“I’m getting that impression… And, believe me, right now I appreciate that more than you know.”
It grew quiet in the room except for the noises of the staff out in the hall. I rested my head back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling for a long while, contemplating the acoustic tiles as I tried to ignore the various aches that hadn’t benefited from a hypodermic full of local anesthetic. After a minute or two, a curious thought flitted through my brain, and I rolled my head to face Velvet once again.
“How did you get in here anyway?” I asked. “I seem to recall a cop standing outside the door when the doctor left earlier. It looked like he was guarding it or something.”
“I told him I was your wife,” she replied.
“You did what?”
She smiled. “Calm down, I’m only kidding.”
“Okay…I just didn’t figure you for that sort of levity.”
“I have my moments,” she replied. Then, she shrugged and continued, “Actually, it didn’t seem to be a problem. I just asked if I could check on you, and they let me right in. Maybe it was because I already gave a statement and…”
She was interrupted by a quick knock then the door swinging open. A petite, dark-haired woman clad in scrubs came in then shut the barrier behind her.
“Oh, hello,” she said, noticing Velvet. “I’m Doctor Miller… You are?”
“Doctor Rieth,” Velvet replied, shaking her hand.
Doctor Miller canted her head to the side and furrowed her brow.
Before she could say anything else, Velvet offered, “I’m a different kind of doctor.” She nodded in my direction and added, “Actually, I’m only here because I’m a friend of Rowan’s. I was just keeping him company.”
Doctor Miller gave her a quick smile, “I see. Well, I need to go over a few things with Mister Gant, so…”
“Say no more,” she told her before she could finish the spiel. “I need to go get a cup of coffee anyway.” Glancing in my direction, she added. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Yeah,” I returned. “Do me a favor and have a cup for me while you’re at it.”
“Will do.”
After Velvet left, the doctor turned her attention back to me.
“So, how are you feeling, Mister Gant?”
“Pretty much like I was run over by a truck,” I replied.
“The way I understand it, you almost were.”
“Yeah, there is that.”
She opened a chart and scanned the papers inside. “I wanted to ask you something. You mentioned earlier that the only medication you had been taking lately is aspirin?”
“That’s right.”
“How often?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “A few times a day I guess.”
“How many is a few?”
“I don’t know… Six… Maybe eight.”
She frowned. “What dosage?”
“Just a handful.”
She looked at me and frowned even harder, “Seriously?”
“Well, not a big handful. I guess maybe six or seven. Or ten or twelve. Depends on when I was taking it and how bad I hurt.”
“At a time?”
“Yeah.”
“Eighty-one or three hundred twenty-five milligram?”
“Whatever regular old aspirin is. Three twenty-five I guess.”
“Why?”
“Chronic headache.”
“Have you seen a doctor about it?”
“Trust me, it’s not that kind of headache.”
“Really. What kind of headache is it then?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I sighed.
“So, you haven’t been taking the aspirin on doctor’s orders?”
“Not unless I’m now a doctor.”
“Honestly, I had you pegged as more intelligent than this, Mister Gant. You do realize that OTC meds are still drugs, don’t you? Self-medicating is extremely dangerous. Especially the way you were doing it.” She huffed out a disgusted breath before continuing, “Did you even bother to read the directions on the bottle?”
“Of course. Take two, yadda, yadda…”
“Mister Gant,” her tone remained serious. “Do I have to spell this out for you? The reason you collapsed is that you are severely dehydrated and have dangerously low blood pressure; both of which are symptoms of severe salicylate poisoning.”
“So, what you’re saying is I overdosed on aspirin?”
“To put it simply, yes. Given the amount you said you were taking, I’m surprised you aren’t in much worse shape.”
I let my head fall back on the pillow. “Doc, you have no idea.”
“What do you mean?”
I lifted my head back up. “I mean I just let a killer get away because of a goddamned headache. You can’t imagine how that feels.”
She thumbed through the papers in the file then looked back at me with a confused expression. “Are you a police officer?”
“No,” a new voice answered for me. “But, he likes to pretend he is.”
Doctor Miller turned and at the same time, I looked over toward the door. Neither of us had noticed the new arrival until now.
“Detective Fairbanks,” I said with a dispirited sigh.
“You done with him, Doctor?” he asked, flashing his ID.
“Actually, I’d like to admit him for observation. Will that be a problem?”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not stay,” I interjected.
“You shut up,” Fairbanks instructed, glancing at me. “Right now you’re in custody, and what you want doesn’t matter.” Looking back to Doctor Miller, he continued, “If you need to keep him, that’s no problem, as long as he doesn’t go anywhere. But, right now I do need to talk to him if you don’t mind.”
“Be my guest,” she replied. “I’ll go get the paperwork started.”
The detective waited for her to leave then looked back at me with a stoic expression. After a moment of playing stare down, he said, “I thought we had an agreement. So I’m sure you can imagine my utter dismay at finding out you were still in town.”
“You didn’t really expect me to leave, did you?”
“Yes, actually I did.”
“Well, sorry about that, but I wasn’t finished here yet.”
“What? You just aren’t happy with your visit until you cause a multi-car pileup on one of the busiest streets in the city?”
“That was unfortunate,” I replied.
“Unfortunate?” he harrumphed. “I was thinking more like unconscionable. You’re just lucky no one got hurt. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up getting sued by a couple of people, and I wouldn’t blame them a bit if they do.”
“I was chasing the killer,” I said.
“That’s what your friend out there told us in her statement,” he agreed with a nod. “But, tell me this—how do you know you were chasing a killer and not just some frightened woman who thought you were going to rape her or something? We have at least two eyewitnesses who claim they saw her running from you screaming just exactly that.”
“You wouldn’t…”
He held up a hand to stop me. “Yeah, I know, I wouldn’t believe you if you told me. That seems to be your excuse for everything.”
“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth.”
“Yeah, whatever. Sounds like an excuse to me.”
“If I told you, you would think I’m insane.”
“Hell, Gant, I already think you’re insane.”
“Look, you said you’d talked to Ben, and he filled you in on this case.”
He nodded. “You mean this case that you aren’t actually working? Yeah, he did.”
“That’s not the point. What I’m trying to tell you is that the woman I was chasing is Annalise Devereaux. She’s your killer.”
“No, Mister Gant, she is a person of interest to the Major Case Squad in Saint Louis,” he corrected.
“Call her what
ever you want, I’m telling you she killed two men in Saint Louis, at the very least one here, and who knows how many more. She’s been implicated in…”
He cut me off. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. We cops actually know how to work telephones. Some of us even go so far as to use fax machines and email you know.”
“Then why wasn’t someone watching the cemetery? If you knew about her then all of this could have been avoided.”
“Mister Gant, in case you haven’t noticed, we have our hands full around New Orleans. Hell, I’m just down here as a volunteer. I was actually expecting to shuffle papers for a few weeks to help out, but I ended up on the streets working a homicide, and somehow that managed to get me hung with you. All I can figure is that I’ve done something to piss off God because my life normally doesn’t go like this.”
I ignored the sardonic remark and told him, “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
“Right,” he nodded emphatically. “We need to worry about the mystery woman you chased through traffic.”
“Annalise Devereaux.”
“So you say.”
“She hasn’t come forward and pressed charges, has she?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“She won’t.”
“Statistically, you might be correct. Whoever she is, she’s probably scared shitless to even come out of her house after what you did.”
“That’s not the reason. She won’t come forward because she’s…”
“…Annalise Devereaux, evil killer woman. I know. You’ve told me. So what? You still assaulted her.”
“What I was going to say is that she knows you’re looking for her.”
“How?”
“I told her.”
“You told her we’re looking for her?” he asked calmly, although his expression didn’t fit his tone.
“Yes.”
“Mind if I ask why? And, don’t tell me I wouldn’t believe it if you told me.”
“I don’t know,” I told him.
“Well that’s new and different,” he hmmphed. “Assuming that you are correct, and this woman actually is Miz Devereaux, did it cross your mind that telling her we’re looking for her might make her harder to find?”
“Not at the time, no. Besides, don’t you give that sort of info to the media so it can be broadcast on the news?”
“Not always. And, definitely not right away,” he replied. “This time was one of those definite not yet situations.”
“Well…I guess I screwed up then.”
“You guess? Holy crap, Gant, you’re just a goddamned joy to have around, aren’t you?” he said, his sarcasm expanding to fill the room. “Do you do this sort of shit to Detective Storm too? Because if you do I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you yet.”
“Ben and I work together a little better than you and I seem to.”
“We aren’t working together, Gant. You’re just getting in the way and being a huge pain in my ass.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Really? How’s that? What did I ever do to you?”
“I’m trying to help my wife. You already know that.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m just not entirely clear on how chasing after a person of interest in a murder investigation you have nothing to do with is helping your wife.”
“I can’t really explain it.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess—I wouldn’t believe you if you told me.”
Instead of responding to his sarcasm, I simply replied, “You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
“I did that once already, and look what it got me.”
“Listen, Detective Fairbanks…”
“No, Gant, you listen. You’ve been in town less than forty-eight hours and you’re already vying for your own position next to Katrina as the worst natural disaster ever to hit this city. You rank somewhere on the order of an empty-handed FEMA bureaucrat at this point, so nobody is really interested in what you have to say.”
“Fine,” I spat. “So what now? Am I under arrest?”
“If I had my way, you sure as hell would be,” he barked in return. “But apparently Storm isn’t the only friend you have in high places, so technically you’re in protective custody.”
“Constance?” I asked.
“I have no idea who,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But, based on the call we received, somebody at the FBI has a vested interest in you for some unknown reason. Hell, we’ve actually been looking for you for them since this morning.”
“Looking for me?”
“That’s right. Apparently, the feds would like for you to come home.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, as much as we’d like to bury you under the jail right now, we aren’t going to. But, as soon as the doctor cuts you loose, I’m personally sticking your ass on a plane back to Saint Louis and letting them deal with you.”
CHAPTER 16:
Initially, I was adamant that I had no intention of allowing them to admit me to the hospital. However, my argument didn’t last long. To his credit, Detective Fairbanks did give me a choice, limited as it was. The way he explained it, my options were to get on the first airplane bound for Saint Louis, to stay at the hospital until the doctor released me, or to spend the remainder of my time here in New Orleans inspecting the inside of their lockup. Since I was already dwelling on his bad side, I had no doubt he was serious.
Unfortunately, after a short exchange with Doctor Miller, he retracted the option of immediate travel home, which had been my preferred choice. And, since I was technically in police custody, there was no room for me to negotiate that point. Apparently, disliked as I was, they were still intent on me not dying until they were in the clear. I had no doubt this was based solely on an issue of liability rather than any true concern for my continued well-being.
So, while I was no fan of hospitals, the idea of spending the night in jail was even less appealing; therefore, the decision became an instantaneous no-brainer. At least I was going to have a clean bed in which to sleep for a change.
I was also told that my rental car had been impounded, which I’m certain wasn’t going to sit well with the company that owned it, but there wasn’t much I could do. And, of course, it didn’t stop there. They took the key to my room at the Airline Courts in order to collect my luggage and anything else I had felt comfortable with leaving there unattended. I was, however, assured they would be returned to me, as well as the rest of my personal effects, upon my release and once I had been escorted to the airport.
Since the police had already taken Velvet’s statement, and they didn’t see her as the threat they saw me, she was free to leave. She had graciously offered to hang loose for a while once I was settled in, however I was well aware she still had an hour or so drive ahead of her to get back to Baton Rouge. As much as I would have appreciated the company, I felt as though I had disrupted her life more than enough already, so I urged her to go home. Eventually, she gave in, though only after I promised to contact her if I needed any further help. It seemed I had made at least one friend while I was here.
Now, to occupy the void, I had been trying to watch TV. I managed to catch the last half of a re-broadcast episode of Firefly on a cable station, but after that, all I seemed to be able to find were so-called “reality shows” that were worse than a waste of time. After running up and down the gamut of channels, I switched it off. Dragging myself out of the bed for the third time since arriving in the room, I made my way to the bathroom to empty my bladder. They were still running IV’s into me at full bore. While I had insisted after my second trip to the toilet that I must be fully re-hydrated by now, I was informed that I was being flushed out. A catheter was offered if I felt the repeated trips were too annoying, but I declined, promising instead to fill the sample cups each time I went. Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy them.
I finished executing my duty and had
just rolled the IV stand back into place next to the bed before sitting down when a nurse came into the room.
“How are you feelin’, Mistuh Gant?” she asked.
“About as good as can be expected,” I grumbled. “By the way, I just left you a present in the bathroom.”
“For me? Why, thank you. Ya’ shouldn’t have,” she replied in a bubbly voice.
“You’re way too cheerful,” I told her.
She ignored the statement and went about checking my IV then my pulse and blood pressure. When she was finished, she asked, “Do ya’ need anythin’?”
“Not that I can think of,” I replied.
“All right then, my name is Adrienne, and I’ll be takin’ care of you this shift. If you need anythin’…”
I held up my hand and interrupted her, my voice somewhat astringent. “Just press the call button, yeah, I know…” When I finished the comment, I sighed heavily then said, “Look, Adrienne. I apologize. That was rude. This just hasn’t been a particularly wonderful day for me, so my mood isn’t what you would call good.”
“I understand,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks.”
“Besides, dawlin’,” she added, grinning. “Dawn already warned me you were a grouch.”
“Yeah, making friends and influencing people. That’s me.”
“I’ll just pick up your specimen an’ I’ll be back ta’ check on ya’ later. Okay?”
“Looking forward to it,” I told her as I twisted around and lay back on the bed.
She headed out, stopping by the bathroom as she went. When she came out I called over to her, “Hey, Adrienne. You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”
She glanced at her watch. “Ten to eight.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When she was gone, I sat back up on the bed and reached over to the telephone. I dialed for an outside line then started punching in the toll free line and pass code of my calling card. Once I heard the fresh dial tone, I stabbed in a number I’d come to memorize over the past week. After a pair of rings, the operator came on the line.
“Felicity O’Brien’s room, please,” I asked.
“Whom should I say is calling?”
The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 13
