G&K01 - The Last Witness
Page 6
“I never repacked my overnight bag from the last time we pulled an all-nighter. I was so tired, it was the last thing on my mind.”
Several strands of hair had managed to loosen from the scrunchie securing her long locks. She removed the band and smoothed her red hair back with both hands, then pulled the scrunchie off her wrist and pulled it over her thick ponytail. She caught Zach watching her movements with an appreciative glance. He gave a playful tug on the long curls. She smacked his hand.
“I forgot to mention,” she said, “Bradshaw is already at the hospital checking on another victim. The lieutenant called and asked him to look in on our Jane Doe and let us know the minute she’s conscious. Since we haven’t heard from him, I can only assume she’s still unconscious, and our time is better spent elsewhere trying to uncover some leads.”
“I know, Jess. I was the one who asked the lieutenant to have Bradshaw check on Jane.” He grinned. “Food . . . now, okay?”
“No,” she pinched the sides of her nose with her fingers. “Showers . . . then food. We’re sticky from sweating and drenched from that downpour. I can’t even imagine walking into a restaurant—fast food or otherwise in this shape.” She rushed to the driver’s side door. “I’ll drive this time.” Zach pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the doors, then tossed them to her. Inside the hot car, they looked at one another simultaneously, grimaced, and rolled down all the windows.
“You’re right,” he said, pinching his nose. “We stink! Can I shower at your place too?”
Jessie pulled away from the side of the road. Now that it was mid-morning, there was a lot more traffic, and the ride promised to take much longer than either of them anticipated.
“Sure. So what do you say,” she said, her hand on the switch, “we let the siren wail so we can get cleaned up a lot faster.”
“I say, go for it.” He waggled his brows again. I’d say you’re really anxious to get me into that apartment of yours, aren’t you?” He flashed a toothy grin and the dimples in his cheeks seemed even deeper. “You do know,” he said in a devilish voice, “I can’t be trusted.”
“Oh really?” she teased right back. “Well then I should warn you, Sherlock, I’m tired, I’m suffering from PMS, and I carry a gun. Any questions?”
“Nope,” he shook his head, “none whatsoever.”
7
“Phillip Bradshaw, NYPD,” the burly detective mumbled to the desk nurse and slipped his shield inside his pocket. “I’m here to see Jane Doe.” He sucked in a deep breath, tired from a long arduous night, wishing he had shut his phone off before Harwell’s call asking him to check on a victim.
A rush of panic broke out and distracted the nurse who was checking the patient database.
“Bus accident, all hands on board,” a member of the staff shouted rushing out from the ER. Bradshaw turned to see a team of medical doctors and nurses rushing outside to meet the ESU vehicles. The red lights flashing against the building resembled the flames of a dancing fire.
“I have to go,” the nurse said and dashed past him.
Bradshaw moved aside and watched as a caravan of gurneys rushed through the entrance. Pained cries echoed through the area like a bad dream. Two security guards manned the area to prevent curious bystanders from getting in the way. The air reeked of blood—a rusty iron smell the detective remembered all too well.
He swallowed hard when he caught a glimpse of a female victim being wheeled past him. She looked directly into his eyes, an expression of horror on her face that he knew all too well. He shuddered and turned away, unable to deal with the agony and forced himself down into a chair. The memory of his wife’s suicide rushed to the forefront of his mind. She’d had that same fearful expression, dying only minutes after he’d arrived. He forced the thoughts away and stood upright. There had to be someone who could help him. He entered the ER through the double doors, and began checking inside the curtained rooms.
“Hey,” a man shouted from behind, “What are you doing?”
He flashed his shield. “I’m trying to find someone to help me locate Jane Doe.”
“We have one who arrived tonight, officer—you’ll have to ask—” He pulled the curtain closed. “I’m Doctor,” faded in the distance.
Bradshaw heaved a sigh and scanned the room. He saw a nurse unlocking a drug cabinet. “I’m looking for Jane Doe.”
“She’s on a gurney down the overflow hallway,” she pointed. “I believe she was one of the patients who didn’t require immediate attention.” She shook her head from side to side. “We’re having a hard time trying to keep up with these patients tonight with the bus accident.” She walked briskly into a curtained stall and drew the drapes to the closed position.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, but she was already gone. He walked down the hallway. Gurneys were lined up against the wall. Family members surrounded the gurneys, except one located at the end of the row, which had no one around it. Detective Bradshaw decided this had to be his Jane Doe. With a quick glance at her chart, he realized the only thing that had been done for her was a change of clothing. A residue of blood remained along the crevice of her nose. She was sleeping, or unconscious—he wasn’t sure which. A technician rolled a piece of equipment past. Bradshaw took the opportunity to ask a question.
“When is this patient going to get some attention?” he asked.
“I would suspect we’re waiting for someone to come get her to run tests. Are you a relative?”
“No. I’m Detective Bradshaw of the Two-one.”
She glanced at Jane’s chart and then returned it under the mattress. “Yeah, that’s what we’re waiting on, Detective. As you can see from this chaos, it may be a while. We’ve got every available staff member helping out here.” A second later, she disappeared. Bradshaw leaned over the side rails and took a closer look at Jane. Two black circles under her eyes were probably from the impact with something, perhaps the vehicle’s airbag. She seemed to be resting comfortably. He wondered what was going through her mind as he watched the rise and fall of her chest. Suddenly, her breathing increased, and her face distorted into a painful expression. He rubbed her forearm, and her expression returned to normal.
She looked so peaceful—angelic like, and not nearly as bad as he’d anticipated. The daunting expression from the woman he’d seen earlier flashed through his mind again and reminded him of his wife. A tear rolled down his cheek. Riddled with guilt, he blinked back the tears. If only he had listened to her. If only he’d paid attention to her depression, she might never have taken her own life. A sinking feeling waved through his stomach.
He reached for Jane’s hand and held it between his two large hands. He knew it was improper for him to show emotion, but from what he’d heard from Harwell, someone wanted this woman dead. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.
A young woman in scrubs called out to him, “Can I get you a chair?”
He released a breath. “Please.” He bent his leg back and forth a few times. “These arthritic knees are mighty tired.”
She slid a plastic chair over to him and he exhaled as he eased himself down onto the seat, using the side rails of the gurney for support. He relaxed his shoulders and gave a sigh of exhaustion, relieved to be sitting. He would have liked something a little more comfortable, but he assured himself this was no time to ask. “Do you have any idea how soon they’ll take Jane for testing?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. As you can see, we’re in a state of bedlam with the massive bus accident. Tack on the huge amount of cut-backs, and it’s pretty much anybody’s guess as to how soon she’ll be taken.”
“Okay, I can understand that, but has anyone checked her vitals, pressed on her stomach to check for internal bleeding?”
“Of course we have. A while ago, before you arrived.”
“What happened to her clothing?”
“It’s probably in a brown paper bag. Check the curtained rack. They might have put it there for safekeeping.”
A sudden jerk awakened him. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep, but it couldn’t have been more than minutes. His eyes flew open, temporarily unaware of his surroundings. He cleared his throat and straightened his body in an upright position.
Jane was sitting up in bed, a crooked smile planted on her swollen lips. He rubbed a hand over his face, and pushed himself back into the chair.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice garbled by her swollen mouth. Aware his hand was still holding onto hers, he pulled it away.
“My name is Phillip Bradshaw . . . Detective in the Two-one.”
“The two-one?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.
“The two-one Precinct, NYPD.”
She swallowed hard. “Am I under arrest? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. You’re not under arrest.” He patted the top of her hand. He couldn’t shake the paternal instinct he felt for her. She looked like a lost soul—just like him.
“Why am I in a hospital?”
“Do you remember anything about the accident?”
She gasped. “I had an accident?” Jane’s beautiful mocha colored eyes filled with fear—her pupils speckled with tiny dots. He wanted to reach out and hold her, to let her know it would be all right, but he knew better. He was a lonely old man.
“It’s okay, Jane, we can wait. You know, until you’re feeling up to it.”
“Is that my name?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what I’m going to call you—if that’s okay.” Jane gave a slight nod of her head. “Unless, of course, you know your name.” Jane stared into space. And shook her head from side-to-side.
“That’s okay,” he patted her hand. “As soon as all your tests come back, we’re going to take you to a state facility and nurse you back to health. You’ll be safe, get three squares a day, a team of around-the-clock doctors and nurses. So don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure someone out there is looking for you.” He smiled. “I promise, we’ll take good care of you.” Bradshaw stopped talking when his cell phone rang. He flipped it open and checked the screen, then held his finger up and mouthed, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
It was Detective Gerard checking in on their victim. Bradshaw noticed Jane straining to hear his side of the conversation. He saw no reason to add to her anxiety and pointed toward the sofa at the end of the hall to let her know he was leaving. She nodded and gave him a slight wave as he strode past the other gurneys down the hall.
Bradshaw ended his call and shuffled back down the hallway toward Jane’s bed. She was gone! A sudden panicked feeling tugged at his heart. He blew out a hefty breath of air, trying to convince himself not to jump to conclusions. Had they taken her for testing? But wouldn’t he have seen them take her away from where he sat? Was he even watching? Panic tied his stomach in knots. He must have looked away. The tired detective closed his eyes, trying to remember if he’d had Jane in his sights the entire time. A sudden thought made him nauseous and the image of the beautiful but injured woman he’d been chatting with came to mind after he’d finished his conversation with Gerard. She was so beautiful, he couldn’t help himself–he had to speak to her. “Oh, dear God. I’ve been in this job way too long.” The panic returned and rushed through his veins, causing his breath to catch in the back of his throat. What was he going to do? Think clearly, his mind shouted. He had to ask someone before he jumped to any more conclusions. But who? Everyone was busy.
Another rash of gurneys charged into the ER with more victims. Bradshaw turned around in circles looking for someone to ask. The medicinal smell of the ER made him cough uncontrollably. He rushed to the water fountain, took a drink and returned back down the hallway. Maybe one of the relatives of the other patients waiting saw where Jane went. A door opened from one of the rooms in the hallway, and a nurse walked out pushing her drug cart. He rushed up to her. “Did you see the woman who was on this gurney?” he asked, pointing to the empty bed.
“Sir,” she answered with a heavy sigh, “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”
He rushed into the ER and spotted the nurse he’d spoken to earlier walking out from a curtained exam room.
“Where is my Jane Doe? Did they take her for testing?”
“I don’t know, Detective. I’m up to my eyeballs with my own patients.”
“Listen dammit,” spilled from his mouth, “I need some help here.”
“I’d like to help you, Detective, but I need to tend to another patient. Check with the Hospital Administrator sitting at the desk over there,” she pointed. “She should be able to tell you.”
Why hadn’t he thought of the administrator? Retiring at the end of the week couldn’t come soon enough for him. He rushed over to the woman. “I’m Detective Bradshaw,” he flashed his shield. “Jane Doe,” he pointed down toward the hallway where she’d been. “She’s gone.”
“Which one is your Jane Doe, Detective?”
“She was brought in early this morning, a car accident—”
“Oh her. Yeah, I just passed by her a little while ago,” she said, interrupting him, “when I walked back from the restroom.”
“Well, she’s not there now,” his head wagged in disbelief. “Did she go for testing?” he asked.
The administrator held up her finger. “Hold on a minute,” she said, and called out to the young girl passing. “Jackie, please take over for me. I need to help this detective.” The young girl sat down and took the next patient waiting in line while the administrator moved to another computer.
“I’m not sure, but I can tell you, these accident victims have top priority.” Her nametag identified her as Linda Tanners. She clicked to another screen.
“Would they have transferred her to another hospital?”
“I didn’t do any transfer paperwork for her.”
Bradshaw closed the gap between them watching over her shoulder as she flashed through various screens on the computer. He inhaled the sweet rose scent of her perfume; a welcomed odor compared to what he’d been inhaling. Linda scrolled down a list of names. “No, detective, she’s not on this list. But let me make a quick call to the department.”
Bradshaw followed her to the phone. “Hi, Sandy. Yeah, this is Linda. I’m checking on a patient to see if she’s been brought to your area.” Linda’s head nodded. “I understand. I did check the computer, but her name isn’t in the line up.” Her eyebrows inched up. “Look Sandy, we’re all busy. Just check, okay?” Linda stood, drumming her fingers on the top of the metal filing cabinet. “You’re sure?” she shook her head. “Okay, thanks.” Linda looked exasperated when she turned to Bradshaw. “Sorry, Detective. She’s not there. Hmm,” her finger went up again, “let me check with the head nurse to see if she knows anything.” She began to walk away.
Bradshaw stood by Jane Doe’s gurney and spotted the tie from a hospital nightgown hanging out from under the blanket. “I think she’s left the building.” He said.
“Why would you say that?”
He pulled the gown free and held it up. “This is her gown.”
“Detective, we can’t be sure that gown was the one she wore.”
“But it’s on the gurney.”
Linda’s cheeks blazed with color. She increased her pace, almost to a jog. “I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder and entered the ER.
Bile rose to the back of his throat. He coughed and rushed to the water fountain for a drink. What was he going to do? What was he going to tell the detectives? That he hadn’t been paying attention? His stomach recoiled again like he was riding on a roller coaster.
He’d wait for Linda to return, but it was looking more and more like he’d have to make that dreaded call to Gerard. He shook his head in di
sbelief. He and Gerard had had a few run-ins in the past, mostly over territorial crap, but hard feelings had lingered. Maybe he should call Detective Kensington instead, and let her break it to her partner. She was a good egg. He paced back and forth, his legs aching from standing on his feet too long, and watched for Linda’s return. He found a chair and eased himself down when he saw Linda rushing back to him.
“No one has seen her,” Linda said breathlessly when she returned. She walked around in circles, her hand planted on her hip, scanning the area with a cautious eye, and then stopped. “I can’t believe this,” her hand went to her forehead, as if holding her head in place. “Oh God,” she rolled her eyes, “I just started this job. They’ll be throwing me right out the door if I don’t find this woman.” She called out to an aide who passed by the door. “Karen, come here for a minute. I need to ask you something.” Linda and Bradshaw met the woman half way.
“Did you see the patients in the auxiliary hallway?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I was down that hallway a short while ago refilling the rack for the interns. Why do you ask?”
“Because we have a patient missing,” the woman said.
“No. That can’t be right,” Karen said. Then a sudden look of fright washed over her face. “Oh no,” she squealed, and took off like a shot toward the linen rack. She pulled the draped curtain aside and counted the scrubs. “I always keep sets of six on this shelf for the staff – there’s only five left. An orderly replaced the laundry bin less than five minutes ago. Let me check to see what’s in there.” She entered the room and lifted the lid of the large bin and peered inside. “No, nothing in here. What did your patient look like?” she asked.
Bradshaw closed his eyes and released an exasperated sigh. “She’d be hard to miss . . . two black eyes, a few abrasions on her face, and a bandage on the left side of her forehead.”