by E. C. Marsh
“We have a problem. In the ER in Holsum is a man who says he was shot at Camp Crowder. He is singing a loud and annoying song! I am on my way over there now. But I think you might want to get a couple of people to look at the civilian bank of Coon River, downstream from the base, see what we can find. I have a couple of guys in mind, like John Schroeder, Tim Miller, Rudy Melton. They are pretty loyal and their silence can be bought.
“Do you want me to take care of that song bird if necessary?”
There was silence for a moment.
“Ron this whole mess is getting out of hand. We need to regain control. Far too many people are involved. We do not need any publicity. AMAG has had problems, and we're not ready yet to go public. If this clown is for real, then we must deal with it. Neutralize the situation. Just be damn sure that you cover your tracks well. You have everything you need?”
“Yes I do. This has been a very long day. It's going to be more complicated and could possibly involve more than just one target. Think about increasing my bonus.”
“I understand fully, and I agree. I will personally take care of that, and will double it. Will that be okay?”
“That's fine. I'll call you later.”
*
In the hospital's main lobby, Sandy listened to her sister's answering machine in frustration. Why couldn't she be home tonight? Finally she left a cryptic message that she had been involved in an accident and desperately needed help and could be found at the Holsum Community Hospital. Then she told the switchboard operator where she could be found, and went off to find Ralph. She found him in the small Intensive Care Unit. This ICU had only six beds, each in it's own little cubicle.
Ralph was hooked up to a cardiac monitor, and seemed to be asleep. The nurses told her firmly, that visits were limited to immediate family only and only for ten minutes on the hour. At this point Sandy didn't care anymore. She was exhausted, and the only feeling remaining was her profound sense of accomplishment for having brought her husband to a hospital. All will be well now, she thought. In a day or two, we'll be back at home and everything will be back to normal. She curled up on a reclining chair, using one of two blankets left behind by someone as a pillow and the other to cover up with. Her final thought as she drifted off to sleep was how nice the cool air-conditioned air felt.
*
A very well dressed young man approached the registration desk just inside the entrance to the Holsum ER.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I'm with SERPAC, and I was notified that one of our executives has had an accident. Kenneth Messer. Where would I find him?”
The young clerk smiled, an open friendly smile that revealed discreetly-attached braces, and touched a few keys on the computer keyboard. Her smile vanished.
“Oh, Sir,” she said. “You will have to speak with the ER supervisor. I'll get her.” Without waiting for his response, she disappeared through a side door. Ron leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. Just stay calm, he told himself, you are the upwardly-mobile young executive and you look the part. The people here do not know you and after this will never see you again. The young clerk returned with an older, gray-haired woman in street clothes covered by a white lab coat.
“Hello” she said. “I'm Mrs. Webster the night supervisor in the emergency room. I understand you are looking for Mr. Messer. May I ask what your relationship to him is?”
“Mrs. Webster? Hi. My name is Reginald Salisbury. I am one of the vice-presidents of SERPAC. Mr. Messer is one of our executives, directly under me. He is from Seattle, here on a temporary assignment. He is scheduled to fly out of Kansas City in the morning, back to his home in Seattle. I'm here to see to it that all of his needs are met. I would really like to see him now, it's getting late and I still need to find a motel for the night.”
Mrs. Webster studied his face for several minutes; finally she took a deep breath.
“Mr. Salisbury, I am very sorry, but Mr. Messer passed away about two hours ago. His injuries were quite substantial, and he really didn't have much of a chance. I'm very sorry.”
Ron took a moment to look away.
“Oh no, oh no. Has anyone notified his family? What about his things?”
Mrs. Webster firmly took his arm and guided him to a chair.
“Let's sit down for a moment. Nobody has notified his family. He never regained consciousness, and we found nothing more on him then a corporate ID. That's why SERPAC was called. We will need some more information for our billing records. Do you wish to notify the family or do you want us to?”
“No, no SERPAC will take care of that. We will cover the bill, all of the expenses. Oh gosh, I don't know what to say! This is certainly a new situation for me. How would we get the body back to Seattle? Where is the body now? Can I see him? This is just so awful!”
“I'll take you down to the morgue, then we can notify a funeral home so you can work out the details with them. But first we'll stop in admissions and see what they need.”
Before he could think of an objection, she had whisked him down a long corridor and around several corners into an office area. She briefly introduced him to the clerk and stood back while he tried to answer the questions as best as he could. In the end, they gave up and agreed that he would have the corporate personnel department contact the hospital with the missing information.
Then it was off to the morgue, in the basement of the hospital, far away from the bright lights, traffic and noise. Mrs. Webster produced a key and let them in. The room was much smaller than he had expected. The floor and three walls were covered with white tile, and the floor slanted slightly toward the center of the room, toward a grated drain. Pushed against a wall was a long gleaming stainless steel table on wheels. Mrs. Webster looked at a logbook, then opened one of six metal doors in the one untiled wall. Inside it was dark and cold. She pulled out a metal stretcher, just far enough to allow viewing of the face. Then she pulled back the white sheet covering the head. Ron bent forward.
“Yes,” he said, making sure he had a slight tremble in his voice. He cleared his throat. “Yes, that's Kenneth Messer. No doubt about it.”
It would be a bit of work for the Seattle funeral home to restore Messer for an open-casket funeral, he thought. The left side of his face was raw looking and studded with pebbles, and had several small, gaping lacerations. He did look peaceful, expected of someone with a broken neck. He turned away from the corpse and wiped across his eyes. Mrs. Webster patted his shoulder and told him to wait out in the hall while she locked everything up again. Together, they walked back to the front door, where he thanked her profusely for her kindness. As he walked out into the night, she returned to her little office, her mind already on staffing the next shift. She already had forgotten what Ron looked like as she flipped through her Rolodex.
Ron started his car and immediately punched a series of numbers into his car phone. “Can you talk?” he asked when a male voice answered. “Of course.” Ron delivered his report.
“Good job, my friend, as always. I appreciate your services and I will see to the remaining issues from my end.”
Chapter 38
The phone continued to ring and ring, a loud shrill ring, and it finally woke Sandy up. It took her a moment to become oriented, before she was able to jump up and answered the phone. It was her sister. Sandy began to cry as she told her story, the whole story, exactly the way it happened.
She noticed the janitor entering the waiting room and busying himself with wiping off tables and countertops. She saw him, but her tired brain did not register his actions. It didn't matter. She was too tired to care. He was still in the room when she gave her sister directions to the hospital and explained to her where their truck would be parked. Then she returned to her chair and promptly went back to sleep.
Ron deftly returned the janitor's cart to the utility closet where he had found it and rushed out of the hospital, not bothering to change from the scrub suit he had also borrowed. In his car, he threw the wadde
d-up suit into the back seat, pulled out a detailed map of the area and plotted his course based on Sandy's directions to her sister. He needed to get to her vehicle before this other person could get there. They could use the vehicle to identify the woman and afterward they would still have time to decide what to do.
With tires squealing, he fishtailed out of the parking lot. It wasn't easy to find the back roads in the dark, and he wondered more than once if he had perhaps turned the wrong way. His car wasn't meant for this kind of driving, and he was glad to see a parked vehicle appear in the beam of his headlights. Leaving his car running and his lights on, he quickly walked through the grass to the old truck. It didn't take long. The old truck's doors had not been locked, and inside he found Sandy's employment ID card and a paystub for Ralph, both with Social Security numbers.
“Bingo” he said out loud, as he copied all the information down in his little notebook. He returned the items to where he had found them and left quickly.
*
Sandy's sister arrived just before dawn. They hugged quietly for a long time. Sandy was disheveled and sweaty, in stark contrast to her well-groomed sister. As they held each other, Sandy whispered, “I'm so scared.”
They visited Ralph, but only briefly, as he was finally asleep. After picking up a couple of coffees to go from the hospital cafeteria, they were on their way. They did not see the young man in hospital scrubs passing them on his way into the building.
Ron retrieved the janitors cart once more and wheeled it into the ICU. He made sure the nurses all noticed him.
“Mornin' ladies,” he said cheerfully to no one in particular. “Just stoppin' by to get y'alls trash. How y’all doin’ this fine mornin?”
The nurses ignored him. The bulletin board at the nurse's desk showed him where he could find Ralph Holtzer. He quickly went from cubicle to cubicle, dutifully emptying bedside wastebaskets. He deliberately chose Ralph's cubicle last. All the nurses had seen him and, by now, were ignoring him completely. Piece of cake, he thought, piece of cake. As always, no one sees what’s before his eyes.
He entered Ralph's cubicle and busied himself with the trash, all the while carefully slipping a pre-loaded syringe into his right hand. He inserted the small needle into a rubber stopper on Ralph's IV tubing and injected the clear liquid into the IV line. Ralph did not move, but just continued to snore softly.
He was just reaching into his shirt pocket for the glass tube, the syringe's container, when a nurse walked into the cubical. Damn jogging shoes, he thought. Didn't hear her coming. The nurse saw the syringe in his hand and paled. “Careful with that,” she said, much too loudly. “Was that in the trash? Here, let me dispose of it in the sharps box. You're not supposed to handle sharps. Did you stick yourself?”
“I, I, I ah, no. I was just gonna come get one of you,” he stammered. But the nurse already had slipped the syringe into a wall-mounted gray container labeled “Sharps Disposal Unit.”
She smiled at him, “See, all done, no problem for anyone.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, and pulled his cart out of the cubicle. Head bowed, he continued to collect trash at the nurse's workstation, then left the ICU again. Once in the hallway, he quickly pushed the cart back into the utility closet and left, again without changing clothes.
Chapter 39
It was well past eight in the morning when I finally woke up. My back felt stiff and I was totally disoriented for a few moments. But then it all came back to me. What a mess! I rolled over and snuggled up to Tom, who was also just starting to wake up. We just lay there for a little while.
“We really need to get going,” he finally said. “We need to get into Holsum, stop by and see Ralph, and pick up our truck. Sandy probably needs a ride to get to theirs, and then we are going home. I can't wait to get there.”
The delicious smell of fresh coffee drifted into the bedroom, and I heard a male and a female voice talking. I couldn't understand what was being said, but it was a comforting sound. I stretched and poked Tom in the belly, then went to the kitchen to get coffee.
Sam and Ginny were at the table, involved in a seemingly-serious conversation. I wasn't awake enough for that yet. I threw them a “morning” and delivered Tom's black coffee. I went into the bathroom with mine. The sound of running warm water seemed to come from heaven. I shampooed my hair at least three times. My fingertips were wrinkled when I finally stepped out of the shower, just in time for Tom to use the little bathroom. Yes, life was returning to normal.
I dressed in the clothes we had borrowed from Doc Humphrey. The old, well-worn t-shirt felt unbelievably soft, as did the faded jeans shorts. Then I joined the others in the kitchen. Now I was awake and ready for the world. Apparently the discussion had centered on what to do about Marty. Sam needed closure. He needed to be able to bury Marty. But he couldn't just walk into a Sheriff's office and hand them a bag full of dust and say, “this is the body of my wife, and let me tell you how she died.” We had to agree with that. But then, what could we do? Marty needed to die in order for Sam to have closure. We all must have thought it, but only Ginny spoke up.
“Go home, Sam, and let it be known that you are planning a little excursion with some friends. Then you rent a boat, maybe a house boat, on the lake, and you and Tom and Chris spend the weekend.
“Some time in the wee hours of Sunday you radio the Water Patrol that your wife is missing. Tell them that she had said something about wanting to go swimming in the moonlight and that you're worried. She may have had a little too much to drink. We know they won't find a body. But you'll have a record of the accident, and then after a while they will declare her dead. I don't mean to sound cold, but you'll have a little funeral service and eventually life will return to normal. You can bury the remains out at my place. There's an old cemetery way out on that property.”
Sam's face was pale, his efforts to control his emotions an exercise in futility.
“I can't do this.” He said, emphatically over and over. “I just can't plan this.”
Ginny hugged him. “You're not planning anything. You're working on a solution that brings peace to everyone, especially Marty.” He nodded, hiding behind a now wet paper towel.
While Tom, Sam and Doc worked out the details, Ginny agreed to run me over to Holsum to retrieve the Blazer from Sandy, and if necessary, ferry Sandy to get their car. When we got to the hospital the nurses told us that she had already left with her sister to retrieve her car. We were given an opportunity to visit Ralph briefly, and I'm glad we did. He was sleeping, but I managed to glance at a worksheet one of the nurses must have left behind on his bedside table. That didn't look too bad. The previous shift had recorded a fever but, all things considered, that wasn't too bad. They had him on pain medication, a decent antibiotic and were closely monitoring him. I tore a piece of paper out of my notebook and wrote on it :
CAME BY TO CHECK ON YOU, GOT THE TRUCK AND ARE HEADED BACK NOW. CALL! C &T.
I laid the note on the nightstand, by the phone. When I turned around to leave the ICU, I was startled to see a janitor just standing in the doorway to Ralph's cubicle staring at me. I looked at him closer. I did not know him, I was sure of that. So I just said “excuse me” and went past him. I caught a whiff of an expensive men's cologne. I couldn't recall the name. When he pushed the unit's door open for us, I was quite surprised to see a fancy gold watch on his wrist. I turned around once more, but he was already gone and the door was slowly closing. Ginny had noticed all this, too.
“They must be paying their janitors very well in this place,” she said, and we both laughed.
We looked for the Blazer in the visitor parking lot but didn't see it. It was just by chance that I looked downhill and spotted it sitting in the employee parking lot. I wondered why Sandy had parked there. I just couldn't give her credit for being sensible. My questions were answered when I turned the key and saw the gas gauge. Ginny, ever prepared, had a can of fuel in her vehicle and we were able to leave the hospital
premises without attracting any more attention.
*
The janitor made rounds once more through the ICU, diligently emptying the trash in all areas. He lingered just long enough to glance at Ralph and to peek at the nurse's work sheet as she entered Ralph's cubicle to check on him. Last temperature was above 101 degrees, blood pressure hovering around 100.
He left the ICU, pushed his cart back into the utility closet, and rushed to one of the big picture-windows looking out over the parking lot. He saw the two women who had been in Ralph Holtzer's cubicle putting fuel into a four-wheel-drive vehicle. He could not read the license plate or clearly identify the vehicle. Before he made it as far as the elevator, both women pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared. Ron swore loudly, racing down the stairs two at a time, but it was to no avail. Their vehicles were out of sight when he reached the hospital's entrance. He decided to hang around for a little while longer, sitting in his car, at times dozing off. Then he watched Sandy return in the old, slightly banged-up pickup truck. Still wearing a scrub-suit she had borrowed, she entered the hospital without even glancing at him. That pleased him, and he smiled as he followed her into the hospital.
