The Swick and the Dead

by Maggie Foster

  His grandfather nodded. “And on th’ same subject, th’ board approved yer request fer protective vests. I’m told th’ DEA is deliverin’ them this afternoon.”

  “That was fast!”

  “Ye’ll want tae make sure ye get one that fits.”

  Jim nodded. He remembered the routine.

  His grandfather rose, pulling his Inverness cape over his shoulders. “Jim—” The Laird caught Jim’s eye and held it. “Dinna tak’ chances, lad. No wi’ this.”

  Jim let his grandfather out, then went back to his writing, thinking about Agent DeSoto’s plan. He didn’t mind running a few work-related risks: germs, punctures, even an irate patient once in a while. He did mind having to worry about drug runners. He hadn’t told Ginny, or his grandfather, but he’d been shot in the chest that night in D.C. If he hadn’t been wearing his vest, he wouldn’t have lived through the experience, and, even with the vest, it hadn’t been any fun.

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon

  Hillcrest Regional Medical Center

  Agent DeSoto had them cornered in the largest of the Hillcrest conference rooms. On this December afternoon, the DEA agent stood with his back to the sylvan views of north Dallas, his expression grave.

  “It’s imperative that none of you talk about this operation. Not even to each other. Lives hang in the balance, yours, perhaps. My agents, certainly.”

  The room was lined with agents. Jim let his eye roam over them. They looked ordinary enough, the sort of faces you’d see at the park or a football game.

  Jim frowned to himself. What was missing was the enthusiasm he usually saw in young people assigned to the Emergency Room. Most loved it. There was a romance to it, especially at night. The patients would come out of the darkness, in fear and pain. Sometimes they were in crisis and the team had to move fast. Sometimes the trouble wasn’t immediately apparent and you ended up with a surprise, and then you had to move very fast indeed. It got the adrenaline pumping and made you feel alive.

  “The agents will help you select a vest. You’re to wear them while you’re on duty, every minute.”

  Someone stuck a hand in the air. “What if we get hot?”

  “If you take it off, you take a chance on getting killed.”

  “Are you going to teach us what to do if someone pulls out a gun?”

  “It’s the same drill you’ve already practiced. Active shooter—run, hide, fight.”

  Jim’s mouth tightened. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “You all know where the safe zones are.”

  There were nods all over the room. The Saturday Night Knife and Gun Club was a well-known phenomenon in any big city Emergency Department. The gangs would exchange fire, then bring their injured to the hospital, and continue the battle in the ER waiting room. As a result, modern ER doors were fitted with metal detectors and equipped with armed guards, windows facing the waiting areas were bullet-proof, and most of the walls were concrete.

  “Okay. These vests are all new, no embedded bullets, so you can move through the metal detectors without setting off the alarms. Wear an undershirt to minimize contact with the fabric and make sure your scrub tops are loose enough to cover your torso when bending and reaching.”

  Over the course of the next hour Jim and the other ER staff members were fitted for vests and instructed in how to adjust them for maximum effectiveness. They were also told exactly what the vests could and could not do.

  The design would not protect them from bullets to the head, arms, legs, hip, and groin. One lucky shot to the femoral artery would result in a sudden reduction in the Hillcrest medical work force. The synthetic fiber used to produce the lightweight body armor would not stop a determined assault with a knife, though it would take real power to stick a blade through the heavy twill fabric covering the armor. Nor would the vests offer protection from blunt force trauma to the chest, which could send the wearer into a lethal dysrhythmia, no penetration required.

  Jim tried not to think about it. The vests would do what they were designed to do, protect the major organs in the torso from penetrating injuries. The system wasn’t perfect, but it was a whole lot better than nothing.

  * * *

  Tuesday Evening

  HQ of the North TX Distribution and Support Region

  The night felt empty. No moon hung overhead and no stars, not even a wisp of gossamer cloud to show where the earth ended and the sky began.

  She stood, as was required in his presence, and waited. Nonsense, of course. Very out dated. She stood, but she refused to drop her eyes to the carpet, insisting on meeting his gaze, especially now.

  “You are sure?”

  “I’m sure the woman is missing, along with one set of the counterfeit fentanyl patches. I’ve been told the man who came out to the apartment knows where the boy is. I could question him, but it might draw attention to the situation.”

  “I agree. Besides, I have another way to discover the boy.”

  “What about the woman?”

  “What of her?”

  “I think she could be a problem. I could take care of that.”

  The man behind the desk studied her face. “You would need my help.”

  She crossed her arms on her chest. “I thought you wanted us to do our own dirty work.”

  He nodded. “So I do, but not if it brings the police down around our ears.” His eyes narrowed. “No. I will decide when and what to do about her.”

  “As you wish.” She handed over the business card.

  “You may go.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, his eyes on the card.

  She nodded, then let herself out of the room. Once she was in the parking lot, she drew a deep breath. Considering the potential consequences, that hadn’t gone so badly.

  The key was the boy. Once in their custody, he could be used to draw his mother out. But sooner would be better than later. Perhaps, if she found the boy first—

  She drove home planning how to control the gossip that was undoubtedly running through the organization like wildfire. Most would know not to listen, but there were always a few too stupid to understand what was good for them. Well, she would put a stop to that and without danger of police interference. Then she would see what she could come up with to settle the other woman, quietly. Because he was right. Too much police interest was not good for business.

  * * *

  Tuesday night

  Hillcrest Regional Medical Center

  Jim caught up with Ginny just before midnight. He’d left one of the fentanyl patches with the night shift pharmacist, and another with the lab, extracting a promise that it would be tested for chemical content before dawn. A third was destined for DeSoto and the DEA labs. The remaining three were in the plastic bag he showed to Ginny.

  “Could he have gotten them out of a trash can?” he asked.

  Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “These haven’t been used.” She pointed to the non-sticky surfaces. “The rule is that the person who administers the medication—and that includes family members—puts his or her initials, the date, and the time on the patch, to prevent overdoses. These are unmarked.”

  “Could the marks have been rubbed off?”

  Ginny tipped the patches back and forth in the light. “No dents and no trace of residual ink.” She handed them back. “My best guess is, no, these are not discards.”

  “Which means he got hold of fresh patches.” Jim gave Ginny a sober look. “I know he’s only five, but that child needs to understand this is not a game. His mother is missing and those patches may be the only clue we have to finding her. You’re the only person he’ll talk to. Get him to tell you where the patches came from.”

  Ginny sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

  The night was fading into dawn when Jim made his way back to the ICU. He set the baggie with the remaining three fentanyl patches down on the desk in front of her. “Luis is saf
e. There’s no active chemical in any of them.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. “Why would anyone want fake fentanyl patches?”

  “Good question. Let’s hope we find a good answer.”

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Day 6 – Wednesday morning

  Hillcrest Hospital

  Where another might have pictures of family, Marjorie Hawkins had portraits of herself, in SCUBA gear, holding up rare, exotic seashells.

  “Is this new?” Ginny asked, admiring a delicate specimen, brilliant in pinks and golds.

  Her boss nodded, smiling. “It’s a Calico Scallop. I picked it up just off Bunkum Bay.”

  “Monserrat?”

  She nodded. “On the Caribbean side.”

  Ginny sighed, wishing she had the resources to go sailing in the Caribbean. Someday, maybe.

  Ms. Hawkins motioned to a chair, then settled down behind her desk and faced Ginny. “I’m sending you to Austin.”

  Ginny nodded. The two of them had been talking about the need for more preceptors and how it would be cost-effective to have someone in-house to train them. Ginny was the obvious choice. She’d been helping new nurses (those just out of school) and new recruits (experienced nurses just hired on) to get up to speed in the Medical ICU for two years.

  “It will mean a rotating schedule for you, so you can work with nurses on both shifts, and more money, of course.”

  “I don’t mind rotating, as long as I get Friday evenings off.”

  Ms. Hawkins smiled ruefully. “Not this week, I’m afraid. The conference starts on Friday morning and runs through Sunday noon.”

  Ginny wrinkled her nose. It was not possible to drive from Austin to Dallas during rush hour on a Friday. The traffic would make the entire I-35 corridor a parking lot.

  “Okay, maybe not this Friday.”

  “Here’s the conference schedule.” The Head Nurse handed over a sheaf of papers with yellow highlighting on the pages. “Network where you can and make nice.”

  Ginny nodded. She understood how the industry worked.

  “Thank you for staying late to talk with me. I appreciate your flexibility.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  “I know it.” She paused, eyeing Ginny. “You and Phyllis were friends, weren’t you?”

  “In school, and we got along well here. I feel really bad for her family.” Ginny sighed. “It’s a good thing she had a sister in town. Her husband isn’t coping well.”

  “You’ve seen him?”

  Ginny nodded, explaining about the condolence call. “And I have no idea who it was that upset him so much.”

  The other woman sighed. “I’m afraid I did that.”

  “You?” Ginny’s eyebrows rose.

  “I went over on Friday to see if I could pick up some files Phyllis had taken home with her. I wanted to make sure there were no HIPAA violations.”

  Ginny nodded. Those could be expensive.

  “But he wouldn’t let me look.” Ms. Hawkins’ eyes narrowed. “I wonder if you could pick them up for me.”

  Ginny blinked. “I suppose so, if I knew what to ask for.”

  The Head Nurse leaned forward. “Anything that has a Hillcrest identifier on it, paper and electronic versions. And anything that looks like it might be a legal issue. It would be a kindness to take them off that poor man’s shoulders.”

  Ginny nodded. “I can try. How soon do you need them?”

  “Today would be best. Just put them all in a box and bring them to me. I’ll sort through them here.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The Head Nurse rose and Ginny recognized her cue, happy to be dismissed promptly. Rose MacGregor was expecting her and she wanted to make a quick stop before going over to the shelter.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning

  Loch Lonach Children’s Shelter

  Ginny sat beside Luis at the kitchen table and watched him eat cereal. Seymour rested on a rock in his terrarium, apparently enjoying the spectacle.

  “Do you know why I’m here, Luis?” she asked.

  He shook his head and kept on eating.

  “Those stickers Mrs. McGregor found on you, they didn’t belong to you, did they?”

  He looked at her sidelong, then shook his head, then went back to his cereal.

  “You’re not in trouble, but I would like to know where you got them. Will you tell me?”

  Mrs. McGregor had searched Luis’ belongings and found nothing.

  Luis reached for his milk, finishing it with a minimum of fuss. Ginny was glad to see he had a good appetite. She reached into her bag and pulled out the gift she’d brought. She showed the sticker book to Luis and saw his eyes light up.

  “I like stickers,” Ginny said, then started to flip through the book. “They’re shiny and have bright colors and clever pictures.” She showed him the page she was looking at, full of dinosaurs.

  “Roaaar!” She lunged toward the child and he responded by giggling.

  Ginny went back to flipping through the pages. “Here are some about Santa Claus. It looks like someone went up to the North Pole and took pictures of his elves. That’s probably because Christmas is coming.” She saw Luis’ eyes focus on the page and held it out so he could see.

  “Here’s Santa’s sleigh. See the reindeer? They have names.”

  Luis looked at her.

  She pointed to each animal as she ticked them off the list. “Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen and Comet and—”

  “Cupid and Donner and Blitzen!” Luis finished triumphantly.

  “That’s right!” Ginny smiled at him. “Would you like to have this book of stickers?”

  He nodded, but made no move to take it from her.

  “I brought it for you, because of the other stickers, because we had to take those stickers away, and I wanted you to have some stickers you can keep.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes.” Ginny set the book down and pushed it toward him.

  Luis reached over and picked it up.

  “Will you sit in my lap, Luis?” Ginny asked.

  He nodded, his eyes on the book. Ginny slid her arm around his waist and pulled him over, wrapping her arms around him.

  They spent the next ten minutes turning pages and exclaiming over the pictures. As Luis relaxed, he became more vocal, pointing out items of particular interest.

  “Do you want to wear a sticker?” Ginny asked.

  The boy nodded.

  “Okay. Which one do you want to start with?”

  He flipped through several pages then pointed. “This one!”

  Ginny carefully peeled off the T-Rex and applied it to his arm. “There!”

  He grinned up at her. “Roooaarrr!”

  Ginny laughed and gave him a quick hug. By the time they had been all the way through the collection, Luis was wearing stickers on both arms, both knees, his cheek, and he had put one on Ginny’s forehead. “There!” he said, smiling up at her.

  “So where did those other stickers come from?”

  “Envelope.”

  “From the mail?”

  He nodded. “A blue one.”

  “Do you still have the envelope?”

  “It was Mama’s.”

  “It was something she sent to other people?”

  He shook his head. “They were for her. I wasn’t supposed to touch them.” He had his eyes back on the sticker book now.

  “Someone sent her the blue envelopes?”

  He nodded.

  “How did you get one of the blue envelopes?”

  He gave her a sly look. “Took it.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “It was for her, for Christmas.”

  “You wanted to give her a present?”

  He nodded.

  “So you took one of the blue envelopes because they were special, just for her.”

  He nodded again. “A special Christmas present.”

>   “When did you take the blue envelope?”

  He shrugged.

  “Where did you put it?”

  “In my jacket.”

  “Okay, then what happened?”

  His face clouded. “Mama went away.” He dropped the book and turned in her arms. “Mama went away and left me.”

  Ginny wrapped her arms around the stricken child and hugged him, murmuring that it was going to be all right, his mother would come home to him. She hoped it was true.

  When he settled down, she stroked his hair. “Did you look inside the blue envelope, Luis?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then how did you find the stickers?”

  “They fell out.”

  “Why did they fall out?”

  “It tore. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to show her the present so she’d come home.” He was crying again. “I didn’t mean to tear it.”

  Ginny rocked him back and forth, soothing him. “So when you saw they were stickers, you decided to put them on you, to see if they would bring her home.” Ginny understood magical thinking.

  He nodded, wiping his nose on her shoulder. He pulled back and looked up into her face, his eyes still brimming. “I’m sorry.” The tears spilled over. “I won’t do it again!”

  She pulled him to her, her heart aching. “Oh, Luis! This isn’t your fault.”

  “I wanna go home. I want my Mama!”

  There was no way Ginny could tell this child her worst fears. “It’s going to be all right, Luis. We’ll find her and bring her home.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” Ginny looked up in time to see Rose MacGregor cross her fingers, but she couldn’t tell whether it was to invoke good luck or invalidate a promise they might not be able to keep.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning

  Kyle residence

  John Kyle looked better than he had when she’d last seen him, but the grief was evident in every line.

  Ginny leaned toward him. “You asked me to make sure that woman from Hillcrest didn’t come back. I can do that.”

  He looked at her, his eyes empty of tears. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “She wanted to pick up some materials Phyllis brought home. If you’ll trust me with them, I can take them back to the hospital and you won’t have to think about it.”