“Sure thing.”
Jesse stopped and about-faced. “You saved one of your own, Trooper. My son’s going into the academy next month.”
Quinton smiled. “Then go see about him.”
Jesse was surprised to see Dr. Nour in the examination room standing next to Dr. Marx. Unfortunately, Jesse had had many dealings with Dr. Marx over the years. Unfortunately, not because he disliked Marx, but because cops and doctors rarely meet for good reasons in ER examination rooms.
Nour, her all-business expression on full display, looked up at Jesse. “We’re going to do some X-rays on him, but I think Mr. Slayton will be fine.”
“He’s got a concussion,” Marx said. “But there are no internal injuries.”
Dr. Nour nodded. “I concur with Dr. Marx. He is badly bruised but otherwise intact, Chief Stone. He is your son?”
“I am,” Cole said. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here. It’s creepy.”
“Dr. Nour, after I speak to my son, can I have a moment?”
She looked at her watch. “A moment, yes.” She stepped out.
Jesse put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “What happened?”
“I don’t remember much. There was a white van.”
“What about a white van?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t know, Dad. I remember a white van next to me and then I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Jesse looked at Dr. Marx. “You keeping him?”
“Just overnight. If he shows no other symptoms, he’ll be free to go home tomorrow.”
Jesse said, “Rest up, Cole. I’ll be back to see you tonight.”
“Okay, Dad. I’m sorry about the Explorer.”
“Seems like I get a new one every few months. Forget it.”
Jesse pulled Marx over to one corner. “Petra North.”
Marx’s optimistic smile vanished. “I don’t know. We sent some to the lab so we knew what we were dealing with. Fentanyl, heroin, and Oxy ground up into a pretty lethal mix. Probably would have killed anyone without some tolerance for opioids. Good thing you got to her when you did. Prognosis?” He shrugged. “We’ll know more tomorrow. At least there’s brain function.”
Dr. Nour was pacing outside the examination room door.
“Thank you, Dr. Nour.”
“It is my job to consult on these sorts of things, but you are welcome. Is there anything else, Chief Stone?”
“Rajiv Laghari and Myron Wexler.”
Dr. Nour took her dour expression to a new level. “What of them?”
“Yes, what of them?”
“Rajiv is a good doctor, but the high life brought him low. Lost his family, privileges at two hospitals, and his practice. I haven’t seen or heard of him for a year now. Dr. Wexler was my supervising physician when I came to the Boston area. A very good man and an excellent orthopedist. I heard he had to resign because he was losing his faculties, but that was many years ago. Will that be all, Chief Stone?”
“It will. Thanks again.”
Trooper Quinton was chatting up the triage nurse when Jesse returned. Nurses and cops: So it ever was, so it would ever be. Jesse cleared his throat.
“Chief, how’s your boy?” Quinton asked.
“Your diagnosis was a good one. Thanks for getting him out of there. You mentioned there was a man down in the gully already when you arrived on scene.”
Quinton nodded. “A Russian, I think. Guy had a thick accent, but he helped me get your boy out of the car.”
“When you arrived, was this Russian guy heading down the embankment or up?”
Quinton tilted his head at Jesse. “That’s a funny question, but now that you ask, he was heading up. I guessed he was going to get something from his van, a tool or a pry bar to get into the van.”
“A white cargo van?”
Quinton’s eyes got wide. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“My son mentioned it.” It was only half a lie. Cole had mentioned a white van but hadn’t mentioned that it was a cargo van. “If you saw the van again, would you recognize it?”
“Probably.”
“Good. When we’re done, can you go over to our stationhouse? I’ll have my officer, Molly Crane, pull up some footage for you.”
“I’ve got to clear it with my commander. He says yes, sure thing.”
“Do that. I’ll call Officer Crane.”
They both got off their phones at the same time.
“My commander told me to give you whatever you needed.”
“This Russian guy, did he give you a name?”
“Nah. After the ambulance came, I lost track of him, and the van was gone.”
They shook hands. Jesse gave him directions to the station. When the trooper was out of sight, Jesse set out to find Petra North’s room.
Sixty-nine
Things could not have gone worse for Mehdi, Arakel, Stojan, and Georgi.
Mehdi was livid. “Idiots! You know the expression ‘If you try to kill the king, you had better not miss’?”
Stojan opened his mouth to answer, but the look on Mehdi’s face closed it.
“That was not a real question. Not only did you miss the king, you did not even kill the prince. If we thought the heat was on beforehand, now it is about survival. We must clean up the loose ends not in Paradise, but on this end. Do you understand me?”
Arakel said, “But if we produce no profit, we will have nothing to kick upstairs.”
“For now, we empty our accounts to kick upstairs. We must buy ourselves some time with those who might choose to replace us.”
Arakel wanted to argue with him, but for once he was in lockstep with Mehdi. The bosses wanted their money. They would not care from where it came, and in the meantime they would make alternative arrangements with other doctors, other teachers, other students, and other cops.
Mehdi said, “What are you waiting for? Begone. And do your worst without pleasure, you animals. We want the loose ends to be ends, not to create more questions and anger.”
Stojan and Georgi got up from their seats and proceeded to the van. They drove into Boston, but not to Dr. Wexler’s home or to Dr. Laghari’s.
The woman at the hospital switchboard fielded the call.
“Paradise General. How may I help you?”
“I need to know Petra North’s condition.”
“I’m sorry, miss,” she said. “I don’t have that information.”
“Then please transfer me to someone who does.”
“Are you an immediate relative?”
“I am her sister.”
“Well, then I suggest you call your parents for an update. It’s hospital policy not to give information regarding a patient’s condition over the phone.”
“Can you connect me to her room, then?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can connect you with the nurses’ station on that floor. Please hold.”
She waited, pacing, listening to a distorted elevator-music version of “Norwegian Wood.”
A woman answered the phone in a hushed voice. “ICU.”
“Can you give me an update on Petra North’s condition?”
“One moment, please.”
More “Norwegian Wood.”
“Hello, this is Officer Weathers of the Paradise Police Department. Who is—”
She clicked off and dropped the phone to the floor as if it were a piece of white-hot metal.
Now she was faced with that same dilemma she had been faced with before: to run or not to run. Those threats of violence against her now seemed less frightening than the prospect of a life in prison. The police were close, knew a teacher was involved, and if the girl recovered there would be no counting on her to keep her secret. There was only one other option, but she had to be smart about it and careful.