Olivia straightened as Mr. Opperman approached. He asked her something. She shook her head. No. Opperman made a gesture, smoothing, dismissive. He turned away and spoke directly to Will. The wounded boy’s family closed ranks around his chair, blocking Hadley’s view.
The mayor glanced at Opperman before introducing Tally McNabb, but Hadley didn’t pay him any attention. The chief had given up his attempt to ignore Opperman and was glaring at the CEO. The other guy, Dr. Stillman, had come over and was talking with Opperman and Olivia. The crowd applauded at something the mayor said, Tally McNabb scooted behind the marine, and John Opperman took two steps toward the center of the pavilion and held up his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” He used what her daughter would have called “his big voice.” “It’s come to my attention that we have another veteran here today, a young hero who was gravely wounded in combat. Naturally, he doesn’t want anyone making a fuss over him, but I think bravery in the service of our freedom ought to be rewarded. What do you say?”
All around Hadley people began cheering, whistling, yelling out, “Bring him up!” and “USA! USA!” Most of the spectators couldn’t see Will, she realized. They were thinking he had been wounded and gotten better.
Her radio crackled. “Knox?”
She looked up. The chief was talking to her from the gazebo. She pulled the mic off her shoulder and raised her hand so he could see her. “Here, Chief.”
“Get over there and help the Ellises. Don’t let anybody lay hands on that wheelchair.”
He snapped his mic into place without signing off and strode toward Opperman. Hadley caught glimpses of the action as she wedged her way through the crowd toward the Ellis family. Van Alstyne’s hand coming down on Opperman’s shoulder. Turning the CEO away from the spectators. The chief’s face, like a stone wall, saying something to Opperman. Hadley reached Dr. Anne’s side as the chief plucked the microphone out of Mayor Cameron’s hand and said, “Enough.” The chanting died away. “That’s enough. You want to thank these folks, give ’em a big round of applause and let ’em go enjoy the rest of the holiday with their families.”
The crowd cheerfully complied, clapping and hooting. “Chief Van Alstyne wanted me to assist you,” Hadley yelled in Dr. Anne’s ear.
The doctor bent toward her son. “Will, let’s go.”
“No. Dammit, Mom, I want to see Colin get his award.” The kid was pale, with bright splotches over his cheeks, but his voice was steady.
“How ’bout I stand behind you and make sure your family isn’t bothered?” Hadley offered.
“Thanks. That would be great.” Dr. Anne gave her another of those tight smiles.
Hadley stepped behind Will and his dad. Just before she turned away from the gazebo, ready to present her best do-not-mess-with-me face to the rest of the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Opperman. His genial, satisfied look was gone. Instead, he was staring at the chief. The loathing and contempt in his expression raised goose bumps on Hadley’s arms. Then his face smoothed to a bland calm. Hadley shivered.
TUESDAY, JULY 5
Russ was amazed to see Clare’s car parked in the chaplain’s spot at the Washington County Hospital that night. He had only had a few minutes with her after the dog-and-pony show at the pavilion. Her face had been tired and pinched with pain, and she had assured him she would let Dr. Anne look at her injuries and then go straight home and rest. If the Fourth of July wasn’t always so crazy busy he would have carried her to the rectory himself.
Russ got out of his cruiser and released the back door. His passenger slumped sideways. Russ wrapped a hand around the young man’s arm and dragged him across the seat. “Wha?” The kid blinked at the neon EMERGENCY sign. “Wherezzat?”
Russ got the guy on his feet, held him with one hand locked over his skinny shoulder, and retrieved his backpack. “Come on, buddy. Just a little way further.”
The kid stumbled, nearly falling, as Russ steered him through the clunky double doors and up the short hall to the intake desk.
“Heya, Chief.” Alta Brewer, the head ER nurse, came out of her cubicle. “What have you got for us?”
“A drunk and disorderly call. The kid was weaving his way down Main Street thumping against storefronts.”
Alta leaned up close and sniffed. “He doesn’t smell like booze.”
“That’s why I brought him to you.” He shook the backpack with his free hand. “There’s nothing in here, so I couldn’t tell what he’s on. I figured you folks ought to have a look at him.”
Alta flicked a penlight on and peered into the kid’s enormous pupils. “Good call.” She leaned over the intake counter. “Get me a gurney,” she called to an unseen co-worker.
“Hey, I saw Reverend Fergusson’s car outside in the chaplain’s spot. Can you tell me what she’s here for?”
Alta looked up from the blood pressure cuff she was strapping to the kid’s wiry arm. “Reverend Fergusson’s back?”
“Yeah. She got in last week.” He kept his voice neutral.
Alta grinned at him as an orderly trundled a bed through the inner ER doors. “Well. I bet you’re right happy about that.”
So much for his cool outward demeanor. He helped Alta hump the semiboneless kid onto the gurney. “I’ll be right there,” Alta told the orderly as he rolled the guy-who was now making outboard motor noises-away. She wedged herself back behind the intake counter and tilted the computer monitor down. “She can’t be on call again as chaplain yet. I would have heard about it.” She punched a few keys. “Oh. Here it is. By request of the family.” She looked up at Russ. “Patient in for heart failure. Must be one of her parishioners.”
“Where can I find her?”
“Third floor, in CIC. I’m sure you remember it from your own stay.”
“Vaguely. Most of what I saw was the ceiling tiles.”
She laughed as he headed for the elevator. Upstairs, the doors opened on the central care station. He had spent a lot of time on this floor after he’d made the mistake of stepping in front of a desperate drug dealer two years ago. The shots to his chest and thigh had laid him out for a long time. The big counter looked different from an upright and unmedicated position.
One of the two nurses manning the monitor screens looked up. “Mr. Van Alstyne?” He recognized her-she had been his night shift nurse, a sturdy woman with a voice like a glass of warm milk. She had hummed sometimes, when she got busy. He had liked it. Now she left the central station, smiling, looking him up and down just a bit, as if she were still assessing his condition. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d whipped out a stethoscope. “It’s nice to see you fit and on your feet.”
“Believe me, it’s even nicer to be here under my own power.” The corridor on either side of the station was empty. Cardiac intensive care didn’t have ambulatory patients, and visitors were strictly limited. “I’m looking for Reverend Fergusson.”
The night nurse’s smile stretched into a grin. Yeah, she would have remembered Clare. He suspected ministers didn’t usually stay at a parishioner’s bedside for twenty-four hours straight.
“You’re in luck,” the nurse said. “One of the care team has just gone in to flush his shunt and tap his lines. The family should be coming out any-” Her prediction was proved true before she could finish it. Five doors down the hall, a group emerged from a room: two men in their sixties in rumpled business wear that looked like it had been slept in, a grandmotherly sort in hospital-sensible sweats, and a tired-faced priest in black clericals with a long white satin stole about her neck. She glanced his way and stopped, blinking her surprise. She said something, low, to the family. He caught the word “cafeteria.” They drifted toward the elevators, passing behind him and the night nurse with scarcely a glance at his uniform and gun, too emotionally wrung out to be curious.