The female nurse was blonde and petite. She peered up at him before lowering her head into her hands. Her eyes were red and swollen. A tall male nurse sat beside her, his arm protectively wrapped around her shoulder. He spoke first.
“We’ve told the police everything.”
“I understand…”
“Everything was fine…” he continued. “Angie’s parents had finally left the unit to go down to the Cafeteria. Mr. Kessler wanted a cigarette. They hadn’t left that room since the poor girl was admitted. Sixteen hours. That’s a long time. I was logging narcotics behind the desk and Rebecca was writing down doctor’s orders in patient’s charts. Right there…”
“Anybody enter the Unit during that time? Dan inquired, pulling out a pad and scribbling down notes.
“No, not that I’m aware of. The next thing we know, Rebecca smelled smoke…”
“Did you?”
“No. I told Rebecca that… I’ve been nursing a cold, so I haven’t been able to smell much of anything the last couple of days.”
Rebecca looked up. “The elevator door opened, we saw them exit and walk toward us, Mrs. Kessler and her husband entered the Unit… I could see them right in front of the desk…” She cast her gaze to the chair she had been seated in. “Anyway, I stood up to greet them and, for some reason, we all looked toward Angie’s room and… and… God, it was just awful. The room was filled with flames. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to do.” Rebecca started crying again. The male nurse grabbed another tissue for her and himself. They both started blotting and blowing their noses. “Next thing I know, Mrs. Kessler took off, running toward the room. I don’t think her husband knew what to do. We all just sort of stood for a second and watched. I know he tried to grab her, but she fought back. She took off. Just like that. He couldn’t catch her in time.”
The male nurse added to the story. “Next, we see Mrs. Kessler in that room, standing in the middle of those flames trying to extinguish the fire herself…”
“She looked like a poor little bird, just flapping her arms and screaming…”
The two sounded like an old married couple, completing each other’s sentences.
“It was horrible.” Rebecca buried her face in her hands again. “Just horrible.”
“And you saw no one enter the unit from the time Mr. and Mrs. Kessler left and when they returned from the cafeteria?”
They conferred with one another, and in similar fashion shook their heads “no.”
“Nobody. Not that I can remember.”
“Well, somebody gained access. Somewhere. Are there other stairways. Emergency exits other than the one I just used? Could somebody have entered the Unit without you knowing it?”
“They could have come up the back, I suppose. But, we would have seen them if they entered the room.”
“The door was cracked open. Angie was under constant observation. We were getting ready to transfer her to the surgical floor downstairs.”
“The door was open?” Dan inquired, sizing up the distance from the Nurse’s Station to her private room.
The male nurse stood up. He started waving his hands flamboyantly. “I had just checked on Angie. I was the one who suggested that the Kessler’s go down and take a break.” Now, he started crying. He yanked at another tissue and started dabbing at his eyes. “It’s probably all my fault.”
“Who pulled the fire alarm?”
“I told Rebecca to. I ran to the room, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the hallway and started putting the flames out myself. As much as I could. The alarm went off automatically. We have fire drills routinely here in the Hospital, but you just never think it will actually happen. Code Red. I called it! Then, nurses from the other floors started coming up to assist us in transporting our other patients to safety. It’s all part of the drill. I contained the fire as much as I could… at least it didn’t spread.”
“By the time the fire trucks arrived, it was too late. The fire had pretty much devoured everything in the room.”
“Where is Mr. Kessler?”
Rebecca piped up. “Oh, God, that poor man. They had to sedate him. By injection. He went crazy. They transported him to another floor on a gurney. It was just too much for him. To take it all in. It was too much for all of us.”
Dan thanked them, and left the two nurses with their used tissues and each other. He walked toward Angie’s room, now sealed off. Firefighters, carrying large gray hoses paraded past him. Police officers patrolled surrounding rooms looking for stray sparks. Dan recognized a few of the officers, familiar faces, but the atmosphere was dim and gloomy. Everybody remained quiet. The last of the firemen exited. They walked in assembly line-fashion to the back hallway where the Emergency Exit was located.
Dan entered Angie’s room, or what was left of it. The stale smell of smoke and water was strong and consuming. The windows had been broken. Shards of glass were sprayed all over the floor. With each step, Dan felt the crunch beneath his feet. The bed was nothing more than a skeleton of burned metal and spiraling gray funnels. Little plumes of withering smoke rose toward the ceiling from the wreckage. The surrounding area was black. The outer layer of paint and fabric had bubbled up and was stripped away. Bare.
“Nothing much left in here.” The weathered voice of Chief Abrams came from the doorway. His handkerchief covered his mouth. “The Coroner has taken what’s left of the bodies to the morgue.” He lowered his head, in the same way a father might react when a son or daughter disappointed him. “Sure will be glad when that guy from Washington gets here.”
Dan excused himself and reentered the off white hallway. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the FBI butting their noses into the case. On the other hand, he was looking forward to meeting Harry Wright again. He had been one of his teachers at the VICAP seminar held in Quantico. He held great respect and admiration for the man. Perhaps even some jealousy. Dan wanted to be the expert involved in this case. Perhaps, someday he would be.
Dan strolled by several empty rooms, opening doors, swinging them ajar enough to check interiors. Marooned in the middle of one room was a metal examining tray. Another had a large glass shelving unit layered to the ceiling with blue and green surgical kits. Others were similar to Angie’s. They sat empty, vacated, the patients transferred to other floors of the hospital.
Dan pushed the latch to the Emergency Exit door and entered into the landing of the stairwell. No alarm was in place. No signal of anyone entering or exiting. He stood there for a moment, looking down the steps. He took in the surrounding area scanning for clues, cigarette butts, gloves, surgical masks. Cameras. The area was clean, except for dirty boot tracks left behind from the firemen. Dan held onto the steel railing and looked up. Nothing. He reopened the emergency door and peaked down the hallway toward Angie’s room. He had a clear view. If he were the killer, he would have to wait. Here. Make sure the coast was clear. So, what did he do while he was waiting?
Dan closed the door and walked up the flight of stairs to the fifth floor landing. He looked in the corner of each step. An ardent breeze swirled. He shivered. Nothing. Damn! Totally unremarkable. He went back downstairs.
At the nurse’s station, Rebecca remained seated. The male nurse had left. “Does Staff use the emergency stairwell often?”
Rebecca wiped her nose with a tissue. “Sure, we all use it. All the time. When we don’t want to wait for the elevators.”
“So, the person who started the fire, if he were out there waiting, somebody or someone might have seen him, right? A staff member from another floor, maybe?” Dan sat down in a chair beside her.
“I guess. Sure.”
In the hallway, the elevator door opened. Ding. Dr. Garrison pushed through the barriers, walked down the hallway and entered into the Unit. Dan stood up to greet her.
“Dr. Garrison…”
Rebecca stood as well. By rote, out of respect, that silent, ongoing rivalry between doctor and nurse continually played out. Dr. Garrison moved aroun
d the reception desk and entered into the Nurse’s Station. “What in the hell happened here?”
“We’re not sure yet.” Dan answered.
At the elevator, more disorder. Commotion. That woman again. The one Dan saw at the crime scene, the one with the blonde hair. She pushed past the grip of Security and hurried toward the Unit. Two hospital guards in blue uniforms exited the elevator and chased after her.
Dan jumped up and moved around the desk. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit journalism.” He met the woman as she opened the doors. “Get the fuck out! What are you doing here anyway? Who let you up here?” Dan could feel his blood pressure begin to boil, his excitability increasing by the second. He grabbed the reporter by the arm and escorted her out the door and back down the hallway. Security watched on.
“Let go of me!” she screamed, releasing herself from his grip. “I will not leave!”
“How the hell did she get up here, anyway?” he asked the guards. This bitch knew exactly how to push every single one of his buttons.
“I have every right to be up here. As much as you do.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“And, don’t call me sweetheart!” Headstrong and defiant, she bullied her way back into the Unit while Dr. Garrison watched on, shaking her head. Dan thought he faintly heard the good Doctor call him an “asshole.”
“Please, just stop all of this.” Dr. Garrison had had enough. She exited the ICU and headed toward the elevators.
Dan followed. He stood beside her. After his raunchy display of anger, he waited a minute, a beat, and then went for lightness. “I can be an asshole. You’re right.”
She failed to get his humor. She said nothing. A girl after his own heart. He stalled, looked back toward the Unit, the Nurse’s Station. Inside, Rebecca was giving the blonde reporter an ear full.
The elevator door opened.
“I really would like to talk with you.”
Her eyes went dark and steely on him. “There isn’t much I care to say at this time, to you, or to anybody.” They entered the car together, each taking separate sides, each claiming their own personal territory. She pressed the button for the Lobby. Crossing her arms, she gave a huge sigh. Her body language was very specific. Closed. Shut down. Dan straightened his jacket, fixed his lopsided tie.
He recalled his first brief encounter with the good Doctor. He remembered his fantasy more specifically. He tried not to blush.
“Fine,” Dan said.
Heavy silence as they descended the four floors. And, to Dan’s surprise, express service. The metal doors opened to a crowd of people waiting to enter. Dan tagged along, slightly behind her. They passed by the Gift Shop. Small, pink stuffed elephants lined the windows. They headed in the direction of the main Lobby, past the large Information Desk when Dr. Garrison turned and confronted Dan.
“Detective Hammer.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you following me?”
For some strange reason, beyond Dan’s control, he blurted out, “… to ask you if you’d like to go for a cup of coffee, or a beer or something? It is your day off, isn’t it?”
For a minute, he thought he startled her, the notion sounded so absurd. He knew she wasn’t prepared. For that matter, neither was Dan. Then, as if a cloudy day miraculously turned sunny, a lightness crossed over her face and she smiled.
Out of frustration, disappointment, or not really knowing what else to do, Dan smiled back.
“Okay, I give up! You win!”
“What?” Dan fumbled for a response. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe his own charm or damned persistence. He took her arm, protectively, and escorted her through the revolving glass doors past a fanfare of unruly press gathering momentum outside.
“I guess they don’t call you Hammerhead for nothing,” she said en route.
“Who told you that?”
“Never mind.”
6:30 PM
Friday
23
“82 Queen. CLASSIC LOWCOUNTRY CUISINE. Step behind 82 Queen’s doors and you’ll enter into another world. This 18th century landmark captures Charleston’s romantic mystique, with seven splendid dining rooms, a turn-of-the-century garden courtyard, and an outdoor Raw Bar.”
Sydia sat alone at the wraparound mahogany bar sipping a medium-bodied, robust, berry-forward glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Being a compulsive reader, she perused the printed copy inside the restaurant’s matchbook. Nothing escaped Sydia’s grasp or gaze. She stashed the matches inside her coat pocket and took another swallow of wine, swirling it around her mouth, allowing the slow infusion of warmth to infiltrate her system. She was waiting for Detective Hammer to return from the little boy’s room.
A steady stream of customers, mostly young urban professionals, entered through the front door. Outfitted in tailored designer suits, they carried leather briefcases close to their sides, and ambled past the moderately-filled bar to the back of the restaurant. A short woman with shoulder length, grayish-brown, mousy hair greeted each party enthusiastically from behind the hostess stand. She escorted them outside through a garden patio, and followed a quaint cobblestone path surrounded by lush foliage to different dining rooms. Threaded intricately around each knobby limb of the canopied trees were tiny white fairy lights. It reminded Sydia of a trip to New York City, more specifically, having dinner with her Father at the Tavern on the Green. The food was so-so, at best banquet style cuisine, but gazing out the expansive floor to ceiling window and witnessing the enormous oak tree completely dressed up in sparkling lights was truly breathtaking.
Couples paraded past her, every so often stopping at the bar to say “Hello” to Rose, the female bartender. Sydia bought time by poking nonchalantly at bar mix, observing the proprietary way in which women held onto their men, only after spotting her sitting alone and a potential threat. Sydia registered the negativity in their thoughts. Whore. Black bitch. After all, she could spoil their chances. Ruin their hopes of marriage, children and the all encompassing fantasy of happily-ever-after. She took refuge by envisioning their simple, plebian lives. Boring. The most difficult decision of their day was determining which linens to use to set the evening dinner table. Or, which outfit to choose for that all-important office function. Or, should they keep their hair short, permed, or go au natural? How could they ever make a solid decision like pulling the plug on a patient breathing on life support? Or, for that matter, let that patient live like a vegetable the remainder of his or her comatose life.
Detective Hammer exited the bathroom and returned to the bar, rescuing her from her internal monologue, or more appropriately, her inner demons. Thankfully. He wiped the last hint of wetness from his hands on the seat of his pants. There was something so crude about this man. And yet, something so very attractive. Alive. She did one of her quick assessments as he inched closer. She imagined him to be in his mid-to late thirties. Probably ate his food far too fast, had a repugnant diet, and, at one point in his short, earthly existence, had or currently has a drinking problem. He appeared in relatively good shape, that is, for his age, although a small tire was forming around his midsection. A prerequisite for the job, she supposed. Besides those few minor disqualifications, she advised herself that Detective Dan Hammer was, quite honestly, in her humble evaluation, a sublime specimen of the male species!
“How’s the wine?” His voice was resonant, medium bodied like her Cabernet. He leaned in toward her when he spoke. Sydia could smell the lingering scent of a Peppermint Lifesaver. Her ego was hoping he’d taken it specifically for her.
“Terrific. Thanks. Am I the only one drinking this evening? Or are you on the wagon?” It unnerved Sydia when Hammer ordered a Perrier. Her fantasies of a romantic tryst immediately doused into the cold realities of “I’m on the job.” She swirled her finger around the top of her burgundy wine glass, a bad habit, waiting for it to cry. Alas, it wasn’t real crystal. She glanced at the assortment of tiny liquor bottles lined up in nice, organiz
ed rows inside the beautifully handcrafted wood cabinet behind the bar. Just the way she liked it.
Hammer looked in Rose’s direction and motioned for her to come over. “Rose…”
“Yes, yes…” she hurried from the other side of the bar.
“I would like you to meet a very special person.”
Sydia turned away, a bit shy and embarrassed. Her face flushed.
“Oh, yeah?” Rose had that in full-bloom appearance. Fleshy, with rosy cheeks and brown simple hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes twinkled as she peered across the bar, soaking up Hammer like a dry sponge ready to absorb.
“This is Doctor Garrison…” Hammer introduced her.
“Sydia. Please, call me Sydia, Detective Hammer.”
“Sydia?” Rose questioned. “That’s an interesting name. What’s the origin of it?”
Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) Page 17
