by Terri Nolan
Then she heard Madi’s voice. “Your skin is so dry. The hospital staff doesn’t do anything to keep a girl looking good. Well, Dr. White is the exception. He’s the plastic surgeon that fixed your face. Guess what? You got Botox in your cheek to keep the muscles relaxed while you heal. He said it will keep the scarring down. What about that? Get the shit beat out of you, get Botox.”
Ron’s rummy voice interjected, “Dr. Keyes said to keep it light and positive.”
“Don’t censor me, Muscle Man. I know my cousin. She’d want to know everything.”
Birdie was stuck in the twilight between sedation and wakening. She heard their voices and the steady beeps and whirling of hospital machinery, but couldn’t respond. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t in heaven after all.
Madi continued. “Just so you know you’re in ICU at USC Medical Center. A patrol cop from Central found you naked and crumpled on the street in Little Tokyo. Three days ago. Remember the lawyer, Martin Reidy? Well, you were found in the exact same spot. So of course, the detectives are thinking that the bastards are connected. Anyway, the Central guy thought he saw a sign of life so he started compressions. He kept you going until the paramedics arrived, but you were given an overdose of drugs and you had what’s called pull … ah … plum—”
“Pulmonary edema,” said Ron.
“Yeah,” said Madi. “What he said. Anyway, they kick started your heart. Gave you two injections of adrenaline, but you couldn’t breath on your own because of fluid in your lungs, so you were put to sleep with a breathing machine, but you can breathe on your own now. As soon as you wake up Maggie and Gerard are moving you to Cedars-Sinai. I suppose you might remember that you were hit by a car, but you don’t have any broken bones except the ones in your face. Mostly it’s really bad bruises.
“You’ve had 24/7 security. A bunch of Hollywood uniforms are in a rotation. It was wild at first. Everyone was going crazy because you were missing for a week and Uncle Gerard and Ron and all the Keanes and half the Whelans were out looking for you. That pissed off some detectives named Morgan and Seymour. They’re treating this like a homicide because your captors meant to murder you. Anyway, they want to talk to you because they figure you’ll make a good witness.”
Madi finished massaging Birdie’s legs and started on her right arm. “You were so dehydrated when you came in that they had to put a catheter in your chest because there were no veins. And guess what? While you were captive, you lost a ton of weight. You look anorexic now. Did you know that a corpse loses five pounds a day? Well, you were mostly dead.
“I haven’t told you the biggest scoop of all. Emmett is missing. Everyone thinks he’s the one who took you because of the threats and all. Patrick is out of his mind. It’s been hell. Our guys are supporting the Whelans even though some of us think its Emmett’s doing. We’ve had lots of prayer circles. You know how I hate that shit. But what can I do? I have to support my boyfriend and his family, too. Family is the most important. We’ve all learned that lesson this past week. Did I tell you that Father Frank administered last rites? It was real sad.”
Birdie was fully awake now. Madi was right, of course. She knew Birdie would be calmed by the clinical objectivity. It’d give her some small degree of control over her emotional status. Birdie’d want to know everything. Sooner rather than later. And not dipped in chocolate sauce. What happened to her wasn’t the most pressing thought on her mind. Nor the why. Mostly, she had spiritual business with Father Frank.
She tried to open her eyes, but felt nothing more than a flutter. She quickly became frustrated due to an urgent desire to get up and take action. Her brain functioned, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She tried to speak, but felt nothing except tiny knives lining her throat. She wanted fresh, cool water. She wanted fat, ripe, juicy navel oranges. She felt Madi put warm socks on her feet. She heard Madi prattle on about having to work with her high profile actor client for the Golden Globes while Birdie was missing and how difficult that had been. She heard the apology behind the words. Birdie didn’t care. Her circumstance had been a reprehensible reality. Every individual who cared for her should have the freedom—without judgment—to cope in any manner they saw fit.
When the first words came from Birdie’s mouth it took the three of them by surprise. “Where’s Matt?” she mumbled.
Madi jumped up. “Yes!” She opened the door and announced, “Birdie’s awake.”
Ron was instantly at her side, a pained expression on his face, the line between his brows a bit deeper. He placed a hand on her cheek and said, “Welcome back.”
“Father Frank,” said Birdie.
A nurse rushed into the room. “It’s about time,” she said. “You’ve been off sedation for twelve hours. Dr. Keyes will be thrilled you’re alert. Let’s sit you up some.” She raised the head of the bed and adjusted the pillows. “Your husband hasn’t left your side. He and your cousin can keep you company while we wait for the doctor.”
“What husband?”
“Sore throat? That’s from the breathing tube.”
“Oranges?”
“Not yet, honey. I’ll be right back with some ice chips.”
Birdie looked at the bandages circling her bony wrists. She squinted at Ron, who leaned over her as if admiring some priceless porcelain doll.
“Ligature wounds,” he said.
“Husband?” said Birdie.
“Gerard wanted another set of ears when he talked to the ER doc. Only family was allowed so he appointed me your husband. We’ve been married a month.”
“What about Mom?”
“Maggie was too emotional.”
“How do you feel?” said Madi.
“Twisted inside out.”
“You look like it too, but it will get better. How about a warm blanket? They keep this room so goddamn cold that you’re constantly shivering.” She removed the top blanket and gave it to Ron. Then she removed a fresh one from a container that looked like an oversized chafing dish. She laid it over Birdie. “Feels good, huh? I’m going to make some calls and let the family know you’re back with the living. Love you.” She kissed Birdie gently on the forehead before departing.
Ron kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m so sorry, Birdie.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t stop them.” A tear fell on her forehead. He turned his head away and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, cleared his throat. “I got the plate. We tracked it to a young couple with twins. When we arrived at the house, the van seats and the baby restraints were sitting in the driveway. The couple didn’t even know their vehicle had been stolen.”
“Prints?”
Ron nodded. “Two sets not belonging to the family. One was a hit on AFIS: Carl Raica, DOB 5/16/82, five-eleven, 200, wanted in Louisiana for felony drugs. The other is unknown.”
“Photo?”
Ron pulled it from his back pocket and held it up. She studied it. He was bald, dark skinned, round faced with a broad nose and widely spaced brown eyes. She shook her head. “I only saw a white guy. Van?”
“Abandoned near the tar pits.”
“Seymour and Morgan?”
“Investigating your abduction. The cops posted outside your door have been instructed to call them as soon as you woke up. Gerard’s in the lounge. Louis dragged your mom and Nora home.”
“And you?”
“I refused to budge.”
“What time is it?”
“0845. Saturday, January 28th.”
Gerard entered the room. He had aged ten years. His mouth had jowls like parentheses. His eyes red with too much drink, too little sleep, and more than enough worry. And if possible, his hair seemed whiter. “Sweetheart.” He collapsed into the bedside chair and leaned into his daughter. Kissed her forehead.
Birdie patted his arm. “I’m okay, Dad. Let’s do this.”
“I’ll play witness,” clarified Birdie. “But first I need that ice.”
Ron nodded and left the room.
“Your poor mother has been an absolute wreck. Had to be practically sedated.”
“Not unlike yourself? You look old, Dad. I’m sorry to put you all through this hell.”
“The only people who will be sorry are the sonsofbitches who took you.”
Ron returned and fed her a few pieces of ice from a plastic spoon. The ice slowly melted in her mouth like a magical elixir. Nothing had ever felt better. She took a shallow breath and slowly told them what she could. “Two men. One was white, but I didn’t get a likeness. Neither man had an accent or speech pattern. I was held in a pump house. Smelled crude oil. Music played nearby all day and night.
“A third man came. They called him ‘company.’” Her lip trembled. She touched the swelling, felt the stitches. “He …” She trembled. “I never saw … never heard his voice … just smelled him … cigarettes, rancid oil—almost feminine … I … I felt him …”
Ron’s scowl turned murderous.
Gerard said, “Its okay, Bird, you’re very brave.”
“They kept me drugged.” She rested a moment. “The company man wasn’t Emmett.”
Gerard once again looked at Ron for clarification.
“Did you hear everything Madi said?” said Ron.
Birdie nodded.
“How can you be so sure?” said Gerard.
“I just know.”
A man and the nurse walked into the room. “At last you’re awake. I’m Dr. Keyes and this is Rosanne. I’m going to ask your father and husband to leave so I can examine you.”
“I love you, sweetheart,” said Gerard.
Ron leaned over and whispered, “We’ll be back later.”
“Feeling pain?” said Dr. Keyes.
“Discomfort mostly. Give me the rundown. No candy coating.”
“Yeah, your father said it’d be like this. He said, ‘she’ll wake up and start bossing everyone around.’ Well, I’m glad you’re here to do the bossing.”
He talked as he poked, listened, and prodded. “You came into the trauma unit in critical condition. Hypothermic, dehydrated, with an excess of fluid in your lungs. Your respiration depressed and irregular. We kept you sedated and intubated. You also came in with many body contusions, which caused an abundance of bleeding. We’ve given you vitamin K. We also administered pressors to stabilize your blood pressure and you’ve been receiving fluid resuscitation.”
“What happened to my face?”
“Your right zygomatic arch was fractured. You have a broken nose and some facial lacerations. Don’t worry. Dr. White is the best plastic surgeon around.”
“What about down there?”
“Deep abrasions to the vulva. Indicative of nonconsensual sex. A team did a complete exam and collected evidence for the police. Your family is going to transfer you to Cedars-Sinai. I’ve already made contact with a crime counselor to meet with you there.”
“When will I be going?”
“It depends on how stable you are. Your blood pressure is still low. We’ll take a chest x-ray to check on the fluid in your lungs.”
“I feel something between my legs. Pressure.”
“It’s a catheter,” said Rosanne.
“I’d like it removed,” said Birdie.
“It needs to stay for now,” said Dr. Keyes. “Your condition is still serious.”
“Can you tell me what I was drugged with?”
“Preliminary tests indicate an opiate. We’re waiting on the finals.”
“Alcohol?”
“Negative.”
“Who knows I was raped?”
“The detectives, your father, and your husband. There’s no shame.”
“I don’t want the stigma or pity. What about pregnancy?”
Dr Keyes squeezed her hand. “We didn’t take chances. We administered drugs to prevent pregnancy and treated for STDs. We’ll monitor your blood for HIV and hepatitis.”
“What else do I need to worry about?”
“There’s still a chance of pneumonia. Your kidneys are bruised. Your body was traumatized. It needs lots of rest and recovery.”
Rosanne said, “That’s hard information to take all at once. We’re here if you need anything. You’re getting some pretty serious pain meds so you shouldn’t feel any.”
“I’m hungry. Thirsty. Can I eat?”
“Not yet,” said Dr. Keyes. “Ice is okay. Maybe some bland food tomorrow. That will be up to your doctor at Cedars. Your physician, Dr. Ryan, is up to speed and will take over your care at Cedars. There are two detectives who’ve been anxious to talk to you.”
“Might as well get it over with. When they come, send them in.”
Dr. Keyes patted her arm. “You’re doing great. Your father said you were stubborn. That, I think, is what saved your life. Keep up the good work.”
“Wrong,” she said. “I’m not stubborn. I’m around for an entirely different reason.”
Dr. Keyes just smiled.
It didn’t matter why Birdie survived. She was just another life saved.
Broken. But saved nonetheless.
thirty-four
Detective Morgan’s straight lips expressed condolence. Pity. “Dr. Keyes said you granted permission to talk. Thanks for that.”
“So you’re going to be nice to me now?” said Birdie.
“We’re nice all the time,” added Detective Seymour, “but not everyone sees us as the good guys. What can you tell us?”
She prepared to tell them the same information she already gave Gerard and Ron when Seymour’s cell interrupted the anticipation. He looked at the number, raised an eyebrow, and flipped it open. He listened intently for several minutes and said, “Thank you. We’re on our way.”
“You already talked to your father and Ron Hughes?” said Seymour, accusingly.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you just love those jurisdictional crossovers?” he said to Morgan.
“Who?” said Morgan.
“County,” said Seymour
The two detectives huddled and had a whispered conversation.
“What’s going on?” said Birdie.
“Your crime scene’s been found,” said Morgan. “With three DBs.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “How can this be?”
“It does seem suspicious,” said Seymour.
“Yes, it does,” said Morgan. “Finding it first before anybody else? Someone knew where to look, huh? If we get the tiniest whiff that any Keane or that San Diego cop had anything to do with those three bodies, we won’t cut them any slack—no matter the provocation.”
They turned to leave. “Wait,” she said. “How do you know it’s my crime scene?”
“Running shoes with your ID tag were found,” said Seymour.
“As was Emmett Whelan’s dead body,” said Morgan.
_____
Nothing could cheer Birdie. Not the rose-colored walls in the spacious room at Cedars-Sinai. Not the flowers or cards or balloons. Not even the company of her mother, Aunt Nora, and Madi. The women were trying to help, but Birdie felt overloaded by their constant chatter of distraction while helplessly tethered to a hospital bed by tubes and a catheter. She wanted to get up and walk. She’d been bound in the pump house for a week. Couldn’t anyone understand that she wanted freedom?
The men were out conducting cop business and her nerves were hyper-firing. She wanted news from the crime scene so badly that an electric-charged anxiety made her restless. Cranky.
Then there was the other stuff. Not the violence done upon her. Bodies are designed to heal and repair. Hers would be okay. No, the sp
iritual journey mattered most. The torment of arriving in heaven and then delivered back to earth, memories that tortured her—the profound revelation of a big lie and the deliverers of that lie, the raw betrayal and hurt embellished upon her by people who claimed to love her. It was too much to bear. She needed to speak with Father Frank. He alone would be able to guide her through this crisis.
_____
Birdie woke in the middle of the night to find Ron slumped in the bedside chair, head on the edge of the bed, his hand placed over hers. Her fingers moved and he became instantly alert.
“Shouldn’t you be home by now?” she said.
“I took vacation time.” He raised his arms and stretched.
“Some vacation. Is it true about Emmett?”
“Yeah.”
“And the other two?”
“The guy from Louisiana. The other is unknown.”
“Do you have a photo?”
“I knew you’d ask.” He picked up his camera off the tray table and clicked through the images stored in his camera. After finding the white guy, he held it up for her.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Does he have a name?”
“Not yet.”
“How is it possible you found the exact pump house? I mean, there are so many in the Southland. Some are nothing more than cinderblock rooms while others are hidden inside clapboard bungalows.”
“The music you heard was a clue. Gerard’s adjutant was aware of a 24-hour music store that had speakers outside the store. He didn’t know the name or location, only the reputation. Gerard made a few calls. We were directed to a place near Compton Airport. Once we found the music store, he drove a grid until we found a pump house. Neither of us wanted to touch it, so he called L.A. Sheriff.”
“How long had they been dead?”
“Couple days.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“The theory is that the two guys dumped your body in Little Tokyo and came back for either payment or maybe a debriefing when Emmett murdered them and then killed himself.”
