Jay Giles (36 page)
Ellsworth easily spotted me in the crowded emergency waiting room. I was an island in the sea of people. No one wanted to get too close to the shirtless man covered in dried blood.
He eased himself down in the chair next to me. “How is she?”
“She’s in surgery now. They’re worried about brain damage.”
“Tell me how it happened,” he said, then apparently changed his mind, stood. “First, let’s see if we can find you a shirt, get you cleaned up a little.”
I stood, followed him out of the waiting area to an employee lounge. The place was empty.
“You can wash up in there.” He pointed to a door marked Men’s Locker Room. I’ll see about a shirt.”
When I returned, he had a scrub shirt, two cups of coffee.
“Decaf, right?”
I nodded. “Thanks, I appreciate this.”
He waited until I put on the shirt and took a sip of coffee, then ushered me over to a couple of chairs. “Now I want to know everything that happened. Don’t leave out a detail.”
When I got to the part about the truck being hijacked, he said, “We found Barnes and Illig’s bodies. We’re still looking for the van.”
“I’m sorry about your officers. They never had a chance; it happened so fast.”
His head dropped a little. “They were good men,” he said softly.
I sipped my coffee. Picked up the story.
When I finished, he said, “They’ll try again, you know.”
I did know. D’Onifrio would keep coming after me until one of us was dead. “Can’t you arrest him for this?”
“I can question him. But I don’t have enough to charge him.”
“What about Wilder? He worked for him. Doesn’t that tie him to all this?”
“Not enough.” He took a long pull of his coffee, looked over at me. “I’m going to station four men here to watch over Ms. Wright. I’d like to use more, but I don’t have them. You can go back with me. You’ll be safe back at the station.”
“I’m staying here,” I said adamantly.
Ellsworth shook his head, frowned. “We can protect you better.”
“I need to be here with her, know how she’s doing.”
He took a deep breath, blew out. He had to realize this wasn’t an argument he was going to win. “All right. When you’re ready, call my number. I’ll have someone come pick you up.” He stood. “I’ve got to go. With two officers down, there’s a lot that has to be done.”
I held up my coffee cup. “Thanks.”
He fixed me in his gaze. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll want to see you in the morning.”
“I understand.”
He left. I walked back to the emergency waiting room, found a seat. This time people weren’t scurrying to get away from me. I looked at my watch. Surprisingly, it was only seven-thirty. I drank the last of my coffee, wondered how long it would be before someone came out to talk to me.
I sat there for the next two hours. I was hungry, tired, achy, and that cup of coffee wanted out. Still, I sat. Knowing as soon as I left to go to the bathroom, they’d come to tell me something.
At a quarter-after-nine, I was rewarded for my patience. Doctor Kline came looking for me; she sat down next to me, folded her hands in her lap. I braced for the worst.
“She’s through surgery and in recovery,” she said, speaking softly. They’ll be moving her to ICU as soon as we can make a spot. There was brain hemorrhaging—”
“What does that mean?” It sounded awful.
She pursed her lips. “It means the brain experienced trauma—a strong blow—that caused bleeding. Dr. Guardio, one of the area’s best neurosurgeons, operated to relieve the pressure. It’s too soon to know anything. She’s still in a coma from the trauma she sustained. The next twenty-four hours are crucial in seeing how she recovers.” She stopped, looked at me. “Any questions?”
“How about the gunshot wound?”
“Not as troubling. The bullet passed through her shoulder. They’ve cleaned the wounds, stopped the bleeding. The concern is the head trauma.”
“When can I see her?”
She gave me a sad smile. “Immediately, if you want. As I said, she’s in a coma, but you can certainly be with her. It’s good to have you there.”
“I can go with her to the ICU?”
She nodded, started to get up, sat back down. “You don’t look so hot, either, especially that ear. Has anybody taken a look at you?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. Tory’s the one to worry about.”
She stood. “C’mon, I’ll take you to her. On the way, I think I can round you up a couple of the hospital’s ten-dollar aspirin.” She grinned at her joke. “Might help the pain.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” I agreed as I stood and followed her.
Sarasota Memorial is one of those hospitals where an addition was added to an addition added to an addition. Kline led down a maze of corridors and up a floor to surgical recovery.
She pointed to an empty spot along the wall. “That’s where she was. They must have taken her up to ICU.”
That entailed another elevator ride, several more corridors, before we arrived in a large square area with patient stations around the outside, a nurses’ station in the center. Kline checked at the nurses’ station, learned which spot was Tory’s, and led me over.
It was like looking at Sarah all over again. Tory lay on her back, bandages around her head, a tube running out of her nose, a blanket pulled up to her chin, leaving only her head and the arm with the IV visible. Monitors and machines surrounded the bed. I stood there, thinking how pale and fragile she looked.
Kline brought me a chair, put it by the foot of the bed.
“Thank you. When do you think she’ll wake up?”
She paused, as if calculating. “I think she’ll sleep the night, probably wake sometime tomorrow. They gave her a good bit of anesthesia before the surgery.” She looked at me. “You’d be fine going home, getting some sleep, coming back in the morning.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going to sit with her. It’s that holistic thing you mentioned. I think she’ll know someone’s here.”
“Well, I’m off duty. I’m going home. If you want to get something to eat, Windows, the hospital cafeteria is one floor up and quite good. Just take “C” elevator and turn left when you get out.” She pointed past the nurses’ station. “There’s a waiting room with chairs that turn into cots if you want to get a little sleep, phones, restrooms.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your looking out for me.”
“Glad to help,” she said cheerfully. “That’s why I got into this business. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
She left. I tried the chair. It was hard, uncomfortable. Good. That would help me stay awake. I had to be ready, alert. The hospital was too big; there were too many ways someone could avoid Ellsworth’s four men. I planned to be right by Tory’s bedside—the final defense.
Right now, however, I had to find the bathroom. I headed in the direction Kline had pointed me. Found the waiting room. Found the restroom. Unloaded the coffee. Splashed water on my face. It helped. I felt a little better, a little stronger. Refreshed, I left the restroom and went in search of something to eat.
The food in Windows might have been wonderful earlier. I tasted it after who-knows-how-many hours on the steam table. I wolfed down turkey, dressing, green beans, mashed potatoes, a bowl of fruit, and a large Diet Coke. Couldn’t have taken me more than five minutes.
While I ate, I decided that there were a few phone calls I needed to make. I used the phone in the ICU waiting room. Dropped thirty-five cents in the slot and dialed Julian’s home number. His machine picked up. After I listened to his voice telling me he wasn’t there, the beep sounded, and I left my message. “Julian, it’s Matt. Tory and I were ambushed on the way to the airport. Tory was shot and she’s in intensive care—I’m here at
Sarasota
Memorial
Hospital
with her. The guy who shot Tory, William Wilder, I killed. It was self-defense. I’ve given Lieutenant Ellsworth a complete statement. Could you follow up with him in the morning, make sure everything’s okay? I’m going to stay here at the hospital and watch over Tory. Thanks, Julian.” I hung up. He was going to freak when he heard that message.
My next call was to Rosemary. “Dan,” I said quickly when he picked up. “It’s Matt. How’s Rosemary doing?”
His voice sounded tired but happy. “Much better. I got her home from the hospital this morning. Where are you calling from? Rosemary said you were leaving town for a while.”
“Didn’t make it to the airport. There was some trouble.” I looked down the hall toward the ICU. I could almost make out Tory’s bed. “Tory’s in ICU. She’s got a gunshot wound and head trauma.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“They said the next twenty-four hours are crucial. That’s all they’ll tell me.”
“We’ll say a prayer.”
“Thanks, Dan. I’ll keep you posted. Tell Rosemary I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to close the office.”
“You two can talk about that later. Take care of Tory.”
“I will.”
For the next call, I dug out my calling card. Dr. Swarthmore was long distance and, if I reached her, this call might go awhile. I punched her home number, waited while it rang. “Hello,” she said sleepily.
“Adelle, it’s Matt. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have called so late if it wasn’t an emergency.”
“That’s all right. Tell me what’s the matter.”
I told her about the hijacking, Tory’s being shot, my struggle with Wilder, my fear. “Looking at Tory lying in that hospital bed, it’s like seeing Sarah all over again. Adelle, I don’t know if I can go through this again.”
Her voice was calm, firm. “Tory and Sarah are two completely separate events, Matt, not the same event repeating itself. You have to recognize that, accept it. React to Tory’s situation as if you’ve never been through this before. Don’t predetermine the outcome. The timeliness of her treatment, the fact that the surgeons didn’t observe and note brain damage, leads me to believe her prognosis might very well be favorable. It’s important for you, during this period, to sustain your mental health. I’m very concerned about the level of stress you’re experiencing. Overloaded with stress, we often make expedient decisions that may not be in our long-term best interest. If, as you say, you have people who are trying to kill you, I want you to weigh your decisions carefully. Make sure they lead you out of harm’s way.”