Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

  On Monday morning, Susan waved Laura up into her driveway on Lesure, near Six Mile. As Susan climbed into the front seat of the wagon, Laura pushed aside a plastic bag of disposable diapers.

  “Sorry for the mess. With a three-year-old you’ve always got toys and cookie crumbs and God knows what else left behind. I always keep extra diapers for the baby.”

  “No problem,” Susan said. “It’s actually a relief to be heading for classes this morning. I’ve been holed up all weekend, studying. Yours, my friend, is one of the few faces I’ve seen in days.” Susan picked up a cassette case off the floor and inspected it. “Hey, I didn’t know you were an Elvis fan.”

  “Yeah, always have been. Steve too.”

  “So how was your weekend?” Susan asked.

  “Grueling. My in-laws came down from Traverse City for Steve’s birthday and I had to work on that assignment from Dr. Monroe.”

  “Man, Laura, I don’t know how you do it. Kids and in-laws. Distractions totally derail me. Thank God I’m an only child. I can barely eat sometimes.”

  Laura glanced at her tall, thin friend. “That’s obvious, and you’d better watch it. Pretty soon, you’ll be as skinny as Harry. But I am beat.”

  “Too bad you had to be singled out for that extra assignment,” Susan said. “Out of all the people in the class, he picks you, mother of two kids.”

  “I deserved it,” Laura admitted with a shrug. “That word, decubiti. I’ll never forget it for the rest of my life.”

  “Sadistic,” Susan said. “People may find him attractive, but that Southern charm is lost on me.”

  “Charm or no charm, I finished the assignment.”

  “Hey,” Susan changed the subject. “I have some rather horrible news from my dad.”

  A chill went up Laura’s spine as she stared out at the looming Henry Ford Hospital. “Bad news?”

  “A murder last Wednesday night. Close to the school. My dad’s involved. Remember the morning of our presentation?”

  “Remember? I’ll be scarred forever,” Laura said, willing her heart to stop pounding. Not daring to blurt out, “Susan, just tell me.”

  “Well, I didn’t know it then, but Dad had met with Dean Burke, Dr. Collins, and Dr. Monroe earlier to notify them about this murder. He needed their cooperation. You know, interview students and hospital staff for possible witnesses; tell them how dangerous it still is out there.”

  “What?” Laura stopped breathing.

  “Dad said that they were all very accommodating except Dr. ‘Charming’ Monroe. He called Dad back, warning him not to harass his interns and residents. Said that the surgical team and everyone else were already overburdened trying to deal with the load of riot injuries. Said he didn’t want them further stressed by unnecessary police interrogations.”

  “What did your father do?” Laura struggled to get those few words out. She needed to keep the conversation going; to find out all she could about the police investigation, though that thought terrorized her.

  “Well, Dad said he just heard him out. Didn’t want to say anything to piss off the big-time doctor, being that his favorite and only daughter’s medical career might hang in the balance.”

  “Was that it?” Laura tried to seem nonchalant.

  “Yeah.” Susan turned from her view of the dilapidated West Side projects to glance at her pale friend. “Laura, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  “Huh? I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

  As they turned into the student parking lot, Susan breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ve made it one more time. Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem. Where should we meet tonight? And what time?” Laura asked as they made their way toward the huge gray Basic Science building.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. Dad’s got people asking questions around here today so don’t be surprised. Remember when we were leaving the hospital together on Wednesday, and Dad picked me up in the main lot? You were on your way to the student parking lot, right? He wants to ask you some questions, too.”

  Laura stiffened. “That won’t be necessary. Like I told you last week, I decided to study instead, and I went right back in and used the library.”

  “But Dad saw you head off in the direction of the other lot. He remembered because he felt guilty that he didn’t offer you a ride to your car. Just think, what if you’d actually been there? You could have been hurt. A man was murdered right about the time you left.”

  “Murdered? Does he know what happened?” Laura failed to control the shakiness in her voice. She slowed her pace, needing to get as much information from Susan as she could before they walked into the building.

  “I don’t know. I just wish that I’d had the presence of mind to stay and work on my case.”

  Laura began to feel cold and clammy. “That botched presentation is what got me the extra assignment. I’ve got to go over to the surgical office now and hand it in.”

  “Good luck,” Susan said, squeezing Laura’s shoulder.

  “See you in anatomy lab,” Laura said, trying for nonchalance.

  “Don’t forget the ‘gross’ part.”

  “How could I?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Laura knocked gingerly on Dr. Monroe’s door. When he’d given her the assignment on Friday, he hadn’t specified its format or length, but she assumed the more comprehensive, the better.

  Preparing the report, Laura had been surprised, and then quickly disillusioned at the awful complications facing Anthony Diggs. She tried to divide them into the most serious and the most likely, but found instead that they were all life-threatening. First, there were lung problems because he had no spontaneous respirations. The ventilator settings were decided by intermittent monitoring of his blood gases, but pneumothorax — a ruptured lung, and atelectasis — a collapsed lung were deadly complications. Other lung disasters, such as bacterial pneumonia, pulmonary edema, and pulmonary emboli were common. Laura was aware that Anthony Diggs had problems with his tracheal tube clogging already.

  Infection was a constant threat. Not only pneumonia, but a urinary tract infection caused by the Foley catheter draining his bladder or sepsis from the intravenous catheter that remained his lifeline for fluids, electrolytes, and antibiotics. And as she now knew, pressure sores or decubiti ultimately resulted in gangrene unless skin grafts and meticulous nursing care could interrupt the progress of rotting decay.

  Her report focused on fatal pulmonary and infectious outcomes, and she also included references to fluid imbalance and possible kidney failure, cardiac arrest, and malnutrition. She found that immersion in this research offered a temporary escape from the guilt and fear that riddled most of her waking hours. Hopefully, this was the type of thing Dr. Monroe wanted.

  No one answered her hesitant knock, so she inched open the door and poked her head inside. The small outer office was occupied by a petite, middle-aged woman.

  Connie Zimmer smiled as she looked up from her desk. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, please. I would like to drop off a report that Dr. Monroe requested,” Laura replied.

  “Of course,” Connie agreed. “Who do you work for?”

  “I’m Laura Nelson, a med student.”

  “Oh,” Connie smiled again. “They’re making them younger every year. I thought you were someone’s assistant secretary. Please sit down. Is Dr. Monroe expecting you?”

  Laura smiled nervously, shaking her head no. She sat stiffly on a wooden chair, desperate to leave. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had fifteen minutes before her first class. Still shocked that the detective wanted to question her about the shooting, she needed to find a quiet place to pull herself together and to examine her options. Someone must have seen the man grab her and pull her off the sidewalk. Someone must have been hiding in the shadows. Or did the shot attract a witness? Yes, it had been just light enough that someone may have been able to identify her. How foolish she’d been. She should have gone to the police right away and t
old them everything. After all, she was a victim too. Would they believe it was self-defense? No, it was too late. What were her odds of being caught? She had no idea. But at least she was alive.

  “Miss Nelson?” Dr. Monroe interrupted her thoughts as he stepped out from his office. Connie rose and left the waiting area, files in hand, for the inner office.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Monroe. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m here to hand in the assignment you gave me last week. Maybe you don’t remember.”

  His eyes widened. “Of course. Here’s what I’d like you to do.” He reached for the folder in her hand. “Leave the report with me. Then re-examine your patient and be back here at exactly 5:20 to report your findings. I’ll have only ten minutes, so you’ll need to be prompt and brief. Is that clear?”

  Laura nodded mutely and handed him the report.

  “Later, then.” Without another word, he turned into his office, closing the door behind him.

  Laura rushed to the anatomy lab. After her second class, she headed for the women’s locker room on the third floor. Overcome by a growing sense of panic, she needed a place to think about Susan’s message: the police were coming after her. They knew something. They must. She had made the wrong decision.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Laura used what was left of her lunch period to rush over to the hospital. She found Anthony in the corner of the congested men’s surgical ward. Good, they’d moved him away from the obnoxious shackled patient. This time the human odors and the sickening smell of disinfectant did not turn her stomach, and she ignored the rude catcalls of patients alert enough to notice her entrance. A dull sky seen from the few narrow windows accentuated the grayness of the ward, exaggerating the yellowish-brown stains on the sheets left by leaking body fluids. As before, her patient was totally still, except for the heave of his chest in tandem with the respirator.

  The lone chair next to Anthony’s bed was empty; and though she felt badly that Anthony was alone, Laura was relieved that she would not have to try to comfort his mother. She had to examine his emaciated body, specifically looking for decubiti. She located the blotchy area she’d seen on the thin dark skin over the sacral bone. Shrinking back, she saw that it was much larger and that the open sore in the center was deeper, and she now knew that those ulcers could eventually become gangrenous.

  She approached the nursing station to inquire which nurse had been assigned to Anthony Diggs that day. The ward clerk indicated the opposite side of the long, narrow bank of desks. Laura’s gaze settled on a stately woman in a starched white uniform.

  Laura walked toward the woman, slightly taller and about ten years older than herself, her dark skin shining vibrantly against her white uniform. Gloria Jackson, R.N. was inscribed on her name badge. The nurse stood beside the counter by a wall cabinet whose open door exposed shelves of plastic tubing and various bottles. Laura paused, remembering her need for penicillin in case her rapist had a venereal disease. She had forgotten all about the penicillin. What about Steve? They’d had sex already. She shook her head, not wanting to think about that, and focused on the woman in front of her.

  “Miss Jackson, may I interrupt you for a minute?”

  The nurse looked up. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Laura Nelson, a first year med student assigned to Anthony Diggs for my physical examination course. And I, well, I just wondered if I could ask you a few questions.”

  “I saw you the other day. We’ll have to talk while I prepare these dressings.” The nurse stifled a yawn. “What I wouldn’t do for a cup of coffee right about now. I’ve worked right through lunch and now it’s, what, almost 3:30. But these are my problems, Miss Nelson. What are yours?”

  “I know it’s been really tough since the riots,” Laura replied sincerely. “Here, let me help you with that.” She reached for the bandage scissors and cut the adhesive strips that the nurse was struggling to arrange.

  “I’m late on my injections, so I appreciate the help. Now, what is it you want to know?”

  “Well, when I examined Mr. Diggs today, I was struck by how much his decubitus, I mean decubiti, have progressed since last Thursday,” Laura stumbled.

  “Yes, Anthony’s bedsores are worse,” Miss Jackson replied sadly. “We just don’t have the resources to keep turning him in bed like we should. I don’t have the proper air mattress. It’s all I can do to keep his airway free so that the ventilator can function.”

  “And what about Anthony’s future?” Laura went on, recalling his devoted mother. “Do you feel he has any chance for recovery?”

  Gloria Jackson’s gaze held Laura’s. “I don’t think so. Maybe a clogged airway would be for the best, I don’t know.” She hesitated, speaking slowly. “Anthony is a special patient to me. I know his family from the old neighborhood.”

  “I met his mother,” Laura said quickly. “She told me a little about him. It’s tragic.”

  The nurse sighed. “Anthony was a role model for the younger boys in the neighborhood. Headed straight for college on a full scholarship. A miracle in that neighborhood. Guess some dreams are too good to be true.”

  Laura nodded. “His mother said a policeman shot him. Is that what happened?”

  “I just don’t know. Those days were crazy. Everything out of control. The report says he was involved in some looting, but he’d never been in any sort of trouble. His brother, however, is another story. I just pray this violence stops before the whole city is lost.”

  “Sounds like you know the family well?” Laura commented as she placed folded dressings onto a developing stack.

  “My sister and Lucy, his mother, go to the same church. Lucy is a good woman, but the poor thing has had more than her share of troubles. My heart goes out to her.”

  “I thought I’d find her here.”

  “She’s at his brother’s funeral.”

  “What?” gasped Laura. “His brother?”

  “Johnny was shot last week. Lucy had to come up with the money for the funeral before they could bury him. Lucky for her, she could rely on the church. Sister Mary Agnes, God bless her, found help. Have you met her? She’s a saint.”

  Laura shook her head.

  “Well, you hang around, and you’ll get to know Sister. She comes every day to see Anthony.”

  “What happened to his brother? To Johnny?”

  “Shot in the head. Killed outright. They don’t know who did it. The kid was a real hothead though. I had to call security on him that very night to get him out of here. He was causing a big commotion right here on the ward. He barged in, cussing and yelling about white people as usual.” She lowered her voice. “He was just plain bad, that one. Lucy tried to calm him down, but he was out of control.”

  “Oh, the poor woman,” Laura could picture the woman’s kind, tired eyes. Now this?

  “Everybody on the street knew that he was involved with a bad crowd. Neighborhood punks. Smoking dope, that type of thing. Now he’s dead.”

  The completed wound dressings were arranged on the tray, and the nurse now turned her attention to the array of small vials in an open cabinet drawer. Some were labeled penicillin. Laura watched the nurse’s every move as she checked a chart, chose one of the vials, peeled off its metallic rim, then wiped the top with alcohol soaked cotton. With a smooth practiced motion, she punctured the red rubber center of a vial with a hypodermic needle and drew the contents into the syringe to the proper calibration marking. When the nurse turned her back to reach for the next batch of charts piled up on the counter, Laura grabbed an empty syringe, a packaged needle, and a vial marked penicillin VK, and slid them into her pocket. That was the first step. The second was to get up the nerve to inject herself. She’d look up the right dose, and hopefully, she would not hit a nerve or a major blood vessel, or worse yet, have some kind of horrible allergic reaction. Wouldn’t that serve her right for stealing drugs?

  “Thanks for the information, Miss Jackson,” Laura said. “I don’t want to hold you u
p any longer.”

  “And thank you for the help.” The nurse smiled as she finished preparing the injections. She arranged them on her tray, carefully checking each label on the plastic sleeves, before wheeling her cart toward the patient beds.

  As Laura followed her out of the cramped prep station, a young black girl stepped into the ward, accompanied by a short, chubby nun in a black habit. The nun clasped her hands together behind her back as they proceeded toward Anthony’s bed.

  Gloria paused. “Over there,” she said to Laura. “That’s the oldest of the four Jones girls. And that is Sister Mary Agnes. She’s a real hero around these parts. Came from a very wealthy family, an only child. Turned her back on that whole life and joined the order. She came down to this godforsaken neighborhood, oh my, must’ve been seven years ago. Now she’s the principal over at St. Joseph’s. I tell you, you’ve never seen someone do so much for so many people, kids and parents alike.”

  Both women turned to follow the pair’s progress across the room.

  “She’s too young to be in here, but she’s with the Sister, so it’s okay by me.” A shadow of concern crossed the nurse’s face when she noted a third visitor, a young black man with a shaved head, carrying a spray of flowers with a sash that read, “Rest in Peace.”

  “St. Joseph’s?” Laura asked, wanting to show an interest. “Is that near here?”

  “It’s over by Warren Avenue, just north of here. It used to be a big black hole in the city. Now it’s a thriving parochial school.” Gloria nodded as the two women visitors pulled chairs close to Anthony’s bed and the young man stood. “The guy with them is Ray Rogers. Calls himself ‘Snake.’ Trouble, just like Johnny.”

  “Johnny? Anthony’s brother?” Laura clarified.

  “That poor girl,” Gloria said. “One brother shot by the police and another murdered just a block away from the hospital. Those flowers must have come from Johnny’s funeral.”