Miracles in the ER (12 page)

“From the moment Gary Spielman died in his arms, Dave was a different man.” Virginia shifted in her chair, removed her glasses, and started cleaning them with a tissue. “He was hard—not mean—but you didn’t want to cross him. He was still a good policeman, one of the best. But no one wanted to be his partner. I knew Chief Green back then, and we would talk about Dave once in a while. Green wanted to promote him, get him off the street. But every time that came up, Dave refused. He said he ‘needed to be on the street.’ It was almost as if he was looking for something
or someone. There was an edge about him—a hardness born of anger and hate—and he was miserable.”

“I don’t see that now, Virginia. He seems to be at peace with himself. Or maybe he just does a good job hiding it.”

“No,” she quickly responded. “He
is
at peace now. It took ten years, but he’s at peace. I’ll tell you how it happened.”

T. Gaither was tried, found guilty of murder, and sentenced to life without chance of parole. He was in Columbia and was hardly the model inmate.

No one knows exactly how he was able to do it, but ten years into his sentence, Gaither escaped.

For seven days, he eluded the massive multistate manhunt. The focus of this search had initially been Rock Hill—his home and the location of individuals who might offer him assistance. But there was no sign of him, and the street was quiet.

Then it broke. An anonymous tip—a 4 a.m. telephone call on a Sunday morning—sent a cruising patrol car to check out an address on the south side of town. A car manned by Dave Hawkins and his newest partner, Jerome Means.

They drove slowly past the dark, neglected house—no lights or siren—and Dave’s heart hammered in his chest.
If it was T. Gaither…

The officers stopped two houses up the street and doubled back on foot.

“What do you think, Dave? Just another goose chase?”

Hawkins had seen the momentary flicker of a flashlight through one of the side windows, but didn’t tell his partner.

“We’ll see.” His voice was low and thick, and he slipped his service weapon out of its holster. “You go around back and I’ll take the front door. Wait for my signal.”

Worn and warped boards on the front porch creaked their complaint under his heavy footsteps and Dave froze.

That was loud. Had someone heard it?

His ears strained for any sound from inside—nothing.

He moved more slowly now, more cautiously, and soon his hand rested on the loose and rusted doorknob.

A deep breath, and then another. His heart pounded in his ears.

Hawkins switched on his flashlight and burst through the door, his weapon pointed dead ahead.

The bright beam flooded the small, bare room and came to rest on a startled, dozing T. Gaither. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall. Several empty soft-drink cans were scattered around him, and an empty fast-food bag lay crumpled by his right hand—right beside his .38.

Gaither shielded his eyes with his left hand and reached for his gun with the other.

His outstretched palm was on the weapon when Dave said, “Don’t do it. Stay right where you are and don’t move.”

The officer’s hands were sweating but he stood rock-solid, staring at this man who had murdered his partner.

“That you, Hawkins?”

Gaither’s voice was taunting, sing-song, and Dave took a half step toward him.

Jerome was still somewhere outside. And Gaither has his handprints and fingerprints all over his own gun. This was his chance. No one would know what happened in this room—only Dave Hawkins and…

“If you ask Dave what happened next, he’ll be glad to tell you.” Virginia leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “His gun was pointed right at Gaither’s head and he was ready to pull the trigger…”

Dave took a step forward and was stopped by an unseen force that was solid and undeniably real. Then plain as day he heard a voice say, “Stop.” He thought it was Jerome Means, his partner. But Jerome was still outside. The only people in the room were Dave and T. Gaither.

His finger was tightening on the trigger again, when he heard the same voice. “Dave, stop.” This time it was louder, right in his ear. He was staring at Gaither, sure that he had heard it too. But T. just grinned at him.

In that instant, Dave Hawkins had a decision to make. He knew he
could kill T. Gaither and get away with it—he could avenge the death of Gary Spielman and satisfy his hatred of this man. Or…He stood there, his hands trembling, and he knew.

“…So Dave kicked Gaither’s gun away and called for Jerome.”

Virginia paused and glanced over my shoulder. Dave and his young partner were walking toward us, smiling and shaking their heads.

“T. Gaither is back in prison,” Virginia said quietly. “But Dave Hawkins…he’s free.”

I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…

J
OEL
2:25

A
LMOST A
Miracle

The difference between a miracle and something just short of one is like the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.

(
WITH APOLOGIES TO
M
ARK
T
WAIN
)

Nailed

“Rock Hill ER, this is EMS 3.”

“Go ahead. This is the ER.” Lori stood by the receiver, pen in hand. Amy Connors spun around in her chair and cocked her head, listening.

“We’re ten minutes out with a construction injury. Twenty-nine-year-old male, nail gun to his right foot, times four.”

“Four?” Amy repeated. “What th—”

“Arghh!”

The scream was loud and caused Lori to jump back from the receiver. The paramedic must be standing right beside the injured party.

“Hold on, sir, we’re trying to get you some help.” It sounded like Denton Roberts, one of our lead paramedics. “You need to try and relax. We’ll be at the hospital in just a minute.”

“Arghh! I’m going to lose my foot! I know it! I need something for the pain!”

Denton must have covered the receiver with his hand, because the next words were muffled, unintelligible. Then he was back on the radio, clear and calm.

“Like I said, we’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Four nails in his right foot, through his boot. Vital signs are stable, but I can’t tell about a pulse. We can’t get the boot off.”

Lori looked over at me and shrugged.

“Just bring him in,” I told her. “Trauma room when he gets here. And Amy, call X-ray. We’ll need some portable films.”

Lori relayed the information to Denton, made some notes on the pad beside the radio, and hung up the receiver.

“Now how do you suppose that happened?” Amy twisted around in her chair and looked up at me. “Four nails in his foot? Seems like he would have figured somethin’ was goin’ on after the first one.”

Lori chuckled. “We’ll just have to wait and see. There must be a good reason.”

“Maybe,” Amy muttered. “But whatever, he sure sounded like he was in a lot of pain.”

He sounded the same way a few minutes later as he was wheeled down the hallway to trauma.

“Arghh! I need somethin’ for pain! My foot!”

Amy leaned over the counter, straining to get a look at the stretcher as it sped by the nurses’ station. Denton wasn’t wasting any time.

“Come on in here.” Lori stood in the doorway to trauma, pressed against the jamb to allow them to pass.

Earl Smothers was writhing on his stretcher, desperately clutching the rails that were pulled up on each side. He was careful not to move his right foot and kept glancing down at it.

“Doc, I need something for the pain!” His eyes quickly surveyed the room and returned to his right foot. “Am I gonna lose it? Am I gonna lose my foot?”

“Try to calm down, Mr. Smothers,” I told him. “We’re going to take care of you. Help us get you over to our stretcher, and we’ll take a look.”

He grabbed his right knee, clutching it as tightly as he would a brand-new hundred-dollar bill. Without much help from our patient, we were somehow able to slide him over to the trauma bed. Denton had started an IV, and Lori quickly moved the bag of normal saline to one of our poles.

“Wide open?” She shot me a quick glance, her hand on the flow adjuster.

“Sure. At least till we know what we’re dealing with.”

She moved a little to one side, and for the first time I saw Earl’s right foot.

Wow! Denton was right. The heads of four nails were clearly visible, each completely sunk in his worn leather work boot.

I reached down toward his foot. Like a striking rattlesnake, his hand came up and grabbed mine.

“Don’t touch it, Doc! You’re gonna move it and it’s gonna kill me!”

“Hold on, Mr. Smothers.” Lori laid a hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Lesslie is just trying to help.”

I backed off, freeing my hand from his. “It’s okay, Lori. Let’s get an X-ray first and see exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Ready when you are.” Two X-ray techs were standing in the doorway, their portable machine crouched and waiting behind them.

“Good. Just get a couple of views, the best you can without moving his foot.” I stepped out of their way and leaned against one of the counters.

A few minutes later, the techs were on the way back to their department, cassettes in hand. The X-rays would be developed pretty quickly.