“Will she live?” Joanna asked.
Waller shook his head. “Too soon to tell,” he said. “What I need now, though, is information-her name and the name of her next of kin. It would also help if you could provide any insurance information, although of course we’ll continue treating her in any case, regardless of whether or not she’s insured.”
While speaking, Waller had removed a PDA from a coat pocket. He paused with the stylus poised at the ready. “Did you say her name is Jeannie?” he asked.
“Jeannine,” Joanna corrected, “Jeannine Phillips,” spelling out both names, one letter at a time.
“Next of kin?”
“I don’t have that information right now,” she said. “Once I have it, I’ll get it to you right away.”
“The sooner the better,” Dr. Waller said, returning the PDA to his pocket. “I’ll be going then,” he added. “You can leave the gown and booties in a receptacle in the rest room.”
But Joanna wasn’t ready to be dismissed quite that easily “What do you think happened to her?” she asked.
Waller turned back to her. “Sheriff Brady,” he said, “with all due respect, I really can’t give you any additional information. Considering the new federally mandated patient confidentiality rules, I’ve probably said too much already. Since you’re not a parent or spouse or on a list to receive her private medical information…”
Joanna bridled at his patronizing tone. “With all due respect,” she returned curtly, “at the very least my agency is conducting an aggravated assault investigation, one that could well turn into a homicide if Jeannine dies. In that case, I’m sure the autopsy will tell me everything I need to know about her private medical information. In the meantime, you’re all I’ve got.”
They were still at the nurses’ station. Dr. Waller glanced around as if concerned someone might overhear what was said. When he spoke, he did so in an undertone. “She was stripped naked, kicked, and stomped, and left to die,” he said at length. “And when I say kicked, I mean kicked within an inch of her life. She has severe internal injuries, several broken ribs, and compound fractures of both arms and legs. You already saw what they did to her face.”
“They?” Joanna asked. “You mean there was more than one?”
Waller nodded. “Some of the bruises show actual shoe prints,” he said. “There was more than one pattern.”
“Will we be able to have photos of the shoe patterns?” Joanna asked.
Dr. Waller nodded grimly. “Eventually, I suppose,” he said.
“Was she raped?”
“That I don’t know,” Dr. Waller said. “We’ve been a little too busy saving her life to spend any time processing a rape kit.”
“If DNA evidence is available, I want it,” Joanna said. “It may be the only way to nail these bastards.”
But Waller, having given a little, retreated back into the world of rules and procedures. “We’d need a signed consent form for that.”
“Jeannine is in no position to sign anything,” Joanna pointed out.
Waller shrugged. “That’s why we need to speak to her next of kin,” he said. “One of her relatives could probably give consent.”
“What if I speak to them first?” Joanna asked. “What should I tell them?”
Dr. Waller sighed again. “I don’t really recommend that. Next-of-kin notifications are best left to the professionals.”
“I am a professional,” she reminded him. “A law enforcement professional. It turns out I, too, have had some experience with next-of-kin notifications.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Of course.”
“So what can I tell them?” Joanna persisted. “How would you characterize her condition?”
“Grave,” Waller said at last. “Her condition is grave but stable.”
With that, Dr. Waller walked away. Joanna went into the rest room and removed her hospital garb. When she walked out through the waiting room, she was aware that the people there were watching her. She knew that, even caught up in their own pain, they all were wondering which patient this very pregnant law enforcement officer had been allowed to visit and why.
On her way down in the elevator, Joanna puzzled about her next move. Jeannine may not have disclosed information about next of kin on her employment records, but there was someone who might have access to information that wasn’t in the written record-someone who was waiting and worrying and wondering what was going on-Millicent Ross.
When the elevator door opened, Joanna had her phone in her hand and was preparing to use it when, on a bench near the front door, she caught sight of Isabel Duarte. As the reporter sprang to her feet and hurried to meet her, Joanna returned her phone to her pocket.
“Is it her?” the reporter asked.
“Yes.” The answer was out before Joanna had time to think about whether or not replying was the right thing to do.
“Is she going to be all right?”
Joanna was struck by the expression on Isabel’s face and the way she asked the question. She seemed less focused on getting the story than she was about voicing concern for a fellow human being. Even so, in answering, Joanna took her cue from the way Dr. Waller had danced around the issue.
“We’re not making any comment about her condition at this time.”
Nodding, Isabel looked slightly disappointed. “But you did promise me an exclusive,” she objected. “If we hurry, we can just make the deadline for the Noon News.”
So the story was part of it after all. Joanna had lots of other things that urgently needed doing, but Isabel was right. Joanna had promised, and without the reporter’s timely intervention, it was likely Jeannine Phillips’s whereabouts would still be a mystery.
“You’re right,” Joanna agreed. “That is what I said. Is your camera guy around here somewhere?”
“He’s outside smoking a cigarette.”
“Let’s go do it then,” Joanna said.
When summoned from his cigarette break, the cameraman grimaced, ground out the stub, and then grudgingly hefted the camera to his shoulder. Standing posed before the UMC logo, Joanna held a microphone in her hand and spoke into the lens. “This morning a Cochise County Animal Control officer was attacked and severely beaten in northeastern Cochise County. We’re currently withholding the victim’s name, pending notification of next of kin, but I can assure you, my department will leave no stone unturned until we have brought all those responsible to justice.”
“Thank you,” Isabel said, when she came to retrieve her microphone.
“It wasn’t much,” Joanna said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say more.”
Isabel smiled. “It’s more than anyone expects me to get,” she said. “The news director didn’t send me to the hospital in the middle of the night because he thought I’d actually come away with a story.”
“You think this will help show him what you can do?”
“Something like that.”
“But whatever made you think that there might be a connection between the woman here and the incident at Texas Canyon?”
The reporter shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I heard the police scanner reporting that the missing officer was a woman, and I just put two and two together. I guess you could say it was gut instinct or maybe even woman’s intuition.”
“Good gut instinct,” Joanna said, shaking the reporter’s hand. “Thank you.”
Once Isabel and her cameraman had left, Joanna settled onto a concrete bench next to a reeking outdoor ashtray and dialed Frank Montoya’s number. “It’s her,” Joanna said when he answered. “It’s Jeannine.”
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Very bad.”