by Judith Lucci
Bridgett smiled brightly at Sandy. "Is Angie talking you to death? I know how she is. She has never even been in the hospital, except for when Jessica was born. Do you think we can even count that?" Bridgett seemed totally out of it.
If Sandy was surprised at Bridgett's lack of understanding, she didn't let on. She said very clearly, "Angie is not talking. She's not breathing on her own and she cannot talk to you. Bridge, do you understand me? She is very sick. Maybe she can hear you, but she cannot talk to you. There's also a possibility her assailant raped her."
Bridgett didn't respond. Her expression showed no emotion and her affect was flat.
Sandy glanced at Alex and Dr. Desmonde, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head.
"Let's go, Sandy," Monique said gesturing forward with her hand. "We've got to break through this denial somehow."
Jack's face was impassive.
Alex knew him well enough to know that he was feeling phenomenal stress. She patted his hand for reassurance.
The sounds of the E.D., the newly renovated patients' rooms, and the spanking clean floors brought no comfort to Alex. As physicians and nurses glanced at her and offered tight smiles, she felt their pain. They all knew Angie and many had worked with her over the years at CCMC. They'd celebrated her graduations from nursing school – first from Delgado at Charity Hospital and then LSU. They'd celebrated her marriage and the birth of Jessica. They'd worked side by side with her every day. Angie was one of the team, one of their team. She was their friend. She was one of their own, one of CCMC’s highly skilled and coveted nurses, and one of the millions of caregivers all over the world who gave endlessly and selflessly of their time, talents, and gifts every day.
Alex noticed that Monique was eyeing Sandy carefully. They both knew this was especially hard for her. Angie had worked in the E.D. prior to the birth of her baby and Sandy had hosted her baby shower. Sandy had already lost her good friend and mentor, Diane Bradley, during the tragic accident in the emergency department just before Mardi Gras earlier in the year. Sandy seemed to be holding up pretty well.
Nurses are tough creatures, Monique thought to herself. Much tougher than we docs.
As they entered the patient bay, they walked slowly towards the bed.
Bridgett looked hard at the patient in the bed and said angrily, "What in the world is going on? I don't know who this is, but it certainly isn't Angie. What kind of sick joke is this?” Bridgett's eye flared with anger at Alex.
The next few seconds seemed like eons and finally Monique said gently, "Yes, Bridge, it is Angie. Look carefully. Her face is swollen, her jaw is broken, but it is Angie."
"It is not, it is not! Why are you all doing this to me? I thought you were my friends." Bridgett’s enormous blue eyes brimmed over with tears as she stared at the faces of her friends around the bed.
Sandy reached to remove the O.R. cap from Angie's head.
When Bridgett saw the long, mussed up blonde curly hair, just like her hair only matted with dark, dried blood, she knew and she began to scream, "Oh, no! Oh, no, no ... PLEASE, no, it can't be. Angie, Angie, talk to me, please, Angie, please answer me.” Bridgett touched the long knife wounds extending from her sister's forehead all the way around her face. She looked at her friends around the bed. "Who did this? Who did this? It must be a monster. It looks like someone tried to cut off her face!" When she noticed her sister's Mother's Ring with Jessica's birthstone, she began to sob. "Oh, no, she wanted that ring for so long and Johnny just gave it to her on Mother's Day." Her sobs became uncontrollable and could be heard throughout the E.D.
Sandy and Monique pulled the sobbing Bridgett away while Alex and Commander Françoise stayed by Angie's bedside, continuing to observe her injuries.
Alex, numb with shock, turned away, attempting to control her emotions.
Jack gently touched her on her shoulder, "Alright, Alex, we can go. You've seen enough."
"No, just give me a moment." Alex drew a deep breath and turned to face Angie again. As she worked hard to dissociate herself from the body of her friend, she noticed some funny shaped marks on Angie's left shoulder, visible where her hospital gown had fallen to the side. She eyed them curiously and looked at the Commander. "Jack, what are these? They look weird."
Commander Françoise shuffled uncomfortably. “It's a damn bite mark, Alex. The SOB bit her at least three times. He's a sick son of a bitch. I'd like to kill him. I will kill him when I find him," Jack hissed, as he felt for his holstered gun under his coat.
Alex looked at Jack Françoise with alarm. He was working himself into a frenzy. Not good, she thought to herself. Ever since the spring, when Jack had finally gone to Dr. Robert Bonnet complaining of chest pain, Alex had been afraid that Jack's stress level and stressful job would cause him a heart attack or stroke. He'd done absolutely nothing Robert had recommended. Typical, stubborn Jack. He was still overweight, had high blood pressure, and had high cholesterol. He drank gallons of black coffee every day, and his diet was horrendous.
Jack had spent his life living on the edge. He had been a football star in high school and at Tulane University, where he had played linebacker. Shortly after graduation, Jack had joined the service and gone Army Spec Ops. Alex assumed Jack had been engaged in Black Ops, but didn't know for sure. Jack didn't talk about it much, but she knew that he had been everywhere in the world where there had been a skirmish in the last 25 years. He finally retired from the reserves about 10 years ago.
Of course, now, he was a Police Commander in New Orleans, working in the city with the highest crime per capita of any city in the U.S. Plus, he now was Commander over the district with the most crime. This was further complicated by the fact that Jack was an honest cop and still clung to his ideologies, even after all of his years of investigating murders, assaults, drugs, and abuse. Jack didn't even need to be in the trenches anymore. He was a Commander, for God's sake! But, Alex knew that Jack would never leave the trenches. It wasn't in his genes. He didn't go to meetings, ever, if there was a way he could get out of them. He cared about the victims, and worked endlessly to avenge the dead and maimed. Besides, Jack liked to get even, and Jack liked to get back at the perpetrators. It was who Jack was and what had earned him the nickname of "Get Back Jack".
For a fleeting moment, Alex considered calling Dr. Robert Bonnet, the chief of surgery at CCMC. Robert and Alex were close to Jack and shared concerns about him. Six months earlier, Jack Françoise had saved both of their lives as they were being pursued through the French Quarter by an assailant intent on murdering them. Consequently, a short while later, after he'd been shot by that same man, Robert had overseen Jack's surgery. Robert had been injured as well, by a gunshot injury to the medial nerve in his right arm that could still cost him his career as a surgeon.
Robert couldn't operate. The verdict was still out on his injury. Additional surgery and physical therapy would render a determination of Robert's future in a few months. Hopefully, he would be able to operate again. If not, he'd be an excellent medical doctor, as Alex had told him repeatedly. Robert was a natural healer but he was NOLA’s most outstanding surgeon. The Police Commander, the surgeon, and the lawyer had become close at that time and forged a bond that would never be broken. The three had traveled to Alex's family home in Virginia with her grandfather, Congressman Adam Patrick Lee, and her grandmother, Kathryn Rosseau Lee, for a well-earned vacation and deserved respite. Alex and Robert had been married while attending the University of Virginia. They divorced later, but had begun to build a new relationship in New Orleans.
Alex's thoughts briefly returned to her relationship with Robert Bonnet, back when the two were still married. Alex had loved Robert without reservation. They met when Robert was a surgical resident and Alex was a doctoral student in clinical nursing. They dated for over a year, became engaged, and married at the University Chapel on the Lawn in Charlottesville in a very proper circumspect ceremony. The marriage had merged two of the most powerful political
families in the South – the Bonnets of Louisiana and the Lees of Virginia. Robert's family had been prominent in the social, cultural, and political fabric of the state since the French had discovered Louisiana in 1769 and his ancestral grandfather had been the first governor of French Louisiana. Robert’s father, a former governor, presently served as a United States Senator for the great State of Louisiana.
Alex's Virginia heritage was equally impressive. She could trace her ancestry to Richard Henry Lee, father of Robert E. Lee, Commander and Chief of the Confederate Army during the Civil War. Her uncle still owned the ancestral family home, Stratford Hall, in Westmoreland County. Another relative owned a historic plantation on the James River near Richmond. Alex's grandparents, Congressman Adam Patrick Lee and his wife, Kathryn Rosseau Lee, owned a large estate in Hanover County, Virginia – not far from Scotchtown, the home of Patrick Henry.
Congressman Lee, a diehard law and order politician, had been overwhelmed with respect for the then Captain Françoise's integrity, character, and investigative skills. He had tried unsuccessfully to lure Jack into a high-level position with the FBI in Washington, D.C., but Jack was resistant. He told the Congressman quite bluntly, and on several occasions since then, that he "wasn't working for no damn bureaucrats," that he was not for sale. Congressman Lee had loved the response and had tried even harder to recruit the burly, fearless New Orleans policeman. In fact, the Congressman was still trying to get Françoise to come to Washington and work on some special law enforcement projects, particularly anything related to terrorism, but Jack still refused. Alex knew Jack would never leave NOLA. Alex felt an arm on her shoulder that halted her daydreaming. She turned and looked at Jack Françoise.
Alex's mind returned to the grim situation at hand. She stared again at Angie's battered body. Alex noted how pale, almost waxen, Angie's face looked and turned to Jack. "Jack, she is so pale. She looks like a corpse. Feel how cool she is."
"Yes, I see." Jack was thinking back to the pale young corpse he had seen at Dr. Jeanfreau's morgue last week. She had looked just like Angie.
Alex continued to stare at Angie's face and said, "Most of these areas look like bruises, but they aren't discolored like I would have thought they should be. Bruises are generally discolored from blood perfusion. These slice marks look superficial, and there is little blood. Jack, it looks as if she has been cleaned up and prepared for burial. I guess her eyes are swollen from her brain swelling. We call those raccoon eyes," Alex exclaimed, remembering her own ICU nursing days, feeling more angry and agitated than before.
Just at that moment, Sandy re-entered Angie's room with the O.R. transport. "Gotta go, folks," Sandy said, as she helped the O.R. disconnect and reconnect Angie's tubes to portable equipment and push the bed out of the bay.
Alex and Jack watched respectfully as Angie was wheeled from the E.D. Alex shook her head and looked at Sandy. "She just looks awful – why, she already looks dead. She's so pale. How much blood did she lose?"
"I've no idea but there must have been a lot at the scene. Her head wound is a closed fracture, so no blood loss. Her blood values, specifically her H & H are 5 & 18, are really low, almost incompatible with life. We're thinking there must have been a ton of blood at the scene because we frankly cannot explain the blood values. Several of the docs think the attacker thought she was dead when he left. Did you notice the rope burns on her wrists? They were bleeding a little. One of her wrists was slit."
Alex felt her poise and composure completely leave her. She knew she had to get out of the E.D. She looked at Jack, whose face was a mask of outrage and fury. "Sandy, I've got to get out of here before I lose it. Jack, let's go to the cafeteria, and grab a bite. We'll talk, and you, you can fill me in." Alex smiled at him and firmly, but gently, removed him from Angela's bedside. Sandy hugged Alex as she left the E.D.
"Yeah, I'd like that." Jack looked at his watch. It was almost noon. The thought of something sweet improved Jack's mood significantly. "Do you think they have any jelly donuts left? I didn't get one earlier. Maybe if I get my blood sugar up, I won’t be so damn angry." Françoise looked at Alex sheepishly.
She laughed and said, “Yeah, maybe, but I doubt it. If they do have donuts, I may fight you for them. I need some comfort food." As they walked towards the cafeteria, the pair reminisced a little. It seemed like a good way to diffuse their incredible stress and anger.
Chapter 7
"I'll never forget the first time I met you, Jack Françoise. You were brutally interrogating a nurse and eating a jelly donut. Might I remind you how rude you were to me? I was not impressed!" Alex's voice was stern and emphatic, but her blue eyes were laughing.
"It's all in the past now, Miss Lawyer Lady. I had to check you out good, you know, and you finally earned your stripes!" Jack teased then turned his attention to the food line. Ahead he could spot the donut case. "Oh, good. This day’s getting a little better – two jellies left."
Alex shook her head as she watched Jack help himself to the remaining two jelly donuts and a cup of black coffee. She helped herself to decaffeinated black currant tea and a bagel. She decided to spare the Commander any lectures on his health. The day had been difficult enough, and it had barely started.
As they moved through the line towards the cashier, Commander Françoise said, "You pay, Alex. You make the big money. Besides, I don't get a hospital discount, although I should considering how much time I spend in this place."
Alex laughed and nodded in agreement, handing her CCMC ID badge to the cashier, who scanned the amount and charged it to Alex's account. The two selected a private table in the back of the physician's dining room. They munched in silence for a few minutes, each caught up in their own thoughts about Angie and Bridgett. Finally, Alex broached the inevitable topic, "Well, Jack, what you got?"
Jack shook his head. "Not a lot. These kinds of cases make me sick. Nurses should never be expected to walk that far alone at night. It's at least two blocks from the psych unit to the parking deck. It's unlit, heavily shrubbed, and unsafe. It's a perfect setting for a brutal crime like this one. I'm surprised there haven't been more crimes over there."
Alex and Jack were interrupted by Dr. Desmonde who joined their table with a cup of tea. Her voice reflected Jack's anger, "I agree. You're right, Jack. I've been screaming at Montgomery and Favre for three years to do something about the location of the psych units, or at least the parking. I would have been satisfied with some lights, for God's sake.”
Monique said, “Alex, you’ve known my concern about this for a couple of years! We both tried to get administration to move towards making the psych areas safer. This hospital doesn't give a rip about psych because it isn't a money maker." Monique slammed her teacup down on the table in frustration.
Alex eyed her friend carefully. Monique was a beautiful woman in her mid-forties. She was clearly distraught over Angie. The tall, thin psychiatrist was impeccably dressed as always, but her luxurious dark hair had fallen out of its neat chignon. Her normally pale, lovely face was flushed with anger and frustration. Her voice, usually low and controlled, was close to hysterical, or as close to hysterical as Monique would ever be.
Alex nodded. She knew Dr. Desmonde was right. She didn't challenge her at all. Monique Desmonde was uncharacteristically upset. She rarely wore her emotions on her sleeve and she was a master at controlling her feelings and behavior. After giving her friend a chance to recover and compose herself, she asked Dr. Desmonde how Bridgett was.
"Bridgett's gone home with her husband. I gave her a sedative and a prescription for later. They were going to get Angie's baby, who I may add was in the hospital nursery all night. Damn! Those nursery workers should become suspect if a nurse never shows to pick up her child. Damn, these people." Monique's deep voice was loud. Several physicians looked at her curiously from their tables in the private dining room.
Alex intervened and changed the subject. "What do we have as far as evidence? Did forensics get anything good?"
Jack answered, "Just the normal stuff – you know, pubic hair, oral, anal, vaginal, and rectal swabs, that kind of stuff. We also got some skin and blood that we found under her nails. She must have gotten one swipe at him before he beat her into submission." Jack paused for a few moments while Monique and Alex watched the emotions of hate and rage cross his face. He continued, his jaw clenched, "I'd like to kill the SOB." Neither Monique nor Alex doubted the intensity of Jack's desire for true justice.
"Is there any forensic evidence other than what you've just told us, Jack?" Alex looked at him, expectantly.
"Labs aren't back yet. We don't know if we're even going to get the PEPA and the PGM – you know, those semen tests – because too much time may have gone by." Jack shook his head. "I sure hope we can nail him with the forensics."
"You’ve got to catch him first, Françoise," Dr. Desmonde reminded the Commander.
Jack raised his eyebrows and glared at the shrink. "Not to worry, Doc, not to worry. I'll get 'em. In fact, I plan to get him soon. You know me, Get Back Jack," the stocky Police Commander declared to the psychiatrist.
Alex was deep in thought. As a nurse and an attorney, she knew the proper collection of forensic evidence was critical for a court conviction of a rapist. She also knew that semen usually contains three genetic markers at levels adequate enough to allow for routine typing for evidence. Unfortunately, PEPA decreases within three hours after intercourse and PGM would not survive for more than six hours. Consequently, the early gathering, testing, and analysis of the semen specimen were pivotal to building a successful case. The semen genetic markers were ABO blood group antigens and testing was done by quantitative electrophoresis analysis. Since the genetic markers occur in variable amounts in different populations, their presence or absence in combination with each other often were used to arrive at a percentage or likelihood of whether the suspect is the rapist or not. Hopefully, the comparison of the crime scene evidence with blood and hair samples from the suspect would provide compelling evidence in court and would render a guilty verdict.
