“Try Patrick.”
The woman looked at him oddly. “She has two names?”
“She might have used either.”
The woman checked her computer again. “First name?”
“Hattie.”
“Yes, she came in about two hours ago and is being seen by a doctor.”
“May I see her?”
“Not until she’s admitted,” the woman replied.
“Will she be admitted? Will she have to stay overnight?”
“I won’t know that until the doctor who is seeing her makes his report on her condition.”
“May I visit her before she’s admitted?”
“You’ll have to wait until I get her chart back and see if there’s an admitting order. Have a seat, and I’ll call you. What’s your name?”
“Peter,” he said.
“Last name?”
“Just Peter.” He went and found an empty seat, one that allowed him to look down a hallway. He had been there for five minutes when a large double door opened, and two ambulance drivers wheeled in a patient on a gurney, pushing it down the hallway and taking a right turn.
Peter got up and followed the gurney. He found himself looking through a window in a pair of double doors at a row of treatment tables, some of them occupied by patients. Behind the treatment tables was a row of cubicles, most with patients on tables, some with curtains drawn. As he watched, a man on an examining table sat up, and an orderly brought over a wheelchair. The patient got into the chair, and the orderly took his chart from the foot of the table and put it in the man’s lap. Peter stood back to let them pass through the double doors. Apparently, the man was being discharged.
He pushed open the door and walked briskly into the room, wanting to appear as if he knew where he was going. He walked along the row of cubicles and, four or five down, found Hattie, lying on a table, half sitting up. She looked relieved when she saw him.
He went and stood next to her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I was bleeding, but it stopped over an hour ago.
The doctor said he would discharge me in a few minutes, and that was half an hour ago.”
Peter pulled up a chair. “I was scared,” he said. “I came back from the movie, and they said you were in the emergency room.”
“I wanted to call you, but they took my bag away when they put me in the ambulance, and when I got here they wouldn’t let me use my cell phone.”
A very young man in scrubs and a white coat walked into the cubicle. “How are you feeling?” he asked Hattie.
“Just fine, thank you. I’d like to go home.”
He picked up her chart, made some notations, and signed it. “I’ll find an orderly and have you wheeled out.”
“I can do that,” Peter said.
“Okay.” He left and came back with a wheelchair. Hattie got into it, and the doctor handed Peter her chart. “Stop at the discharge window and check out with them, then take her all the way to the street in the chair. You can leave it there. You, young lady, are to go home and rest. If there’s any recurrence of the bleeding, you’re to call an ambulance and return here. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“You should be okay to go to school tomorrow,” he said. “Good night.”
Peter pushed the chair into the waiting room and got her checked out. Hattie wrote a check for her bill. “I didn’t want to use my parents’ insurance card,” she said, as Peter pushed her toward the exit.
The rain had let up a lot. “I’ll get us a cab,” Peter said.
“I don’t want to go home yet,” Hattie said. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, standing up and taking his hand. “And I’m not pregnant anymore.”
60
D avid Rutledge looked at the first copy of his magazine’s new issue and thought the Virginia shoot had turned out very well. As he scanned the piece he felt a pang of conscience. He had not done the right thing, and he regretted it. What had he been thinking?
He picked up the phone and dialed 411. A minute or so later he was talking to the sheriff of Albemarle County.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge? Are you related to Tim Rutledge?”
“Yes, I am,” David replied. “He’s my cousin.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about his whereabouts?”
“Yes. He’s in New York.”
“How do you know that?”
“He called me from a bar near my home in the city, and I met him for a drink.”
“And when was this?”
“The night before last.”
“And why didn’t you call me immediately?”
“I don’t think I was seeing the situation clearly; I reacted as a family member, and not as a citizen. I’m sorry for that.”
“Do you have any idea where he is now?”
“From our conversation I believe he might have moved into a hotel somewhere uptown.”
“I don’t know your geography there,” the sheriff said. “What do you mean by ‘uptown’?”
“Uptown from where I live. I live downtown.”
“That doesn’t help me a lot. Do you have an address?”
“No. He asked to stay at my place, but I declined to have him do that. He asked me to recommend a hotel, and I declined to do that, too. My impression was that he wanted to be uptown somewhere.”
“Perhaps near where Mr. Stone Barrington lives?”
“Perhaps; that name didn’t come up. He did say he had something to do in the city, though.”
“And what might that be?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Our theory of this case is that he shot Mrs. Barrington because he was jealous, a jilted lover. Apparently, Mr. Rutledge and Mrs. Barrington had some sort of relationship before she was married, while he was working on her house.”
“I see. I didn’t know anything about that relationship. Before the housewarming I hadn’t seen Tim since last summer.”
“Do you know how Mr. Rutledge traveled to New York?”
“No, I don’t.”
“He didn’t say anything about having a car?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right, Mr. Rutledge, thank you for your help in this matter. Will you please call me immediately if you see or hear from your cousin again? You might be saving a life.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And if you do speak to him, try to find out where he’s staying.”
“All right.” The sheriff hung up, and so did David.
Stone was at his desk when Dino called. “How you doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“I just got some news you need to hear.”
“Tell me.”
“The sheriff down in Virginia called the chief’s office and told him he’d had a tip that Tim Rutledge, the suspect, is in New York. I just got the e-mail.”
Stone sat up straight. “What else?”
“Nothing else. He may be staying in a hotel. That’s all the informant had.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Stone said.
“I think you should go armed for a while.”
“I think you’re right,” Stone said.
“What time does Peter get out of school?”
“Usually between three and five, depending on what he’s doing there.”
“You want me to send a car for him?” Dino asked.
“Thanks, Dino, I’d appreciate that.” He glanced at his watch; it was nearly four o’clock. “I’ll call him and let him know.” He gave Dino Peter’s cell number.
“Consider it done.”
“You’re a good friend.” They both hung up, and Stone called Peter’s cell and got voice mail. “Peter, it’s Dad. I’ve heard from the police that Tim Rutledge may be in New York, and I don’t want you on the street until that’s been dealt with. Dino is sending a police car to bring you home from school. They’ll call your cell when they’re outside. Don’t leave the building until then.” Stone hung up. He felt something he’d never felt before: worry about his child’s safety. He resisted the impulse to go to the school himself.
Joan came in with something for him to sign. “You look funny,” she said.
“Tim Rutledge is apparently in the city.”
“Jesus, I thought he’d be in Mexico, like you said.”