said Diane without looking at the aide. ‘‘I’ll have Neva or Jin come down and have a look at the scene. They may find something.’’
She turned to the aide. ‘‘I need a container to put my gowns in. I have to take them with me so they can be processed.’’ Diane looked over at an examining table inside one of the curtained cubicles. ‘‘Do you have some clean white paper that I can wrap them in?’’
‘‘Yes. On the table. I’ll get you a piece.’’ The aide went to the examination room and came back with a long piece of white paper and handed it to Diane.
‘‘Thank you.’’ She turned to Lynn. ‘‘I assume my X-rays were fine.’’
‘‘Yes, fine...’’she began.
Diane picked up the suitcase and took it with her into the examination room and drew the curtain. She laid the small suitcase on the bed and opened it. She found panties and a bra and put them on, slipped on a pair of jeans and grabbed a neatly folded blue oxford shirt. Her fingers shook as she tried to button it. She squeezed her eyes tight to hold back a flood of tears, flexed her fingers, and finished the buttons.
When she was dressed, Diane stood a minute behind the curtain before she went out, suitcase in one hand and the carefully wrapped hospital gowns under her arm. She tried not to shake.
‘‘Let me take the gowns to your guys,’’ said Lynn when Diane emerged. ‘‘Why don’t you take a couple of hours off before you go to the museum? I know I can’t talk you into staying away the whole day.’’
‘‘Good idea,’’ said Frank, eying her closely as he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘‘Stay at my house for a while.’’
‘‘Maybe for a couple of hours,’’ said Diane. She noticed they didn’t ask her to stay and talk to the police about the most recent attack. She must look like the wreck she felt.
‘‘Why aren’t you at work?’’ Diane asked from the passenger seat of Frank’s new Chevy Camaro.
‘‘I was fifteen minutes out when Neva called,’’ said Frank. ‘‘Why didn’t you call me?’’
‘‘I thought you’d be at work. And Garnett and Lynn were insisting that I go to the hospital. That was just for show. Making sure the news media saw me as the victim. I wish I’d refused.’’
He stopped at a traffic light and looked over at her and took her hand.
Diane’s lip quivered. ‘‘I thought the guy at the hospital was going to rape me,’’ she said. Saying it out loud brought her close to tears again.
Frank squeezed her hand. Diane saw his jaw muscle clench. The light changed and he accelerated.
‘‘I wasn’t going to let that happen,’’ she said, knowing that most of the time the victim can’t stop a determined rapist. She shook her head as if there might be something out of place inside her skull. ‘‘I don’t know what came over me—I didn’t care what threat he made—I just wasn’t going to let it happen. And there I was in that stupid gown. Thank heavens I’d found a second one just a minute before and put it on backwards—not that I was much more protected.’’ She took a breath. ‘‘And there was that idiot nurse. She wouldn’t believe me and just stood there grinning when I told her to go get security. They need to make those gowns in power colors.’’
‘‘You asked for security? Why didn’t you say something back there?’’ asked Frank.
‘‘Because nurse’s aide is a low-paying job and she’s probably the sole support of five kids, a no-account husband, and five brothers-in-law and their families,’’ said Diane.
She saw Frank’s jaw twitch into a tiny smile. They were silent until he pulled into his driveway. Diane looked at her watch.
‘‘You’re going to be late for work,’’ she said.
‘‘It’s okay. I want to stay with you for a while. Come in and tell me what happened at your home and at the hospital. You said you thought he was going to rape you. That wasn’t his goal?’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘No, he wanted to kill me.’’
Chapter 19
Frank’s Queen Anne–style house was set off the road amid several huge oak trees. It was an old house that had been well maintained. Its hardwood floors had a high polish. The interior walls were a light yellow-tan color that made the rooms look bright and clean. He had a preference for stuffed chairs and sofas, and oak and walnut furniture that suited the age of the house. It was a house that always reminded her of Frank himself—a sound and comfortable port in a storm.