The Corpse Whisperer

by H. R. Boldwood

  The steady rhythm of Leo’s heart monitor pulsed from behind a privacy curtain; light from his muted TV flickered on the wall.

  “How’s he doing?” I whispered.

  Rico shook his head and my heart sank.

  Ferris motioned me toward the door. The three of us walked out into the brightly-lit hallway, and let the door drift closed behind us.

  “What’s the story?” I asked.

  Rico rubbed his chin and glanced away. “It’s not looking good, Nighthawk. They ran some tests as soon we got here. We’re waiting for the results.”

  Shit.

  I borrowed an extra chair from the hallway and sat next to Leo’s bed. His skin was sallow and his lungs rattled when he breathed.

  He opened his eyes and attempted a smile.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Yeah? Well, you don’t look so good yourself.”

  There were a thousand other things that could have come out of my mouth. And I went with that. No one ever said I had a good bedside manner.

  Within seconds, Leo had closed his eyes again, and drifted back to sleep.

  A doctor walked into the room and eyeballed the three of us. “Which one of you is Assistant Director Horton?”

  “None of us are,” I said. “Why?”

  “Mr. Abruzzi’s test results are back in.”

  Rico extended his hand. “Hi, Doc. Rico De Palma, CPD. Mr. Abruzzi is in our custody. What have you got?”

  “I’m Dr. Kelly,” the man responded, ignoring Rico’s hand. “Mr. Abruzzi is my patient. Unfortunately, as I explained to that Channel Ten newswoman earlier, I can’t release information to anyone who isn’t specifically authorized, if we don’t have a signed release. HIPAA laws, you understand.”

  Damn that Jade. Always sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. If she got in over her head, it served her right.

  But something else Dr. Kelly said didn’t sit right, either, so I asked, “If you need a release, why did you ask to speak to Assistant Director Horton?”

  The doctor cleared his throat and made a show of studying Leo’s chart. “The Director claimed access to Mr. Abruzzi’s medical records, under the provisions granted by the Patriot Act.”

  Ferris nearly choked. “The what?”

  Dickhead strolled into the room, a smug smile plastered across his face. “The Patriot Act, Agent Ferris. I happen to consider the Z-virus to be a weapon of mass destruction. And I consider whoever engineered that virus to be a bio-terrorist. Either premise grants me legal access to Mr. Abruzzi’s records.”

  Ferris, who wasn’t in a position to take Dickhead on, pursed his lips and dropped his eyes.

  I didn’t have to worry about crossing any lines with the Director. He wasn’t my boss.

  I shook my head and looked him in the eye. “You’re reaching a bit, aren’t you? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” His face turned dark. “You said, yourself, the disease is spreading. We need to understand the nature of the virus if we’re going to stop it. Access to Abruzzi’s medical records will help us.”

  I forced a laugh. “Leo would never sign off on that.”

  Dr. Kelly flipped Leo’s chart closed. “Mr. Abruzzi wasn’t capable of signing off on anything. He was unconscious when he came in.”

  “Abruzzi doesn’t have to agree,” Dickhead said with a wave of his hand. “This is an FBI investigation. If you aren’t comfortable releasing the information, doctor, I can call a federal judge and get a warrant here in less than thirty minutes. Shall I make the call?”

  “These are Leo’s records,” I said. “What say does he have in all this?”

  “Hello!” Leo rasped. “I’m right here, people. Don’t let the closed eyes fool you. I ain’t dead yet.”

  He struggled to sit upright but fell back, exhausted. “Maybe Director Horton does have a legal right to know what those tests turned up. But those are my medical records, and I say everybody in this room can hear what you have to say, Doc. Go ahead. Let ‘er rip.”

  Dr. Kelly frowned and opened Leo’s chart. “Very well, Mr. Abruzzi. I am sorry to say that your heart is no longer functioning within normal limits. We believe that the injection of the Nacarotoxin directly into your heart muscle may have damaged the tissue. We are currently delivering your medication through an IV that allows for administration of a rapid, yet regulated, dose. In fact, your system should actually tolerate a higher dosage now, than you were able to with direct injection.”

  It’s not like we had a choice, injecting Leo in the heart. It was either that or watch him turn in front of us. Still, hearing the doctor say that, felt like a knife in my chest.

  “So, like how long can we do this IV thing?” Leo asked.

  Dr. Kelly sat on the edge of Leo’s bed. “Mr. Abruzzi, I’m afraid the Nacarotoxin is losing its efficacy.”

  Leo rolled his eyes. “English, Doc.”

  “It isn’t working as well as it did initially.” Dr. Kelly’s voice softened. “You do understand, this drug is not a cure. The time is coming when the medication will fail, and no longer keep you from…turning.”

  Leo nodded and looked away.

  “How much time?” Dickhead asked.

  If Little Allie had a set of hands, they’d have been wrapped around Dickhead’s neck.

  “What is wrong with you?” I asked. “The man is sitting here, right in front of you, you pompous, inconsiderate ass. Show some tact.”

  Dr. Kelly ignored my outburst. “This is uncharted territory for me—and for most of the medical community. Nacarotoxin is so new. I’ve never treated a patient with Mr. Abruzzi’s…condition…before. But given his presentation, I would say…days. Maybe a week or two, at best.”

  Leo continued to stare into space. Either he couldn’t hear us or didn’t want to.

  Dickhead shifted his eyes to me. “I don’t have time to be polite. I told you, if Abruzzi started to decompensate before the grand jury convened, we’d have to schedule a deposition. I’ll arrange for a court reporter to come here to the hospital.”

  “No,” I said. “Doc, can Leo go home with me, if we have a nurse stop by to help with the IV?”

  “Certainly,” Dr. Kelly said. “I can make the arrangements.”

  Dickhead’s cheeks flamed. “Hold on, here. You don’t call the shots, Nighthawk. I do. Your house is a now a biohazard. Besides, I want Abruzzi here, where he’s getting the best care possible, until after his deposition. If you want him after that, knock yourself out.”

  My fingers curled into a fist. “You mean, after you’ve gotten everything you want from him. And for your information, the cleaners are already working on my house, taking care of business.”

  I stopped short of telling Dickhead he’d be getting the bill.

  Leo finally spoke up. “If it makes any difference, I’d rather be at Nighthawk’s. You can send the court reporter there, right?”

  Dickhead turned to Leo. “Mr. Abruzzi, I really think you’d be better off...”

  “Actually,” Dr. Kelly said, “There is no medical reason for Mr. Abruzzi to stay here. I can arrange for Home Health to provide the nursing assistance he needs. And frankly, the longer Mr. Abruzzi stays here, the bigger the liability risk he poses to patients, hospital staff and visitors. If he should happen to turn…”

  Dr. Kelly stopped and cleared his throat. “On behalf of the hospital, I must insist that Mr. Abruzzi spend his final days elsewhere. We will keep him here overnight, while I make arrangements for his in-home care. He’ll have to leave here tomorrow morning, after we administer one more round of IV infusion. Is that clear?”

  Dickhead shrugged. “Fine, Doc. Nighthawk, go ahead. Take Leo back to your house, tomorrow. I’ll arrange for the court reporter to take his deposition there.”

  Oh, Nighthawk,” he added as he walked to the doorway. “I almost forgot. Congratulations. I heard you caught the snitch. Weston, the son of a bitch. He played you all for fools, didn’t he?
”

  Rico’s eyes flashed.

  I grabbed him by the arm, and stopped him from taking Dickhead down, much as I would have preferred otherwise.

  Rico stared at me and waited for an explanation, as Dickhead’s footsteps receded down the hallway.

  33

  The Weight of the World

  “You mind telling me what the Director was talking about?” Rico finally asked.

  Why did I have to be the one to tell him? Damn Weston for being such a douchebag. And damn Dickhead for being so arrogant.

  The recap I offered was short and sweet. “Weston’s phone rang while he was processing my house. He answered the call, ‘Yo.’ The same word, the same voice I heard in Cap’s office that day when I redialed Dom’s burner phone. When I hit redial this time…” I swallowed hard and spit out the rest. “It was Weston who answered. I’m sorry.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Rico asked. “You only heard one word. How could you possibly be sure?”

  “He admitted it.” I softened my tone. “I know he was your friend. And I’m sorry you had to hear it from Dickhead. I was going to tell you myself, but he burst in before I had the chance.”

  It might have been easier to watch him take a bullet, than to see the hurt in his eyes. That was enough suckage for one day as far as I was concerned.

  “I need to get back to the house,” I said. “To make sure everything’s ready for Leo tomorrow.”

  Rico didn’t respond. I glanced from Ferris to Rico, and back to Ferris again. Ferris winked, and nodded me toward the door.

  One more time, he’d come through, not only by agreeing to cover my shift with Leo, but by hanging there with a shattered Rico. Stand-up guy, Ferris. Little Allie wanted to know if he was my kind of guy. I wondered that myself.

  I still had to tell Nonnie that Leo was dying. Everything seemed to fall on my shoulders. It always has, but this time I wondered if my shoulders were strong enough for the job.

  I pulled into my driveway around three in the afternoon. The Splatz crew was still hard at work. The picture window and back door had already been replaced.

  They’d made good headway inside the house as well, sucking up the zushi, lickety-split. Two guys roamed from room to room, spackling bullet holes, and priming the walls. Huge fans blasted air to quicken the drying time.

  Jimmy had outdone himself. Things would be fine by morning. Now for the hard part, filling Nonnie in.

  Amazingly, and not for the first time, Nonnie surprised the hell out of me. I broke the news to her, and her eyes welled.

  After a moment of silence, she patted my hand and said, “Memento mori, Miss Allie.”

  I shook my head, lost.

  “It means, remember, you, too, shall die. So must we all, someday. Leo be at peace, no? For this, we be grateful.”

  Her blue-haired, Yoda-like wisdom might have comforted her, but part of me was circling the drain. To the rest of the world, Leo would simply die. But I would have to kill him again.

  Not wanting to dwell on that, I changed the subject. “Can I borrow your car tomorrow to pick up Leo? He can’t handle a ride on my Harley.”

  Nonnie nodded.

  “And I’m a little concerned about the way Headbutt and Kulu might react to Leo, now that his medication isn’t working right. I don’t want to risk them feeling threatened and attacking him. Can they stay here with you until—”

  Nonnie smiled. “Yes. Of course. I make lasagna for dinner tomorrow. Leo will like.”

  She bustled back to her kitchen sink, did the dishes, and went on with her life. Nonnie had grit. That funny, feisty old broad could teach me a thing or two about resilience.

  She asked me to stay the night at her house, saying she was afraid the zumbas might come back. But I suspected she knew I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

  The paint fumes at my house would be obnoxious anyway, so I stayed, and sacked out on her couch, Headbutt curled up beside me, and Kulu perched nearby in her cage.

  Sleep came easier than I thought it would. I was exhausted.

  Rising when the first bit of sunlight peeked through the drapes, I left Nonnie a note, telling her I was at my house, checking on the progress and getting Leo’s room ready, and that I would call her when Leo was home.

  It was way too early to go to the hospital. I considered calling Rico, but he would have been relieved at midnight, by whoever Dickhead had decided would replace Capple. Better to let De Palma sleep in.

  So, I changed the sheets on Leo’s bed and vacuumed the entire house. Then, I settled in with a mug of coffee and watched Dancing with the Stars on my DVR. I’d missed a lot of episodes.

  Given the recent zombie uprising, I took Hawk and my Ka-Bar knife with me when I left the house at ten. I’d be packing from here on. Just in case.

  Leo was dressed and waiting, his IV already removed. He looked older and smaller than his 5’6” frame, his skin crepey and his shoulders hunched. Even so, he still had a hell of a ‘tude.

  “Jesus. I shoulda took a cab. I thought I was gonna die and go rotter before you picked me up. What took you so long?”

  He dozed on and off, as we drove home. It took me a while, but I got him into the house and set him up on the couch with his pillow and a blanket. Then, as promised, I called Nonnie.

  She walked through the back door in less than five minutes, the heavenly smell of lasagna wafting around her like a cloud. Nonnie dished Leo up a plateful, and handed it to him with a kiss on his cheek.

  He smiled and picked at it mostly, but managed a few bites to show his gratitude. “Where are the terrible twins?” he asked, with his mouth full of food.

  “They’re at Nonnie’s. You know, with all the paint fumes and dust here, it’s better for them over there. And I didn’t want them bothering you.” So, I lied. It was one of those little white ones that don’t even count.

  The IV nurse arrived and hooked Leo up in a matter of minutes. If the injection site turned red, we needed to call her. Otherwise, she would come back to change it out in eight hours.

  Leo lay back on the couch for a nap, and Nonnie returned to her house, to clean up her kitchen.

  No sooner had Leo drifted off to sleep, snoring like a wounded rhino, than he was awakened by the ringing of my doorbell.

  Dickhead, the D.A., a videographer, and the court reporter had arrived. I opened the door and District Attorney Mark Andrews walked in like he owned the place.

  He breezed past me, hand outstretched, and headed straight for Leo. “Mr. Abruzzi, thank you for allowing us to take your deposition during this difficult time.”

  Leo glanced at Dickhead and shrugged. “It’s his party. He invited you. Not me.”

  The D.A. shot a skeptical glare at Dickhead, and then sat beside Leo on the couch. “This is a deposition, Mr. Abruzzi. You have the right to legal counsel, if you so choose. In fact, I would encourage it. I can have an attorney summoned here to represent your interests. Just say the word.”

  Leo rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do, incriminate myself? I’m dying, here. You’ve already got my set of books. I don’t need no counsel.”

  The court reporter and the videographer set up their equipment.

  Andrews pulled me aside and said, “Ms. Nighthawk, as much as we appreciate you giving us access to the witness in your home, I must ask you to leave before we begin the deposition. Mr. Abruzzi’s testimony is confidential. We’ll make this short and sweet. I expect we won’t need more than an hour or so. Director Horton will remain here for the security of Mr. Abruzzi.”

  I scowled and glanced at Leo. “You okay with that?”

  Leo kicked back on the couch and waved his hand. “Eh… What’s the worst that could happen? I could die. Go on. I’m fine.”

  I grabbed my jacket, picked up my keys, and left the house, having no idea where to spend the next hour. Nonnie’s house was always an option, but it had been a rough couple of days. Tough as she was, the poor woman could use some down time. />
  Besides, I’d had enough of watching the clock tick. That was all I could do with Leo anymore, wondering what moment would be his last. He was on my mind constantly.

  I smiled, remembering the night he said he wanted to take me dancing. So, I drove into Montgomery Village, thinking I might check out the Arthur Murray Dance Studio. I sat in my car and watched through the windows as the students danced inside. They looked so…elegant.

  I was strong for my size and agile, too. But nobody in their right mind ever called me graceful. Dancing was for graceful people. I left without even going inside, Leo’s words ringing in my ears. You lack commitment, Nighthawk.

  I told myself I’d left because it was time to get back home. That sounded a lot better than the you sorry piece of chicken shit crap the brain bitch was spouting.

  Dickhead stepped outside as I pulled into the driveway.

  He met me at the front door and blocked my path. “They’re almost finished. Another few minutes at most.”

  He peered at me over the top of his sunglasses. “I assume you still have De Palma’s services, if you need a break from Abruzzi. Given his condition, you don’t need Ferris anymore. I’m pulling him from the case.”

  I sneered. “There’s a shocker. Now that you’ve got Leo’s testimony, he’s not worth protecting anymore.”

  The D.A. opened the door and announced they were finished. One by one, the deposition team filed out of the house, carrying their equipment and nodding at me as they passed. Andrews, the last one to leave, made a point of thanking me again.

  “It’s Leo you should be thanking,” I said, as I closed the door in his face.

  Leo’s color was awful, and the whites of his eyes were tinged with a pale shade of yellow. A very, very bad sign. We couldn’t inject him with Nacarotoxin since he was already receiving it through the IV. In short, if and when his eyes went yellow, there would be no coming back.

  What he needed now was rest. But I needed some answers of my own first. “Leo, you were under oath and you swore to tell the truth. Did you tell them what you’ve been holding back?”