Chapter Thirty-One
“June?” Patrick’s reflection frowned in the bathroom mirror.
I grabbed a towel and dabbed my face.
“How about we go to my place?” he said.
“Have you heard anything about David’s condition?”
“No, but they’re taking him to St. Eugene’s Hospital. There will be an armed guard at his door.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“It’s protocol.”
“Oh, right,” I said, still not feeling reassured.
On the drive to Patrick’s house, I stared straight ahead, reliving what had happened. Breath after breath, I struggled to draw in air.
Patrick pulled over to the side of the road.
“June, talk to me.”
Traffic whizzed by, but Patrick didn’t seem to care. He focused on me.
“David Moreno,” I said, trembling, but not from being cold. “What if he dies?”
“We’ll have to wait and see how he fares.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I won’t be able to sleep. Eat. I may have committed murder.”
“He was alive when the paramedics took him. If he does, by chance, pass away, your reaction was in self-defense.”
“I can’t reconcile with having killed someone.”
“You will, if you have to.”
“I can’t stand feeling like this. I need something. A tranquilizer.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. Just one. I’ll call my doctor.”
“June, no.”
“Please don’t tell me no. You don’t know what it’s like for me to picture that pale, unarmed man crumple because of what I did.”
Patrick rubbed his forehead. His brows were heavy.
“You do know.”
“Not everything goes according to plan. Unfortunately.”
“I’m sorry, Patrick.”
“June, you are one of the most caring and sensitive people I’ve ever met. Try to stop flagellating yourself.”
“I don’t know how not to. The guilt is consuming me.”
“How about we find out how David Moreno is doing. Right now. Are you up for a detour?” Patrick asked.
“To St. Eugene’s?”
“Yes.”
“I’d rather not.” And then I thought more about it. I needed to know how David was doing. No matter what his crimes were, I didn’t think I could deal with being responsible for taking a life, unless he had been charging at me with a weapon. But on the flip side, if he recovered, after I’d been afraid for so long, I wanted to make sure they secured him in custody. “If we go to the hospital, we wouldn’t actually see him, right? We’ll just ask at the front desk?”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Okay. I changed my mind. I’m in.”
“I’ll be with you all the way.”
I sighed. “I don’t think you know how much that means to me.”
He kissed the back of my hand. “Let’s get this done.”
He merged into traffic and parked at the hospital in the reserved emergency vehicle area. We entered through automatic doors and proceeded to the long information counter. The receptionist behind it had large brown eyes and had her hair pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck. She put down her cell phone when she noticed us. Patrick introduced who we were and inquired about the new admission, David Moreno. The clerk typed into her computer with long brown, almond-shaped nails.
“I’m sorry, his status is confidential.”
“Can you tell us if he is alive or deceased?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
There was a numbness inside of me at the lack of information. Patrick and I turned to leave.
“Excuse me,” the receptionist said. “Because of the status of this patient’s admission, I cannot divulge information here. But you are more than welcome to go up to the fifth floor and talk to the doctors there.”
Patrick raised his brows and waited for my decision.
I nodded.
We waited for the elevator. I blinked and felt a pinprick in my eye. I rubbed it but it continued to jab.
“Eyelash?”
“Yeah.”
He crouched. “I can’t see anything.”
My eye watered, and the pain speared.
“There’s a washroom near the coffee shop,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
In the ladies’ room, I moved close to the mirror and found the culprit under my lower lid. I tapped on it and coaxed it out. Gone and done. The door flew open. Victoria. I froze in shock. Her eyes widened in surprise, but I was sure I looked absolutely stunned. My heart beat like a bass drum.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Still blunt as ever.
“Visiting,” I said. She wore a uniform and a name badge. “Wait, are you working here again?”
“Yup. I’m back from wrongful termination,” she said with attitude.
“That’s just super.” The union must have won her case. She slammed the hand dryer button as I walked out. I shook my head. The best thing I did was leave my job at this hospital.
Patrick paced at the elevator.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“You won’t believe who I ran in to.”
“Who’s that?”
“Victoria Silverstone.”
“Your fired ex co-worker?”
“Yes. But I found out she has been unfired.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“She probably got off on a technicality,” he said.
“Yeah.”
The elevator bell dinged. The door opened, and an older gentleman with a cane got off.
“Are you sure you want to go up?”
“Maybe,” I said but stepped into the elevator, anyway. On the fifth floor, a hospital-specific smell lingered in the air—a combination of bodily outputs, antiseptics, and other artificial fragrances. It reminded me how grateful I was to work in a well-ventilated lab where I could deal with smelly specimens in a fume hood. We walked halfway down the beige tiled hall to the nurse’s station. The chairs by computer terminals were all empty. At the very end of the corridor, a uniformed police officer sat on a chair outside a door. Patrick and I glanced at each other.
“He must be in there,” I said.
“Are you ready to find out?”
I nodded. There was no backing out now.
I followed a step behind Patrick to the last room. The other officer stood up from his chair.
“Good evening, Officer,” Patrick said.
“Hello.” The shorter man straightened and adjusted his utility belt.
“I’m Patrick Verbeek, and this is June Harber from forensics.” Patrick showed his badge to the fellow.
“Yes, I recognize you. Chad Griffin.”
“Oh, right. You were on the Marine Unit. Good to see you.”
“You, too. What can I do for you?”
“I’m investigating a case. Is David Moreno in there?”
“He is. They just brought him up from the ER.”
“Is he being cooperative?” Patrick asked.
“Not at the moment. He’s in a coma.”
“Coma?” I squeaked out of my tight throat. As Patrick and the guard talked, I peeked into David’s room. Lights flashed on several monitors. His pale face looked serene, and his limp arms rested on top of the bedsheet. A bag of IV fluid and a pint of blood hung on a pole beside him, each hooked up to an arm. Unmoving and quiet, he seemed benign, unthreatening. Not the attacker I had feared for so many days and nights. I backed away, ready to leave. Ready to put all this behind me. I realized how weary I had become. My body had become leaden.
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Patrick said to the guard. “Maybe I’ll be able to question him then.”
“Sure, Officer. I’ll leave word.”
A woman in navy scrubs pushed a large instrument on wheels. “I’m here from x-ray. Can I go in?” she said to the group of us.
“Go ahead,” the guard said.
Patrick and I retraced our way down the hallway. I felt no closure or comfort knowing this guy was under complete surveillance. Nor could I shake the sick feeling that he was comatose because of me. We waited for the elevator.
“I feel like an executioner,” I said.
“You’re not, babe. Let’s call it a night and question him tomorrow.”
Choked up with emotion, all I could muster was a nod.
****
The next morning, I struggled to lift my head off the pillow. Patrick was already dressed.
“You tossed and turned all night.”
“I did?” I held back a yawn.
“I have something urgent to tend to. How about you stay home from work and rest?” he said.
“I’ll be fine once I get going.”
He came over and kissed me. “Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay then. I’ll talk to you soon.” He gave me a final kiss and left.
I dragged myself out of bed and got ready. Numbness crept into my brain. Numbness could be good.
I was the last to arrive at work, and Vinny and Edward looked up.
Lara rushed over. “Patrick just called us and told us what happened. Are you okay? It must have been terrifying to find that prowler in your basement,” she said.
Tears pooled in my eyes. I nodded. “It was.” My brain neurons were struggling to fire. “How’s the backlog?”
“Same old, same old,” Vinny said.
“You have dark circles under your eyes,” Lara said.
“I do?” I buttoned up my lab coat.
“I’m worried about you,” Lara whispered.
“I’m fine, really. Do you want me to take the fridge temperatures?” I said and opened the door to the hot air oven.
Lara and Edward looked at each other, and I’d realized what I’d done.
“How about you take some time off, June,” Edward said.
I opened my mouth to object but stopped. It was a valid suggestion. “Okay.”
“Take all the time you need,” Lara said. “Oh, just to let you know, Dr. Hamid came in looking for you.”
“Thanks for everything, Lara. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Take care,” Ursula said as I walked by.
I smiled slightly at her gesture of kindness. “Thank you, Ursula.”
No one passed me in the corridor as I made my way to Dr. Hamid’s office. His door was pulled closed but not clicked shut. I knocked lightly.
“Come in,” he said. He sat, posture straight, at his microscope and then rolled his chair back.
“Good morning,” he said. His smile disappeared. “What’s the matter?”
I dropped into a chair, spent, as if I had fought fifteen rounds.
He jumped up and shut the door. He sat beside me and put a gentle hand on my knee. “What happened?”
I was acutely aware of his touch, but I believed his gesture was of sincere concern. I told him everything that had occurred the day before with David Moreno.
“June, you did nothing wrong.”
“But I did. I pulled a trigger. And now a man is in a coma. Well, he was in a coma last night. I don’t know his status today.”
“You said he sustained a shoulder injury?”
“Yes.”
“Those wounds are usually not fatal. He should be better with fluids and antibiotics. If it’s an infection he’s fighting.”
“The not knowing and waiting is so hard.”
Aram turned to his desk drawer and pulled out a coconut-filled chocolate bar.
Way back when, he’d given me this particular treat whenever I was having a challenging day.
“A Tropical Delight,” I said. “I haven’t had one of these since…” I stopped myself from finishing the sentence. “Thank you, Aram.”
“You’re welcome. Now, let’s put your mind at rest and see how Mr. Moreno is doing this morning.” Aram awakened his computer screen and logged into St. Eugene’s Hospital portal. He typed in the name, and the file came up. He scrolled down the series of results and reports and read them out loud.
“Single gunshot, left posterior shoulder.”
“Wait. Posterior?”
“Yes, that’s what it says.”
How had my bullet hit him in the back? Had it ricocheted?
Aram kept reading. “Vitals are listed. And here are bloodwork reports. His hemoglobin is quite low,” Aram said. “His D-Dimer is elevated—not a surprise from bleeding.”
I listened intently.
“This is interesting,” he said.
“What?”
“He has some renal dysfunction. His coagulation results are abnormal. Bleeding time is increased.”
“No wonder he was bleeding so much.” I watched the screen as Aram scrolled. “Is there a history?”
Aram clicked on a few tabs. “Yes, there is. Von Willebrand’s disease.”
“Von Willebrand’s?” I said. “He sounds like a sick man.”
“Yeah, I’d say he isn’t well. And he is being treated at the hematology clinic at St. Eugene’s,” Aram said.
My ears perked up. “Who is the specialist?”
“Dr. Fulthorpe.”
“They know each other? This can’t be a coincidence. They are connected in all of this somehow,” I said.
“I agree with you. And speaking of another connection. You’ll never guess who called me.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Gideon Crawford. The receptionist had told him I had called looking for Dr. Fulthorpe. He said Dr. Fulthorpe was away and asked if he could assist me instead.”
“What did you say?”
“I divulged nothing. I said I was just wondering if Stan Fulthorpe was still out of town.”
“It was nice of Dr. Crawford to follow up.” I backed away from the monitor. “And I think this information about David Moreno will be helpful. Thank you for searching for the results.”
“Of course, June. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m going to update Patrick,” I said.
“You definitely should do that.” He bowed his head. “So, June, you and the officer, you’re getting along well?”
Why had Aram asked about my relationship with Patrick? Was it out of curiosity? Or was Aram showing interest in something else? With us? A rekindling? Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t change a thing with Patrick and me.
“Yes, we’re getting along well.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said with what sounded like sincerity.
But was he really happy?