Dead in the Water (16 page)

“Yes, the whole family is, in varying degrees. But there aren’t any peanuts or cashews, any nuts at all here. And what about the other three swimmers, could they all be allergic to the same thing?”

“I don’t know. It’s worth checking out. This ambulance is going to take Lena to the ER at Healdsburg General Hospital. I’m going with them.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Why don’t you finish up here,” Terrel said. “She’s going to be fine, now. Has she ever had a reaction like this before?”

“I think once when she was little. It was after she took a few bites of her first peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She was in the Emergency Room twenty minutes later. That was so long ago. But I remember the whole thing. Mom came home from the hospital and tore the cupboards apart, reading ingredients on everything. If it had nuts in it, even the smallest amount, it was thrown away.”

“I’ll call you later. Try not to worry. I’m sure she’ll be home tonight.”

I watched as the doors of the ambulance were shut and it headed out of the parking lot.

I sat down on the grass, pulled out my phone and punched in Bill’s personal cell phone number.

“Bill, there was another incident at the swim today, the midweek Russian River one. Four people, including my sister, had an allergic reaction to something and had to be pulled from the water. Lena’s been taken to the hospital. There were four ambulances here and a fire truck. Someone is out to hurt our swimmers and shut down the open water season…maybe for good. I’m still at the swim. Got to talk to the event director now.”

There, done. He knows as much as I do.

The director was standing in front of the food table trying to give out ribbons to the first, second and third place winners. Unfortunately, he was talking to a very small impatient crowd. Most people had left.

I walked over to the first aid tent. Both nurses were there.

“Do you have any idea what happened? Is there some sort of insect in the water that would cause an allergic reaction like this?”

“Not that I know of. We sometimes get cases of swimmer’s itch. But I have never seen it affect someone’s breathing,” said the woman with the ponytail.

“How’s your sister?”

“She’ll be okay.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She could hardly breathe. Maybe later tonight, she and I can talk about it.”

“Of the four people, two were related. Brothers,” said the nurse with the ponytail.

“Could you give me their names and phone numbers? The office will want to check on them,” I said.

“Sure, I plan on calling them tonight, too, to see how they are,” said the other nurse. She looked at her intake log and copied the names and phone numbers for me.

The beach was now empty, except for the timers who were packing up. Standing alone by the changing rooms, the event director was looking at a clipboard. He was subdued.

“Not sure I want to do this again,” he said.

“Well, if it matters, your swim went well. Everything happened like it was supposed to, except for…you know what I mean,” I said.

He nodded.

“Water rescues were efficient. These swimmers had excellent care waiting for them when they reached the shore. I’ll pass that information along and recommend that this swim be put on the schedule.”

The man nodded absently again. He was clearly preoccupied. I patted him on the arm and walked across the grass. I punched in Terrel’s number on my cell.

“How is she?” I asked.

“She says her teeth itch.”

“Her teeth?”

“Probably means her gums. It is not an uncommon reaction. She is going to be fine. They want to keep her for a few more hours, for observation. It will give me a chance to pick up my car and get back here. See you at home.”

My eyes filled up with tears. Knowing that she was going to recover was a relief. Both Terrel and I had been as close to her as you can get to any swimmer, and still something happened. This had to stop. I walked out to the parking lot, eyes down, lost in thought.

“Hey, Trisha.”

Leaning against a van decorated with the large red, yellow and blue graphics of RazzleD bottles, was Justin Rosencastle.

“You okay? You looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

“What are you doing here? Bill said there were no promotions at this swim.”

“Just a misunderstanding. We worked it out. Everything’s fine now. What happened? All those ambulances and a fire truck?”

“Some swimmers, including my sister, had a very bad reaction to something in the water. When did you get here?”

Justin was putting his table, the RazzleD samples, and two large banners into the back of the van.

“About forty-five minutes before the swim. Want a drink?” he said, holding out a bottle.

“No, thanks.”

He stared at me.

“What?”

“You look different. Not sure what. But something’s different. Looking good. You…uh…want to hang out sometime? Maybe another Salvadoran dinner?”

“Sure. I’d like that.” I smiled. He could be disarming when he wanted to be.

“I’ll give you a call. Go take care of your sister.”

He climbed into the van, waved and headed for the park entrance.

I watched the van turn out of the park and head west. I was puzzled. Maybe Bill wrote the note to me about the swim before he talked with Justin. Maybe he forgot to update me. That was not impossible, but not like Bill. I’d have to ask him.

Lena and Terrel arrived home two hours after I did. Lena’s face was still a little puffy, but other than being tired, she seemed okay. Now she was asleep.

Terrel and I sat in the kitchen.

“Do you think someone was targeting Lena?” Terrel asked.

“Maybe. But what about the other swimmers? Why were they involved?”

“Smoke screen. Collateral damage, maybe. No one but you really knew about her nut allergy, if that’s what it was. I don’t think someone was trying to kill her. Scare her, maybe, but not kill her.”

“Terrel, two of the four swimmers were related. But something happened to all of them. I need to find out what the connection is.”

.

22

The door of the
Nor Cal Swim office was wide open when I arrived the next morning. Two National Park Service police were there talking to Bill, who seemed more agitated than ever. He was pacing the floor, arms flailing in every direction. His fair skin was flushed to the top of his scalp.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Someone broke into this office. For what? Trisha, Trisha, did you know about this?”

“Actually, I did. I was here when it happened.”

“They said you thought it was connected to a murder…a murder of one of our swimmers. When did that happen? What have you been telling these men?”

“Well, I think that Dick Waddell’s death wasn’t an accident. And I think the other events, including the one last night, are related.”

“Hell of a mess. We had a swimmer that died of a heart attack at one of our open water swims. Even his family and the doctor at the hospital confirmed that. No murder here,” he said holding the wrinkled folder that Jon and I had found in the shrubs.

I recognized one of the officers. He was the one leaning against his patrol car when Jon drove me by to identify the suspect.

“Why were you here in the evening?” Bill asked me.

“I was in the city and I couldn’t remember if I had turned off the printer…like you always ask. I came back to the office.”

“What about this folder? Where are the papers?”

The security guards looked at me.

“I don’t know. We—that is, Jon, one of the NPS guys and I—found it outside of the building. There were actually three folders. The other two contained swim schedules. But I think the thief was really after the Waddell file, not my backpack that was sitting on my desk. To me, that says someone wants information on Dick Waddell’s death.”

Bill’s face flashed from pink to red, like the change of a stop light. He turned to the officers.

“Trisha is new to the office. She’s temporary help. Nothing sinister here. The Waddell event was tragic, but it was a heart attack. That’s what the doctors said. That’s all. That’s enough, of course. The thief probably picked up the folders by accident when he picked up Trisha’s backpack.”

The comment about ‘temporary help’ stung. It was true, but it still hurt.

The officers and Bill chatted for a few minutes. They came over to my desk, asked me a few more questions about the thief and reminded me to keep the door locked when I wasn’t in the office. Then they left.

Bill shut the door and walked toward me. His hands were shaking. He spoke in a slow, very controlled manner. “I’m very sorry you were involved with this—whatever it is—attempted burglary. And I’m glad you were not hurt. But…” and he emphasized ‘but’ so that the word bounced off the walls in our small office, “you do remember that I said not to get involved and not to talk about the Waddell incident? Don’t you?”

Before I could answer, he continued.

“Everything is almost settled: insurance claims, family questions. I don’t want it put back on anyone’s radar. Let it just go away. It was our first death in open water swims in…”

“Thirty years. Yeah, I know, but…”

“But, stay out of it. There was no need to involve the NPS.”

“Bill, this is more than my backpack almost walking out the door. I think the thief wanted the information in the folder. That’s why all the papers are missing. Did you know that the Waddell family has requested an autopsy? Maybe that was the information he was looking for.”

Bill took a step back. “I knew they were considering it. How did you know? Have you spoken to Waddell’s sister?”

“No, the medical examiner told a friend of mine.”

“The ER doctor? The one who lent you the Checker Cab?”

“Yes. Dr. Robinson thinks…”

“You are talking to people about the Waddell event. I told you. Do…not…do…that. Trisha. Think about it. Nothing in that folder was confidential. Someone could get all those names and numbers, even the medical information, with a little work.”

“But maybe they wanted to know what you know?”

“Do you want to know what I know?”

First I shook my head yes; then no.

“I know this is none of your business. This has nothing to do with a murder,” he said.

“Last night’s swim is the third accident in about a month. It can’t all be coincidental. First Dick; then Jackie, now four other swimmers, including Lena. At the very least, what do you think this will do to the rest of the open water season?”

“Why are you trying to make our organization look bad?”

“I’m not. It’s just…”

“Focus on what I’m about to say, Trisha, regarding the Waddell death. Do not talk to anyone. Do not answer any questions.”

“What about the other events?”

“They are not connected. There is nothing to say. Forget you ever heard about them. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Bill finally stopped moving and waving his arms. The crimson color on his cheeks began to fade. “Anything else happen while I was gone?”

I took a deep breath and launched into an update of calls and requests from different swim teams, skipping over the one from his past assistant, Chris. I couldn’t remember if I had deleted his message. One way or another, I had a feeling that Chris was a step closer to getting his job back.

Bill didn’t react when I left to drop some caps off at a swim club for an upcoming open water swim. He was probably glad to get me out of there.

The glass doors of the Emergency Room at SF Memorial glided open as I approached. Sitting at the reception desk was the same ER nurse who was there when I visited Jackie earlier the previous week.

“Hey,” I said to the nurse with tats up and down his arm. “Remember me? I’m Dr. Robinson’s friend. Is he around?”

“Oh yeah, you were asking questions about an automobile accident victim that had come in earlier. I think Dr. T just went to radiology. Take a seat and let me see if I can find him.”

I took a seat in the waiting room. Next to me was a construction worker with his hand wrapped in white gauze. Two chairs down was a Latino family holding a small infant, no more than three months old. I wondered which one was the patient; the baby, the mom who looked exhausted, the worried father or the small girl sitting on her father’s lap.

What a way to spend the afternoon.

I could feel my cell phone vibrate in my backpack resting next to my legs. A new message. I dug out the phone and glanced at the screen. The email was from a photo storage website. Nothing in the subject line, just three attachments. I opened the first. It was a photo of me and NPS guard, Jon, pulling folders out of the shrubbery at Fort Mason. My fingers stiffened and I almost dropped the phone.

The second was of Lena walking into the water at the Russian River. I’m standing beside her laughing. My arms began to tremble. And the last photo, was me coming out of the backyard of the Waddell house in Martinez at 2:20 a.m. My mouth went dry.

I frantically looked around the waiting room, at the receptionist, at the glass entrance doors. Someone was following me, taking pictures. Were they here? For a few seconds, I didn’t breathe. Then, I got up and moved to a chair where I could see anyone coming in or leaving. As if on cue, Terrel walked into the reception room.

“Hey, Dr. T. Someone to see you,” said Robert sitting at the receptionist desk.

“Girl, what are you doing here?”

“Do you have a minute?”

“Don’t tell me you’re involved with another emergency?”

“I need my car back. Is it ready?”

“Is that why you came? I’ll give Pop a call. Don’t you like driving the cab?”

“Terrel, I’ve got to show you something. In private.”

He led me back into the ER’s break room.

“Look at these.”

He whistled when he saw the photos. “Whose house is that? Where were you at 2:20 a.m.?”

“Dick Waddell’s house.”

“What? No. This isn’t good.”

“That cab is like a blinking neon light. I need my car.”

“You need to go the police.”

“And tell them what? I can’t convince anyone, except you, that the heart attack theory is dead wrong. That Jackie’s accident and the Russian River swim events are all related. Besides, I don’t like dealing with the police.”

“Trisha, you are a lifetime member of the hardheaded women’s club. If my mama was here, she’d say ‘you’re as stubborn as a mule.’ Lena told me all about your DUI’s and your run-ins with the police. Things like that happen. This is very, very different. You and now Lena are in danger.”

“Do you have the results of Waddel’s autopsy?”

“Stop changing the subject. But, no, not yet.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow… we can meet for lunch. Maybe the results will be back by then and we can switch cars.”

“Just give me a call to confirm. Please talk to the police. If you don’t, I will. In the meantime, be careful, okay?”

He turned to walk away.

“Forgot to tell you. Your friend… Jackie. She’s out of intensive care.”

“She’s here. I know she’s still here,” said the woman carrying a blue ‘It’s a boy’ helium balloon, a teddy bear dressed in blue shorts and a potted plant.

The hospital receptionist at the front desk looked at her computer screen again, typed in the name of the new mother once more and then said, “Ah yes, here she is. Her name was spelled wrong. She is on the sixth floor.”

The woman smiled and almost bounced down the hallway to the elevator.

“Yes?” said the receptionist.

“A colleague of mine, Jackie Gibson, was recently moved from intensive care to a step down unit. I’d like to visit her.”

“Ninth floor, room 311.”

It was lunchtime and the elevator was crammed with staff heading to and from the cafeteria. I shifted back as far as I could go. Each time the elevator door opened, some people got off and more got on, crowding me to the point of feeling claustrophobic. But at least, no one could take my picture here. When it reached the ninth floor, people parted like the red sea and I lunged for the door, glad to be out. A medical assistant at the reception desk pointed in the direction of Room 311.

“A friend of Jackie’s?” she said.

“Yes, I work with her, kind of.”

I gasped when I pushed open the door to her room and caught sight of what was a strikingly beautiful woman just a week ago. One side of her face was covered with bruises, eggplant purple and a sickly yellow. The top of her head was wrapped in snow white gauze. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed that some of her thick black wavy hair had been shaved off at the scalp. An IV bag hung by the side of her bed. Pain medication dripped slowly through the clear tubing connected to her lower arm. The other arm was in a cast. And so was a leg. There was a clip on one of her fingers, monitoring her heart rate. Next to the bed, the lines on the computer screens kept changing, as she breathed in and out.

She seemed to be sleeping, so I sat down next to her bed and reached out to touch her hand. To my surprise, her eyes fluttered open.

“Who are you?” she said in a faint voice. I had to lean forward to hear her words.

“I’m Trisha Carson. I work for the Nor Cal Swim Association. I just came over from the office to see how you were doing.”

“Great,” she said. “Just great. Can’t you tell?”

“Well, you’re out of intensive care, that’s a good thing.”

Jackie turned her face away from me.

“Lovely flowers,” I said, gesturing to the many get well bouquets around the room. “I really hate to bother you about this, but do you remember what happened?”

She looked back at me.

“Not really. I was driving…coast road. I didn’t feel well. My heart was racing, pounding. I felt hot and started to sweat. I was having trouble breathing. It felt like my throat was closing up on me. Couldn’t concentrate. That’s it. I woke up here, in this room, yesterday.”

“Did you feel okay during the swim?”

She nodded. “The swim, yeah, right. I felt okay. Felt really thirsty after…I remember that.”

“Did you get something to drink?”

“Mike had the kids fill up my water bottle.”

“Do you remember posing for pictures with Mike Menton?”

“Yes.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“What business is it of yours?” She grimaced in pain.