Blood Born

by Matthew Warner

  “You know you’re not supposed to use those inside the hospital,” Randall said.

  “Sorry.” Heager snapped the phone back onto his belt, between his gun and vial of pepper spray. He flashed her a smile—the same one he used the time he asked her out.

  Randall wanted to slap it off of him. “Victim in there?” She gestured at the curtained entrance to the trauma room.

  Heager nodded. “They just brought her back from a CAT scan and x-rays. Before that, they were stitching up her scalp wound. Shitloads of blood.”

  Randall peeked past the curtain. She saw a girl lying on a stretcher, strapped to a backboard and wearing a cervical collar. A doctor took the girl’s pulse and inspected the IV shunts in the back of her hand, one of which was hooked to a hanging saline bag.

  “I spotted her behind the movie theater at Tyson’s,” Heager said. “She was dragging herself across the parking lot, barely coherent.”

  “Secure the scene?”

  Heager nodded. “Cowden and Pavlik are there now. They found some hair fibers and blood, so they called a tech for evidence collection.”

  “Christ. She give you a statement?”

  “I got bits and pieces. She’s sixteen, named Daniella Connolly. She was on a date with her boyfriend. They were in his car in the parking garage, and he assaulted her. She ran away, and then . . .”

  As he continued, Randall opened her notebook and wrote in shorthand.

  Rapes weren’t as interesting as the homicides she used to handle, but she still gave them a hundred percent because the victim was always someone’s wife, mother, or daughter—a person who’d suffered a horror that put her own harassment issues into perspective. The department brass’s reasons for reassigning her to the sex crimes squad were more utilitarian, of course; they always were. She was a woman, more likely to treat a female victim compassionately, which meant more probability of cooperation with an investigation. Besides that, Fairfax County averaged almost ninety rapes per year, while murders were only a seventh of that. Those were the reasons they gave her, anyway.

  She tried not to dwell on this. There was a job to do, and she was a professional—not to mention the youngest female officer on the force to be promoted to detective. And sometimes, rapes could still be as interesting as homicides. Like when they were part of a pattern.

  When Heager finished his recitation, Randall asked, “Is she showing any of the same symptoms as the others?”

  “Not so far. I think it’s just a garden-variety rape. Boyfriend lay in wait outside the garage for her to come out, and then boom.”

  “Let’s not assume anything yet.”

  Heager smiled again, but it didn’t irritate her as much this time. “Ten-four.”

  Randall thanked him and asked him to follow her in. Suppressing another stabbing headache, she pushed back the curtain and entered the trauma room.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Daniella Connolly’s head formed an unruly mess of bandages and blonde hair. Another bandage covered the side of her neck where her assailant bit her. Her gaze didn’t leave the ceiling when the police entered. Randall tensed at the sight—then frowned at the doctor. The short, overweight woman was holding the girl’s hand and staring deep into her face.

  “Hi, are you her doctor?”

  The woman looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m Margaret Connolly, her mother.”

  Heager whispered, “Sorry, forgot to tell you.”

  “Oh.” Randall blinked at Mrs. Connolly’s white coat and remembered the way she’d seen her taking Daniella’s vital signs. She was probably still a doctor, just not one here. “I’m Detective Randall. I’ll be handling Daniella’s case.”

  Fresh tears gushed forth. “You need to get the sonofabitch who did this. His name’s Eric. Eric Gensler.”

  Randall had heard the name already, so she merely nodded. Reaching over the stretcher’s rail, she touched the girl’s hand. Daniella’s gaze flickered over her, then returned to the ceiling. Her eyes were glassy and her pupils too large.

  “Daniella, I know you’ve already talked to Officer Heager, but I’m going to go over your statement again.”

  She usually avoided asking for permission to do this so the victim wouldn’t try to refuse. It was important to milk as much information as possible while the memory was fresh.

  The mother interrupted: “You are going to arrest him tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Mrs. Connolly—”

  “Not ‘Mrs.,’ just Margaret.”

  “All right, Margaret.” Randall smiled at her—another expression she didn’t feel, trying to disarm the older woman like she did the male nurse. “You both can call me Randall, okay?”

  “That boy’s still out there. He’s a menace.”

  “Look, don’t you worry. We’ll bring him in.”

  “He ripped her shirt in half.” Margaret pointed to a plastic bag of clothing in the corner. “The nurse said you’d need it for evidence.”

  “Yes, I will.” Randall glanced toward the hallway. Dammit, where was that counselor? “Look, Margaret, I’m going to need a few minutes alone with your daughter. Officer Heager will walk you back to the—”

  Daniella screamed.

  They watched, stunned, as she convulsed against the restraining straps of the backboard. The one across her forehead pulled so tight that Randall thought it would break. Both women reached out for her.

  “No no, honey—” Margaret began.

  “Bit me!” Daniella shrieked. “He bit me with that tooth of his! Twice!”

  Margaret’s eyes went wide. “He did?”

  “Mrs. Connolly,” Heager said, reaching for her arm, “why don’t you—”

  “Oh, Mama, he bit me. Has a vampire fetish . . .”

  “I’ll kill him,” Margaret said. “I thought those bandages were from abrasions.”

  “Mrs. Connolly, please,” Heager said. “You can come back in a few minutes after—”

  “I told you my name’s Margaret. Didn’t you hear me the first time?”

  As Daniella started sobbing and Margaret argued, Randall closed her eyes against another spear of a headache. And to think she’d been depressed that her job was no longer interesting.

  It took a few minutes to calm everyone down and for Heager to coax Margaret into the hallway. A nurse came in to take Daniella’s vitals, so Randall went out as well.

  She caught up with Heager and Margaret when the hysterical mother paused to lean against a rolling cart of linens. Again, Randall silently cursed the new crisis counselor for being late.

  “Margaret.” She reached out to rub the woman’s shoulder but thought better of it. “Look, I understand your feelings, but—”

  “You have no idea what I’m feeling.” Margaret snatched a hand towel from the cart and blew her nose into it.

  “Okay, maybe I don’t, but I’ve dealt with a lot of families going through this. I can tell you right now that it’ll be a hard road for your daughter. You need to pull yourself together for her.”

  Margaret took a shuddering breath and crossed her arms tightly around herself. Randall felt sorry for her. It was as if the mother been raped right along with the daughter.

  “I know—I’m sorry,” Margaret said. “It’s just that I spend all day helping people to conceive, and rape is—it’s just so ugly, and for it to happen to my daughter . . .”

  “I know,” Randall murmured for lack of something better.

  “Just tell me: the courts will be kind to her, won’t they? They won’t treat her like a criminal. I hear stories about the way those trials go.”

  “Daniella will be a prosecution witness, nothing more. She won’t be on trial.”

  Margaret searched her face. Finally, she wiped her eyes and nodded.

  “Officer Heager will take you out to the waiting room. He’ll give you the name of a rape crisis center, okay?”

  “You’re going to talk to Daniella?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then what wi
ll happen?”

  “A forensics nurse will collect evidence. This includes a vaginal exam and photographing with a colposcope. That’s a camera with a flexible tube that—”

  “I know what it is.”

  Randall inclined her head. “They’ll also scrape under her fingernails, do a blood draw, take vaginal swabs and pubic hair clippings, that sort of thing. Hopefully it’ll be enough for a DNA match with her attacker.”

  “Eric Gensler.”

  “If that’s who it is, yes.” Randall turned to Heager. “Do me a favor and answer the rest of her questions. Then confirm addresses, socials, the spelling of the suspect’s name, et cetera. I’ll come by once I’m done with the daughter.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She glanced at Margaret, who seemed to be on the verge of another outburst, before walking off.

  Randall paused at the curtained entrance to the trauma room to watch Officer Heager lead the weeping woman away. Pull it together, lady. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, and your daughter will need you.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The interview with Daniella went as well as could be expected considering the shape the girl was in. She occasionally drifted off to sleep, so Randall gently shook her arm to wake her. She feared Daniella would slip into a coma. The CAT scan would show for sure, but if blood were accumulating on her brain as a result of the concussion, then this might be the only opportunity to talk.

  Despite Randall’s more detailed questioning, however—about orifices involved, whether there was penetration, ejaculation, use of alcohol or drugs or other sexual acts within the previous three days—Daniella didn’t have much to add beyond what the detective had already heard. Only two points were new. The first was that Daniella admitted she hadn’t actually seen Eric’s face during the rape itself. She’d been semi-conscious from the concussion and only felt a body on top of her. Daniella assumed it was Eric because the attacker bit her twice, and Eric had been nipping at her in the car. The second new item was that Eric had filed a tooth into a point.

  Put those clues together, and it appeared Margaret Connolly was right. Get that sonofabitch. The other rape victims—Daniella was the third this week—would certainly agree. They had each been bitten twice as well: first in either the neck or shoulder, and the second time always in the neck, puncturing the jugular vein. None of these bites were crush injuries, as from a molar attack, but were lacerations and punctures, as if from canines and incisors. After the second rape victim showed these signs, Randall had seriously considered that they had a vampire on their hands—or at least somebody who thought he was a vampire. But their later symptoms and the fact that they weren’t missing significant amounts of blood dispelled that theory.

  In any event, Randall hadn’t gotten to where she was by always pouncing on the first apparent suspect. Daniella hadn’t seen Eric’s face, for one thing, and the boy only had a single “fang” when the others’ wounds suggested a pair. Then there were the symptoms that followed. . . .

  She made a note to come back and inspect the neck wounds once the bandage was off: How many fang marks?

  “Daniella.” The girl had drifted off again. Randall shook her arm. “Come on, we’re almost done.”

  “Did I . . . ?” Daniella’s eyes rolled around in their sockets and seemed to have trouble focusing.

  “Did you what?”

  “Did I cause this to happen?” She started crying again.

  “No, of course not.” Randall gave the girl’s fingers a soft squeeze. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed him so soon.” Her speech slurred, and she closed her eyes.

  “Daniella, wake up.” Randall rubbed the girl’s forearm. When that didn’t work, she pinched her.

  Daniella jerked against the back board. “What?” The cervical collar pushed against her cheek when she tried to turn her head. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Detective Randall. Do you know where you are?”

  “Ambulance.”

  Close enough. “Just one more question.” She placed a hand on Daniella’s stomach, hesitated, then pushed down a couple inches. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  Randall breathed a sigh of relief. If she were religious, she would have said a prayer of thanks. “Good. That’s good.”

  Below the bottom of the curtain that partitioned off the trauma room, she spotted a pair of feet standing on the other side. She quickly said goodbye, picked up the bag of clothing, and left.

  The eavesdropper was Dr. Bowen—a thin, bespectacled man with a giraffe embroidered on the lapel of his white coat. He looked up from the clipboard he was reading and smiled. “Detective. I heard you were here.”

  “Unfortunately. Walk with me.”

  Dr. Bowen fell into step beside her. “Was that a medical exam I saw you performing in there?”

  “An informal one, yes.”

  “And what is your prognosis?”

  “Spare me the sarcasm. I’m just trying to determine if we have a common assailant.”

  “Her symptoms wouldn’t show until tomorrow.”

  Randall stopped at the main desk and waved over the male nurse from earlier. To Dr. Bowen, she said, “How about a blood test or ultrasound?”

  “If she’s like the others, both will be inconclusive until tomorrow.”

  “Ah, fuck me,” she sighed.

  “Wait a minute,” the nurse said as he arrived. “I asked you out first.”

  Randall gave him a baleful glare. “Are you always this funny, John, or just with me?”

  Nurse John’s smile revealed nicotine-stained teeth. “I’m always this funny. See, here’s gallows humor.” He wrapped his stethoscope into a noose around his neck, held up the ends with one hand, and stuck out his tongue in a death grimace.

  “Hey, that’s pretty good,” Dr. Bowen said.

  Randall tied the mouth of the clothes bag into a knot. “I’m not in the mood. Now, please page the SANE and ask her to start the PERK exam.”

  SANE stood for Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner; PERK for Physical Evidence and Recovery collection Kit.

  Nurse John pouted. “That’s not very funny at all.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Randall had two more stops to make before going to the crime scene. The first was the ER waiting room. She found Heager standing by as Margaret Connolly sat drinking coffee and grimacing like it was sewage.

  Margaret stood up and regarded her with wide eyes. “How is she?”

  “You can go in now. They’re getting ready to collect evidence. They’ll need your help keeping her calm.” Randall said that last bit pointedly.

  “Good. And I want to remind them to do certain things for her.”

  “Mrs.—ah, Margaret,” Heager said, “they’re experts at this. You should leave the doctoring to them.”

  Ignoring him, Margaret disposed of her coffee (much to Randall’s dismay) and hurried past. At the glass security doors, she called back, “Thanks for everything, detective. I know I’m being difficult.”

  “No more than any other mother.”

  When Margaret was gone, Heager hoisted his gun belt a bit higher and shook his head. Randall decided she liked him better like this, when he was just being a good cop and not the Casanova of the break room. She was glad to have his help tonight.

  “She’s really fixated on that Eric Gensler guy,” Heager said.

  “I know. I’ll probably wake up the magistrate and get an arrest warrant for him.”

  “For rape?”

  “No, that’s still uncertain. I’ll just go for simple assault and battery for that fight in the car. But if there’s a DNA match later or he admits it, then yeah, it’ll be a two-sixty-one. Hopefully then we’ll put an end to all this.”

  Heager smiled with a corner of his mouth. “You really think that’ll happen?”

  “Of course not.”

  Chuckling, the patrol officer handed over his notes for the night. Randall was pleased to
see he’d already acquired a case number. She thanked him, then asked him to pick up the PERK when the exam was over and transport it to the Crime Scene Section laboratory in Fairfax City. “Take this, too,” she said, hoisting the bag of clothes. She paused to label it with an evidence tag and to record the chain of custody.

  “CAD me when you get that warrant, and I’ll help,” Heager said.

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Randall headed to her next stop, leaving the Emergency Department down a side hallway. It went through a spacious area straight out of a shopping mall, complete with a sandwich bar and gift shop. She turned right past a wide staircase to enter the lobby of the Inova Women’s Center. Here, she bypassed the registration desk, flashing her badge although the staff knew her on sight. She took an elevator to the seventh floor and proceeded to a ward that the hospital had recently designated as an isolation area.

  Through a set of double doors freshly labeled, “Restricted Access: Authorized Personnel ONLY,” she approached a nurse’s desk. Dr. Bowen stood there scowling at a patient’s chart.

  “Doctor? Something wrong?”

  Bowen didn’t look up. “Everything. You’ll see when you go in.”

  “Are they both sleeping?”

  “No. The only way I can get those girls to sleep is to sedate them. Right now, I’m reluctant to do that.”

  “I’m going in to talk to them.” She took a step toward the first patient’s room. “Have you seen the new crisis counselor around—Cassandra Elliott?”

  Bowen finally tore his eyes off the chart. “Isn’t she in the ER?”

  “No, I didn’t see her the whole time I was there.”

  “That’s strange.”

  Randall sighed and resumed walking. She assumed someone would page a back-up counselor for Daniella—somebody competent this time. Dammit, she hated sloppiness. She made a mental note to ensure the girl was transferred up here, where all the other patients except for the rape victims had been cleared out at the police department’s request. The longer they could keep the public from discovering this freak show, the better. She knew from experience that camera crews and tabloid journalists would only complicate things.