Life Support (31 page)

"Didn't you interview her? You've seen her yourself�" aWhat does she look like?"

Taken aback by Toby's sharp tone, Doris stared at her for a moment.

"She�uh�she's quite average-looking. Nothing particularly unusual about her."

"How tall is she? What color's her hair?"

Doris rose to her feet. "We have group photos of our staff. We take one every year. I can point her out to you." She led Toby to the hallway, where a series of framed photos were hanging, each one labeled with the date it was taken. The series went back to 1981�presumably the year Wayside Nursing Home opened. Doris paused in front of the color photo from two years before and scanned the faces.

"There," she said, pointing to a woman in a white uniform. "That's Jane. " gns, w .

Toby stared at the face in the photograph. The woman was ss standing at the far left edge of the group, her pudgy face smiling, it her uniform top a shapeless tent over a massively obese body.

.2- Toby shook her head. "That's not her."

', "Oh, but I can assure you," said Doris. "And so can our patients.

i That is definitely Jane Nolan."

"We picked the girl up over in the North End," said the patrolman.

"Witnesses saw some guy slapping her around, trying to drag her into a car. She was screaming her bloody head off, and they stepped in to help.

We were the first officers on the scene. Found the girl sitting on the curb with a cut lip and a black eye. She gave her name as Molly Picker."

"Who was the guy beating up on her?" asked Dvorak.

"Her pimp, I guess. She wouldn't tell us. And the guy left the scene."

"Where's the girl now?"

"Sitting in the cruiser. Didn't want to come in here. Doesn't want to talk to anyone. All she wants is back out on the street."

"So the pimp can rough her up again?"

"She's not big in the IQ department."

Dvorak sighed as they walked out the front entrance to Albany Street.

He wasn't optimistic about this interview. A sullen teenager, probably uneducated as well, was a poor source for a medical history. The girl wasn't under arrest, and she could walk out any time, but she probably didn't know that. He was certainly not going to enlighten her, not until he had a chance to pick her brains. What brains she had.

The patrolman pointed to the cruiser, where his partner was waiting in the front seat. In the backseat was a girl with stringy brown hair and a cut lip. She sat huddled under a giant raincoat. She was clutching a cheap patent leather purse in her lap.

The cop opened the back door. "Why don't you step on out, miss? This is Dr. Dvorak. He'd like to speak to you."

"Don't need no doctor."

"He's with the medical examiner's office."

"Don't need no exam neither."

Dvorak leaned in and smiled at the girl. "Hi, Molly. We're going inside to talk. It's cold out here, don't you think?"

"Wouldn't be if you'd shut the door."

"I can wait all day. We can talk now, or we can talk at midnight.

It's up to you." He stood looking in at her, waiting to see how long it would take her to get tired of being stared at. All three men were watching her, the two cops and Dvorak, no one saying a thing.

Molly took a deep breath and let it out in a snort of frustration.

"You got a bathroom?" she said.

"Of course."

"I gotta go real bad."

Dvorak stepped aside. "I'il show you the way."

She struggled out of the patrol car, the oversize raincoat dragging after her like a giant cape. Only when she straightened did Dvorak suddenly focus on the girl's abdomen. She was pregnant. At least six months, he estimated.

The girl noticed the direction of his gaze. "Yeah, so I'm knocked up," she snapped. "So what?"

"I think we should get you inside. Pregnant ladies need to sit down."

She flashed him a T*at's a joke, right? look and walked into the building.

"Nice girl," grunted the cop. "You want us to hang around?"

"You can leave. I'll just put her in a taxi when I'm done."

Dvorak found the girl waiting for him just inside the door.

"So where's the bathroom?" she said.

"There's one upstairs, next to my office."

"Well come on. I gotta pee."

She didn't say anything as they rode the elevator, judging by the look of concentration on her face, all her attention was focused on her bladder. He waited for her outside the staff rest room. She took her time, emerging ten minutes later, smelling of soap. She'd washed her face, and the swollen lip seemed to stand out alarmingly purple against that white face.

He led her into his office and shut the door. "Sit down, Molly."

"This gonna take long?"

"It depends on whether you help me out. Whether you know anything."

Again he gestured to the chair.

Sullenly she sat down, pulling the raincoat around her like a protective mantle. Her bottom rip stuck out, bruised and stubborn.

He stood with the back of his thighs against the desk, looking down at her. "Two days ago you made an emergency call. The operator recorded your voice requesting an ambulance."

"Didn't know it was a crime to call an ambulance."

"When the team got there, they found a woman had bled to death. You were in the apartment with her. What happened, Molly? " She said nothing. Her head drooped, the lank hair spilling across her face.

"I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I just need to know."

The girl wouldn't look at him. Bringing her arms up, she hugged herself and began to rock in the chair. "Wasn't my fault," she whispered.

"I know that."

"I wanna go. Can't I just go?"

"No, Molly. We need to talk first. Can you look at me?"

She wouldn't. She kept her head down, as though meeting his gaze would somehow signify a defeat.

"Why don't you want to talk?"

"Why should I? I don't know you."

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not a cop, I'm a doctor."

His words had the opposite effect of what he'd intended. She shrank deeper into her chair and shuddered. He could not figure out this girl.

She was an alien species to him. All teenagers were. He was unsure how to proceed.

His desk intercom buzzed.

"Dr. Toby Harper's here," said his secretary.

"I'm unavailable."

"I don't think she's going to leave. She insists on going upstairs to see you."

"Look, I really can't talk to her right now."

"Should I have her wait?"

He sighed. "All right. Have her wait. But it may be a while."

Dvorak turned back to Molly Picker, his irritation more acute than ever. He had one female demanding to talk to him, and another female refusing to say a word.

"Molly," he said, "I need to know about your friend, Annie. The woman who died. Was she using any drugs? Was she taking any medications?"

The girl gave another shudder and curled into a ball.

"This is very important. The woman had a severely deformed fetus.

I need to know what she was exposed to. It could be vital information for other pregnant women as well. Molly?"

The girl began to shake. At first Dvorak did not understand what was happening. He thought she was cold, shivering. Then she toppled forward and her head slammed against the floor. Her limbs began to jerk, her whole body wracked by convulsions.

Dvorak knelt down beside her and frantically tried to loosen the raincoat, which had bunched up around her neckb but her limbs were flailing with superhuman strength. At last he got the collar open. She was still seizing, her face a shocking purple, her eyes rolled back.

What do I do now? I'm a pathologist, not an ER doctor . . .

He sprang to his feet and hit the intercom button. "I need Dr. Harper!

Send her up now!"

"But I thought you said�"

"I have a medical emergency!"

He turned his attention to Molly. The girl's flailing had stopped, but her face was still a deep red, and a lump was forming on her forehead, where she'd bumped the floor.

Don't let her aspirate. Turn her on her side.

Remembered lessons from his medical school years were finally filtering through his panic. He dropped down beside the girl and quickly rolled her onto her left side, her face slightly downward. If she vomited, her gastric contents would not spill into her lungs. He felt her pulse�it was rapid, but strong. And she was still breathing.

Okay. Okay, we've got an airway. We've got respirations. And we've got circulation. What am If orgetting?

The office door opened. He glanced up as Toby Harper stepped into the room. Her gaze fell at once to the girl, and she knelt down.

"What happened?"

"She had some sort of seizure�"

"Any medical history? Epileptic?"

"I don't know. She's got a pulse and she's breathing."

Toby glanced at the bruise. "When did she hit her head?"

"After the seizure started."

Toby pulled open the raincoat to expose the girl's torso. There was a one-beat pause, then a dismayed, "She's pregnant."

"Yeah. I don't know how far along she is."

"Do you know anything about her?"

"She has a police record. Prostitution. Her pimp roughed her up today.

That's all I know."

"You have a medical bag?" asked Toby.

"In my desk drawer�"

"Get it."

The girl was groaning, moving her head.

While Toby rummaged in the bag for instruments, Dvorak eased the girl's arm out of the raincoat sleeve. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

At once she began to struggle, pulling away from his grasp.

"It's all right," he said. "Take it easy�"

"Let her go," ordered Toby. "She's post-ictal and confused. You're scaring her."

Dvorak released the pitifully thin arm and backed away.

"Okay, honey," murmured Toby. "Look at me. I'm right here."

The girl shifted her gaze to Toby's face, hovering above hers. "Mama," she said.

Toby spoke slowly and softly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to shine a little light in your eyes. All right?" The girl kept staring at her, as though in wonder. Toby turned a penlight beam at the girl's pupils. "Equal and reactive. And she's moving all her limbs." Toby reached for the blood pressure cuff. The girl made a feeble whimper of protest as the cuff squeezed her arm, but she kept her gaze on Toby and seemed to be comforted.

Toby frowned as the sphygmomanometer needle slowly pulsed downward. Quickly she released the pressure and peeled off the cuff. "She needs to be admitted."

"Boston City's right across the street." j "I.et's get her to their ER. Her pressure's two-ten over one-thirty, and she's pregnant. I think that explains the seizure."

'iEclampsia?"

Toby gave a quick nod and closed the black bag. "Can you carry her?"

Dvorak bent down and gathered the girl in his arms. Despite her pregnancy, she felt frail, weightless. Or maybe he was too pumped up on adrenaline to feel the burden. With Toby leading the way, opening doors for him, they made it out the building's front entrance to Albany Street.

Wind whipped between the buildings, stinging their faces with grit as they crossed the street. The girl struggled in his arms, and with her raincoat lashing his legs, her hair flying in his face, Dvorak stumbled onto the opposite curb and up the ramp to the ER entrance. The double doors slid open.

Behind the admitting window, a male triage nurse looked up and saw the girl in Dvorak's arms. "What happened?"

It was Toby who answered, stepping up to the window and opening Molly Picker's cheap little purse for ID. "Pregnant girl with seizures, now post-ictal. BP two-ten over one-thirty."

At once the triage nurse understood, and he called for a gurney.

The stab of a needle jolted Molly fully awake. She thrashed, fighting to free herself from the hands holding her down, but there were too many of them, all trapping her, torturing her. She could not remember how she'd arrived in this terrible place, nor did she know what she'd done wrong to deserve this punishment. I'm sorry, whatever I did wrong, I'm sorry. Please stop hurting me.

"Shit, I blew the vein! Toss me another eighteen gauge�"

"Try the other arm. Looks like a nice vein there."

"You have to hold her down. She keeps yanking around here."

"Is that a seizure?"

"No, she's fighting us�" Hands trapped her face, a voice commanded, "Miss, you have to hold still! We need to get the IV in!"

Molly's panicked gaze focused on the face staring down at her. It was a man dressed in blue. A stethoscope was looped like a snake . around his neck. A man with angry eyes.

02 X "She's still out of it," he said. "Just get the IV in."

Another pair of hands grasped her arm, trapping it against the mattress. Molly tried to jerk free, but the hands only squeezed tighter, pinching and twisting her skin. Again the needle stabbed.

Molly shrieked.

"Okay, it's in! Get it connected. Come on, come on."

"How fast a drip?"

"TKO it for now. I want five milligrams Hydralazine IV. Let's hang some mag sulfate. And get those bloods drawn."

"Doc, a chest pain just rolled in the door."

"Why the fuck won't they leave me alone?"

Another needle, another lance of pain. Molly bucked against the gurney. Something crashed and shattered on the floor.

"Goddamn it, she won't lie still!"

"Can't we sedate her?"

"No, we need to follow mental status. Talk her down."

"I've tried."

"Get that woman back in here. The one who brought her in.

Maybe she can calm her down."

Molly twisted against the restraints, her head aching, pounding with every new explosion of sound. The rapid-fire voices, the clang of metal cabinets slamming shut.

Go away, go away, go away.

Then a voice called to her, and she felt a hand settle gently on her hair.

"Molly, it's me. Dr. Harper. It's all right. Everything is all right."

Molly focused on the woman's face, a face she recognized, though she couldn't remember where she'd seen it before. She knew only that it was a face unassociated with pain. Those calm eyes spoke to her of safety.