“What was the reaction?”
“I was told by the consulting trauma surgeon it would have been against medical advice, so I let it drop. Jack’s immediate needs certainly trumped my hypothetical concerns. But let me raise one other, perhaps distant but nonetheless disturbing, possibility that I suddenly find gnawing at me, especially now that you have raised the possibility the accident was a hit-and-run. What if Jack’s accident wasn’t an accident, but rather was done on purpose as a kind of attempted assassination?”
For a few seconds Laurie didn’t hear a sound from her phone, making her pull it away from the side of her face to look at the screen. When she could see she was still connected, she put the phone back to her ear and waited.
“As I’ve said, you and Jack can be difficult to be friends with at times,” Lou said finally, breaking the silence with an exasperated sigh. “But I have to give both of you credit for being investigatively creative. I see your point despite the substantial ifs involved, and it’s best to be safe than sorry. Where are you in the hospital right now?”
“I’m in an empty surgical lounge. When I was waiting down in the Emergency Department, I contacted one of the intensive care hospitalists here named Dr. Colleen Benn. I had met her through Sue on numerous occasions. Luckily it turned out she was on duty, so she came by to see me and has been extraordinarily accommodating. It was her suggestion I wait here while Jack is in surgery, which is perfect. The only way it could have been better is if she got me invited into the OR itself.”
“Are you planning on staying at the hospital all night?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I even turned over the reins at work. I’m going to be here for the duration, until we can transfer him.”
“I’ll come over and keep you company for a bit when I finish here. The crime scene people are taking their time, which is good, but sometimes they drag it out unmercifully. Where do you think Jack will go when he’s finished his surgery? To the VIP section of the hospital?”
“First he’ll be sent to the PACU, at least for a while,” Laurie said. “Then, according to Colleen, he’ll most likely be sent to the surgical intensive care unit, particularly if he’s still unconscious. Colleen is going to try to get me permission to hang out at the SICU desk, which should work because she’s high in the pecking order and happens to be the doctor in charge of the unit for the night.”
“I’ll tell you what I can do,” Lou said. “I’ll call back the nineteenth precinct and have them send a couple of uniformed duty officers to stand outside wherever he may be in the hospital, whether an intensive care unit or a private room. They can check everyone going in and out and keep out anyone who doesn’t belong.”
“I suppose that can appear intimidating,” Laurie said. “But not foolproof. The trouble is that a medical serial killer would have access. That’s what makes it possible for such an individual to do what they do, and it could potentially be anyone from an orderly to the chief surgeon.”
“You’re right about the access issue,” Lou said. “But just having the uniformed officers sitting there can be surprisingly effective. Besides, when I come over, I’ll clue them in to get maximum effectiveness.”
“You’re a good friend,” she said. “I know Jack will be very appreciative.”
“And if anything goes wrong, no matter what it is, call me. The homicide I’m on is fairly close to the MMH, and I can be there in a blink of the eye.”
“By the time you come over here, if I’m lucky I’ll be in the SICU where you would not be able to come.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Lou said. “Just be sure to have your mobile with you at all times.”
“Will do,” Laurie said. After she disconnected, she took a moment to acknowledge how lucky she was to have a friend as loyal as Lou Soldano. It seemed as if whenever she needed him, he was available, and she couldn’t help but feel this could be one of those times.
Chapter 34
Wednesday, December 8, 11:40 p.m.
I disagree,” Ronnie said, trying to control his impatience. He was talking with a charge nurse named Alan Spallek on a general medical floor. Alan was a heavyset man about Ronnie’s age who had also been in the navy but on a surface ship, not a submarine. As evidence of his service, he had a colorful tattoo of a mermaid on his right forearm. Thanks to his military training, he was a no-nonsense nurse who ran the floor like an overly strict chief petty officer. “This patient is not a medical examiner case, period,” Ronnie added for emphasis.
“But he fell and had a cerebral bleed,” Alan snapped. “That’s surely an ME case.”
Ronnie, who was sitting in front of one of the monitors at the central desk, pointed to the screen where he had the patient’s chart uploaded. “Alan, the man’s prothrombin time was six-point-six, which is way out of whack. The man fell because he had a bleed. That’s what makes the most sense, especially since you admitted he didn’t have a violent fall but rather merely slumped to the floor. He didn’t have the bleed because of a fall. I’m telling you, it is not a medical examiner case, period. If I called it in as such, the ME investigator would laugh at me and wouldn’t accept it. Take my word! I know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t know how you can be so sure,” Alan growled. “But fine! It’s your call.”
“You bet it is,” Ronnie said. “Case closed.” He stood up and started off, heading for the next problem. As he walked, he took his pulse. It was almost a hundred beats a minute, reflective of the general anxiety he was experiencing, and which had slowly grown as the evening passed. He couldn’t stop worrying about Jack Stapleton suddenly waking up from his coma, realizing he was in the MMH, and starting to raise holy hell by carrying on about a serial killer. Even the term itself, serial killer, made Ronnie blister. He certainly didn’t think of himself as a killer, but rather a merciful savior. The killing was just the means to the compassionate and charitable end.
To add to Ronnie’s unease, a half an hour earlier he’d gotten a text message from the administrator on call, saying several police were on the way into the hospital to provide protection for Jack Stapleton and that Ronnie was to cooperate with them whatever their needs might be. When Ronnie asked why the man was being guarded, the administrator said he wasn’t told and didn’t ask. At first Ronnie was alarmed at the news, but his concern lasted only for a few minutes. In the past when there had been police, usually for guarding prisoners, he remembered they just parked themselves outside the individual’s location and that was it. The more Ronnie thought about the development, the more he realized the police would be no problem for what Ronnie had to do. They certainly weren’t going to keep him out of the SICU.
But everything added together made Ronnie feel he was like teetering on the edge of a precipice, mostly because for the moment his hands were tied. First, that had been because Jack was in the OR and then in the post-anesthesia unit, both of which were essentially out of bounds for Ronnie. Now, finally, Jack had been moved into the surgical intensive care unit, which was a relief because it was fully in Ronnie’s domain. To give himself a leg up, he’d used his control of intensive care bed allocations to be sure that Jack had been given one of the cubicles the farthest away from the SICU’s central desk. But still Ronnie had to bide his time, as he knew Jack would be getting a lot of one-on-one nursing attention until he was determined to be stable. At that point Ronnie was confident he would have relatively free rein to do what needed to be done.