“Jackie stabbed you. She killed Shannon, Hurley. She’s crazy and I should have seen it. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
His eyebrows arch. “How is it your fault?”
“She was coming toward me with the knife and I was trying to distract her. I made like there was someone behind her, hoping she would turn to look. And then suddenly you really were behind her. I didn’t know you were here.”
He coughs and the blood flow from his wound surges. I look around frantically for something to dampen it, and when I can’t find anything I take my blouse off and wad it up.
Hurley blinks hard several times and shakes his head. “There you go again . . . taking your clothes off.” He pauses and I notice his breathing is shallower. “Just . . . can’t . . . help . . . yourself . . . with me . . . can you?”
The words come out in weak, gasping breaths, ramping up my panic. I glance back at Jackie and see with relief that she’s still curled up and sobbing a few feet away. I push the wadded blouse harder against Hurley’s chest wound, making him wince and moan.
“I’m sorry, I know it hurts but I have to do it,” I tell him. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily.” He moans again and his eyes roll up in his head.
“Hurley, where is your cell phone?”
He doesn’t answer me and as his head lolls to the side I realize he has passed out. I feel my panic rising and push it back down.
“Damn it, Hurley, don’t you do this to me,” I mutter as I push down harder on the wound with one hand and then start frantically searching his pockets with the other. It’s not in his shirt or his pants. Finally I find it clipped to his belt behind his gun holster. With a shaking hand I manage to unclip it and dial 911.
“911 operator, do you have an emergency?”
“Yes, this is Mattie Winston with the medical examiner’s office. I need police and an ambulance right away. I’m with Detective Steve Hurley and he’s been stabbed.” Hurley’s face looks horribly pale and a lump forms in my throat. “Please hurry,” I plead, my voice cracking.
“Mattie? It’s Jeannie,” the operator says. Jeannie and I have a history; she’s been on duty every time I’ve had to call 911. She didn’t do very well the first time but that’s because she was new to the job and I gave her a challenging case. “Where are you?” Jeannie asks, her voice calm and efficient. She’s definitely gotten better.
My mind struggles to come up with the address but I can’t think of it. “It’s an office. Dr. Luke Nelson’s office. I don’t know the exact address but it’s in the strip mall on the corner of South and Nesbitt. Junior Feller is parked out front.”
“There’s an officer there?” Jeannie asks, sounding confused.
“He’s outside. I don’t think he knows what’s happened.”
“Hold on,” Jeannie says. She puts me on hold for a few seconds and then comes back on. “Junior’s coming in,” she says. “And I’ve dispatched an ambulance to your location.”
“Thanks, Jeannie,” I say and then suddenly Junior is there.
“Holy shit,” Junior says, taking in the scene. “What the hell happened?”
I drop Hurley’s phone and feel for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s fast and thready. I nod toward Jackie. “She stabbed Hurley. He needs an ambulance. She also killed Shannon Tolliver and Carla Andrusson.”
Junior looks momentarily confused. “She killed Shannon and Carla?” he echoes, moving closer to Jackie.
“She did. She confessed to me. She was having an affair with Nelson and apparently Shannon discovered what Nelson was doing and threatened to expose him. So Jackie killed her to shut her up and protect him. Here,” I say, pulling the recorder from between my breasts. “I think I got the whole thing on tape.”
Junior takes the recorder and drops it in his shirt pocket, then he walks over and cuffs Jackie. She puts up no resistance and he leaves her sobbing on the floor so he can come back to Hurley. He talks into his shoulder mike and then tells me, “The ambulance is almost here.”
This information is unnecessary since I can hear the siren close by but it reassures me just the same. “Hang in there, Hurley,” I whisper. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Is he?” Junior asks. “That looks bad.” He eyes the bloody blouse I’m holding, then I see his gaze shift briefly toward my chest.
“My jacket is in the other room. Can you get it for me?”
He fetches the jacket and briefly takes over wound dampening duties while I put it on. By the time I button it up I hear the ambulance siren out front and seconds later the EMTs come rushing in. Within minutes they have taken over the wound management, started an IV, and loaded Hurley onto a stretcher.
“I’m riding with you,” I tell the EMTs. Since my tone leaves no room for equivocation and the guys on the crew know me, they nod their assent. I follow them out to the rig and wait for them to load Hurley inside before I climb in.
We zip through town at a hefty pace with full lights and sirens. It’s a bumpy, rocky ride that leaves me gripping the bench seat and watching as Hurley’s IV sways back and forth.
“His blood pressure is pretty low,” one of the EMTs announces. “Eighty systolic.”
Panic rears its ugly head again and I struggle to keep it at bay. But it isn’t easy. Hurley’s color is nearly as white as the sheets and the amount of blood I can see on the chest dressing makes my throat tighten. Tears sting at my eyes and I swipe irritably at them. Then I take Hurley’s hand in mine and lean over close to his ear. “You better not die on me, Hurley,” I tell him as we hit another bump. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Chapter 47
Our arrival at the ER is organized chaos. The staff on duty knew we were coming, thanks to the EMTs’ radio report. But because the town is so small, the time span from when they heard we were coming to our actual arrival is only a couple of minutes, giving them little time to prepare.
I hop out of the ambulance and then back out of the way as the EMTs unload Hurley and wheel him into the ER. I follow close on their heels, checking out the staff on duty as we head for the trauma room. I’m relieved to see Dr. Cannady since I know she has an extensive trauma background and is an excellent doc. The nurses on duty are top-notch, too, an older, seasoned crew that has seen far worse and had their patients live to tell about it.
I stand in the doorway to the trauma room watching them dance their chaotic ballet, fighting an urge to jump in and help. My heart is telling me to get in there but my mind knows it would be best to stay on the sidelines. Even though the activity in the room looks frenzied and hectic, everyone in the room has their assigned tasks and knows what to do. Given the level of emotion I’m feeling, I’m not sure I’d be capable of thinking straight and would just be in the way. But I feel helpless standing here doing nothing.
Hurley is quickly stripped down to his skivvies and I can’t help but admire the brief glimpse I get of his physique. Within minutes the crew has blood drawn, a second IV line going, a heart monitor in place, and a set of vital signs. Hurley’s blood pressure is still frighteningly low and his heart is beating much too fast. Dr. Cannady orders the IV fluids opened wide and a stat portable chest X-ray.
Hurley is responding some, mumbling and moving, but I’m not close enough to tell if his words are making any sense or not.
I hear a mechanical sound closing in behind me and step aside to let the radiology tech into the room with the portable X-ray machine. Right behind her, much to my surprise, is David. Then it hits me; the staff would have paged the surgeon on call the minute they knew they had a stab wound victim on the way. He sees me, frowns, and stops.