The man glanced over, saw Wilder. Into his walkie-talkie, he said, “We also have a deceased male. Let the police know.”
“Should be there in seven-to-eight minutes,” the voice from his walkie-talkie responded.
I watched him work on Tory. Bandaging her shoulder. Slipping an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Starting an IV. They began immobilizing her head. “Why are you doing that? What’s wrong?”
The woman looked over at me. “She hit the back of her head on the concrete. There’s external bleeding. We don’t know yet about internal bleeding or brain damage.”
Until I heard those words, I’d been operating on adrenaline. Suddenly, all that was gone. I was empty. All I could do was close my eyes.
I heard the sound of a siren. Doors slamming. Police came through the door.
“He’s over there,” the guy working on Tory told them. They went over to look.
A backboard was brought for Tory. They got ready to lift her on.
“Excuse me, sir,” one patrolman said. “Can you tell us what happened?”
I watched as they lifted Tory onto the backboard.
“The dead guy is William Wilder. He killed two policemen who were taking us to the airport, tried to kill me, shot Tory.” I nodded my head in her direction. Now that they had her on the backboard, they secured it to the stretcher.
“Sir, can you tell us how Mr. Wilder died?”
I stood. They were almost ready to move her. “In the struggle, he shot himself.”
“Let’s go,” the female paramedic said. They started moving the stretcher to the ambulance. I went, too.
“Sir,” the one policeman said after me, “we need you to stay here and answer questions.”
Like hell. I turned back. “I’m going with her. Talk to Lieutenant Ellsworth. He knows me. I’m Matt Seattle.”
I thought Ellsworth’s name might spring me. It didn’t. After a hurried conference, one of the policeman climbed in the ambulance with me and we made the forty-minute drive to Sarasota Memorial Hospital together.
A trauma team was waiting for us when we pulled up to the emergency entrance. They off-loaded Tory’s stretcher, wheeled it in, headed down a long hallway, picking up men and women in white lab coats along the way.
At a set of double swinging doors, they told me that was as far as I was allowed to go. “We’ll let you know,” a woman with a nametag identifying her as Dr. Lora Kline told me. I must have looked like I was going to fall apart. “Don’t worry; we’ll take good care of her,” she added.
I knew they would. Still, all the old memories of Sarah in the hospital flooded through me.
Chapter 56
Ellsworth easily spotted me in the crowded emergency waiting room. I was an island in the sea of people. No one wanted to get too close to the shirtless man covered in dried blood.
He eased himself down in the chair next to me. “How is she?”
“She’s in surgery now. They’re worried about brain damage.”
“Tell me how it happened,” he said, then apparently changed his mind, stood. “First, let’s see if we can find you a shirt, get you cleaned up a little.”
I stood, followed him out of the waiting area to an employee lounge. The place was empty.
“You can wash up in there.” He pointed to a door marked Men’s Locker Room. I’ll see about a shirt.”
When I returned, he had a scrub shirt, two cups of coffee.
“Decaf, right?”
I nodded. “Thanks, I appreciate this.”
He waited until I put on the shirt and took a sip of coffee, then ushered me over to a couple of chairs. “Now I want to know everything that happened. Don’t leave out a detail.”
When I got to the part about the truck being hijacked, he said, “We found Barnes and Illig’s bodies. We’re still looking for the van.”
“I’m sorry about your officers. They never had a chance; it happened so fast.”
His head dropped a little. “They were good men,” he said softly.
I sipped my coffee. Picked up the story.
When I finished, he said, “They’ll try again, you know.”
I did know. D’Onifrio would keep coming after me until one of us was dead. “Can’t you arrest him for this?”
“I can question him. But I don’t have enough to charge him.”
“What about Wilder? He worked for him. Doesn’t that tie him to all this?”
“Not enough.” He took a long pull of his coffee, looked over at me. “I’m going to station four men here to watch over Ms. Wright. I’d like to use more, but I don’t have them. You can go back with me. You’ll be safe back at the station.”
“I’m staying here,” I said adamantly.
Ellsworth shook his head, frowned. “We can protect you better.”
“I need to be here with her, know how she’s doing.”
He took a deep breath, blew out. He had to realize this wasn’t an argument he was going to win. “All right. When you’re ready, call my number. I’ll have someone come pick you up.” He stood. “I’ve got to go. With two officers down, there’s a lot that has to be done.”
I held up my coffee cup. “Thanks.”
He fixed me in his gaze. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll want to see you in the morning.”
“I understand.”
He left. I walked back to the emergency waiting room, found a seat. This time people weren’t scurrying to get away from me. I looked at my watch. Surprisingly, it was only seven-thirty. I drank the last of my coffee, wondered how long it would be before someone came out to talk to me.
I sat there for the next two hours. I was hungry, tired, achy, and that cup of coffee wanted out. Still, I sat. Knowing as soon as I left to go to the bathroom, they’d come to tell me something.
At a quarter-after-nine, I was rewarded for my patience. Doctor Kline came looking for me; she sat down next to me, folded her hands in her lap. I braced for the worst.
“She’s through surgery and in recovery,” she said, speaking softly. They’ll be moving her to ICU as soon as we can make a spot. There was brain hemorrhaging—”
“What does that mean?” It sounded awful.
She pursed her lips. “It means the brain experienced trauma—a strong blow—that caused bleeding. Dr. Guardio, one of the area’s best neurosurgeons, operated to relieve the pressure. It’s too soon to know anything. She’s still in a coma from the trauma she sustained. The next twenty-four hours are crucial in seeing how she recovers.” She stopped, looked at me. “Any questions?”
“How about the gunshot wound?”
“Not as troubling. The bullet passed through her shoulder. They’ve cleaned the wounds, stopped the bleeding. The concern is the head trauma.”
“When can I see her?”
She gave me a sad smile. “Immediately, if you want. As I said, she’s in a coma, but you can certainly be with her. It’s good to have you there.”
“I can go with her to the ICU?”
She nodded, started to get up, sat back down. “You don’t look so hot, either, especially that ear. Has anybody taken a look at you?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. Tory’s the one to worry about.”
She stood. “C’mon, I’ll take you to her. On the way, I think I can round you up a couple of the hospital’s ten-dollar aspirin.” She grinned at her joke. “Might help the pain.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” I agreed as I stood and followed her.
Sarasota Memorial is one of those hospitals where an addition was added to an addition added to an addition. Kline led down a maze of corridors and up a floor to surgical recovery.
She pointed to an empty spot along the wall. “That’s where she was. They must have taken her up to ICU.”
That entailed another elevator ride, several more corridors, before we arrived in a large square area with patient stations around the outside, a nurses’ station in the center. Kline checked at the nurses’ station, learned which sp
ot was Tory’s, and led me over.
It was like looking at Sarah all over again. Tory lay on her back, bandages around her head, a tube running out of her nose, a blanket pulled up to her chin, leaving only her head and the arm with the IV visible. Monitors and machines surrounded the bed. I stood there, thinking how pale and fragile she looked.
Kline brought me a chair, put it by the foot of the bed.
“Thank you. When do you think she’ll wake up?”
She paused, as if calculating. “I think she’ll sleep the night, probably wake sometime tomorrow. They gave her a good bit of anesthesia before the surgery.” She looked at me. “You’d be fine going home, getting some sleep, coming back in the morning.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going to sit with her. It’s that holistic thing you mentioned. I think she’ll know someone’s here.”
“Well, I’m off duty. I’m going home. If you want to get something to eat, Windows, the hospital cafeteria is one floor up and quite good. Just take “C” elevator and turn left when you get out.” She pointed past the nurses’ station. “There’s a waiting room with chairs that turn into cots if you want to get a little sleep, phones, restrooms.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your looking out for me.”
“Glad to help,” she said cheerfully. “That’s why I got into this business. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
She left. I tried the chair. It was hard, uncomfortable. Good. That would help me stay awake. I had to be ready, alert. The hospital was too big; there were too many ways someone could avoid Ellsworth’s four men. I planned to be right by Tory’s bedside—the final defense.
Right now, however, I had to find the bathroom. I headed in the direction Kline had pointed me. Found the waiting room. Found the restroom. Unloaded the coffee. Splashed water on my face. It helped. I felt a little better, a little stronger. Refreshed, I left the restroom and went in search of something to eat.
The food in Windows might have been wonderful earlier. I tasted it after who-knows-how-many hours on the steam table. I wolfed down turkey, dressing, green beans, mashed potatoes, a bowl of fruit, and a large Diet Coke. Couldn’t have taken me more than five minutes.
While I ate, I decided that there were a few phone calls I needed to make. I used the phone in the ICU waiting room. Dropped thirty-five cents in the slot and dialed Julian’s home number. His machine picked up. After I listened to his voice telling me he wasn’t there, the beep sounded, and I left my message. “Julian, it’s Matt. Tory and I were ambushed on the way to the airport. Tory was shot and she’s in intensive care—I’m here at Sarasota Memorial Hospital with her. The guy who shot Tory, William Wilder, I killed. It was self-defense. I’ve given Lieutenant Ellsworth a complete statement. Could you follow up with him in the morning, make sure everything’s okay? I’m going to stay here at the hospital and watch over Tory. Thanks, Julian.” I hung up. He was going to freak when he heard that message.
My next call was to Rosemary. “Dan,” I said quickly when he picked up. “It’s Matt. How’s Rosemary doing?”
His voice sounded tired but happy. “Much better. I got her home from the hospital this morning. Where are you calling from? Rosemary said you were leaving town for a while.”
“Didn’t make it to the airport. There was some trouble.” I looked down the hall toward the ICU. I could almost make out Tory’s bed. “Tory’s in ICU. She’s got a gunshot wound and head trauma.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“They said the next twenty-four hours are crucial. That’s all they’ll tell me.”
“We’ll say a prayer.”
“Thanks, Dan. I’ll keep you posted. Tell Rosemary I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to close the office.”
“You two can talk about that later. Take care of Tory.”
“I will.”
For the next call, I dug out my calling card. Dr. Swarthmore was long distance and, if I reached her, this call might go awhile. I punched her home number, waited while it rang. “Hello,” she said sleepily.
“Adelle, it’s Matt. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have called so late if it wasn’t an emergency.”
“That’s all right. Tell me what’s the matter.”
I told her about the hijacking, Tory’s being shot, my struggle with Wilder, my fear. “Looking at Tory lying in that hospital bed, it’s like seeing Sarah all over again. Adelle, I don’t know if I can go through this again.”
Her voice was calm, firm. “Tory and Sarah are two completely separate events, Matt, not the same event repeating itself. You have to recognize that, accept it. React to Tory’s situation as if you’ve never been through this before. Don’t predetermine the outcome. The timeliness of her treatment, the fact that the surgeons didn’t observe and note brain damage, leads me to believe her prognosis might very well be favorable. It’s important for you, during this period, to sustain your mental health. I’m very concerned about the level of stress you’re experiencing. Overloaded with stress, we often make expedient decisions that may not be in our long-term best interest. If, as you say, you have people who are trying to kill you, I want you to weigh your decisions carefully. Make sure they lead you out of harm’s way.”
I heard her, but the words didn’t reach me. I’d experienced that with her before when she’d talked about the grief, and all I knew was emptiness.
“Matt? Are you there?”
“I’m here. Just trying to take in what you’ve said.”
Her voice changed. The clinical tone gone. “Matt, I’m concerned about you. I want you to call me every day until you’re through this.”
“I will. It’ll be good to have someone to talk to.”
“Don’t try and shoulder this all on your own, Matt. You always want to do everything, make things right for everybody. Those are great qualities for a person to have. I never want you to lose them. However, this is a situation where you can’t do it all by yourself. Let other people—Ellworth, for example—help protect you and Tory. Realize you can’t please everybody. There’s no win/win solution here. Do what it takes to get the two of you through this.”
“I will. Thanks, Adelle. I’ll call tomorrow.
“Do that. Take care, Matt.”
I hung up the receiver. Told myself she was right. My job was to get us through this. To do that, I had to anticipate what was going to happen. By now, D’Onifrio had to know Wilder had failed and we were alive. That would only anger him more. He’d want us eliminated as soon as possible but probably wouldn’t try anything while the hospital was busy. He’d come in the small hours of the morning.
I headed back to Tory’s bedside, got ready to pre-empt the future.
Chapter 57
A nurse was taking Tory’s vital signs. She seemed a little startled by my arrival. “How is she?”
“Heart rate, temperature, and blood pressure are good. We’ll know a lot more when she wakes up. Are you her husband?”
“I think I qualify as a significant other,” I said, smiling. “I’m planning on spending the night here.” I put my hand on the chair. “Dr. Kline told me that would be all right.”
She looked disapprovingly at the chair. “I’ll see if we have something better than that.” She showed me the nurse call button on the side rail of the bed. “If she needs anything, press this button.” She left, returned a few minutes later with a chair that had padding and arms.
“Thank you,” I said as we swapped chairs.
“You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep on this thing,” she said knowingly.
Little did she know—I wasn’t planning on sleeping.
I positioned the chair so I could watch over Tory. Although there wasn’t really anything to see. She hadn’t moved. She seemed to be resting peacefully. I also positioned the chair so I could see anyone coming down the hallway. Once I had the chair where I wanted it, I walked back to the waiting room, got a cup of coffee from the machine, carried it back, and took my position.<
br />
I had the watch until dawn.
At one o’clock, coffee gone, backside aching, I stood, walked to the waiting room, got a fresh cup. It didn’t taste very good, but it was something to do. I carried it back, sipping a little bit off the top so it wouldn’t spill.
My watch said one-fifteen. I was the only thing moving. The floor was quiet, buttoned up for the night. Even the nurses in the center station had their heads down and were silently filling out paperwork. Every now and then, a monitor went off or there’d be a patient check, and one of the nurses would attend to it. But for the most part, the place was calm, peaceful.
It was just the kind of setting where someone could tiptoe in and—using a silenced gun or a knife—kill and get out without anyone noticing. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but sitting there in the dim light, lulled by a soft symphony of monitor beeps and buzzes, it sure seemed possible.
Worse, here I was sitting in a chair at the end of her bed, like hanging out a sign saying, here we are. The more I thought about that, the more sitting there seemed a really dumb thing to do. Especially since I was rapidly convincing myself that whoever D’Onifrio sent would get past Ellsworth’s people.
I stood, stretched, carried my chair over to the nurses’ station.
An older nurse with curly gray hair, working at a laptop, looked up at me. “Did you need something?”
I pointed over in the direction of the waiting room. “I was going to try and get a little sleep in the waiting room. Would it be okay to turn off the lights in there? They’re kind of bright.”
“Sure, the switch is right by the doorway.”
“Thank you.” I placed my chair against the wall, started for the waiting room. I had a thought and returned to the nurses’ station.
She looked up again. “Yes.”
“My sister is coming from out of town. I won’t miss seeing her arrive because I’m in the waiting room, will I?”
“Well, you will if you’re asleep. But to get here from either “B” or “C” elevators, you have to go by that waiting room, so conceivably you could see her.”
“Thank you.”
I yawned. She went back to updating the patient files. I went to the waiting room, found the light switch, flipped it off. The room was dark except for the soft glow of light from the illuminated fronts of vending machines. Anyone walking down the hallway would have a difficult time seeing who was inside.
Jay Giles Page 27
