Haunting Refrain (37 page)

The lobby was crowded with people, some carrying flowers, some herding children, a few with blotchy faces and swollen eyes. Prime visiting hours. Kate and John waited impatiently at the bank of elevators for their turn. They squeezed onto the third one. Elevators were not her favorite places. Kate wondered what the capacity of it was. She figured there were at least a dozen people crammed into it, and given a conservative average of a hundred and fifty pounds each, that came close to a ton.

The elevator stopped at every floor, disgorging a few people at each, causing the others to shuffle their positions. Why was it the people in the back always wanted off at the first floor?
Must be part of the Peter Principle.
Kate and John got off on four. She was sure the stairs, if she could have found them, would have been faster.

After taking a second to get her bearings, she headed for Gwen’s room, John beside her. “How’s Gwen? Is she awake?” she asked Detective Waite, who was standing in the doorway talking to a young woman in a police uniform.

“She’s still asleep,” she said. “This is Officer
Bowan
. She’ll stay out here in the hall as long as you’re going to be in the room with Gwen and promise to call her immediately if Gwen wakens.”

Bowan
held out her hand. “Please call me Meg. Detective Waite showed me the suspect’s face in these photographs and described him. I think I would recognize him.”

Kate introduced herself and John, smiling at the earnest young woman. “Believe me, I’d know him, too,” she said, touching her throat.

“By the way, we picked up Aaron Youngblood, alias Brother Ezekiel, the prophet. He says God sent him after you. Apparently God uses a ballpoint pen and writes in a neat hand—he had a piece of paper in his pocket with your address and a rough map. I suspect “God” will turn out to be Andrews. Youngblood may eventually identify him, but no jury would put stock in anything the man says. He should probably be committed.” She glanced in the door of Gwen’s room. “I think we’d better get on with what we have.”

Waite told Kate which pictures she wanted and consulted the nurse, who thought Gwen would sleep through it. Kate insisted on waking her first. “I won’t have her waking up to a flash in her eyes. It would terrify her, and she doesn’t need anything else.”

The two women entered the darkened room. Kate, brushing the pale gold hair off the battered face on the pillow, said softly “Gwen? It’s Kate. I have to take some pictures for the police. Can you hear me?

Gwen’s eyes opened fraction of an inch. “Do what you have to.” Her raspy voice was barely audible. She made a little whimpering sound and went back to sleep.

Kate, unable to answer around the lump in her throat, patted Gwen’s hand. She took a second to brush a tear from her eye and remind herself that Gwen would heal, that her injuries weren’t as bad as they looked.

Under Waite’s direction, Kate took several shots. Then Waite had the nurse pull the sheet down. She lifted the cotton hospital gown, exposing the tightly taped ribs. Muted purple bruises leaked onto the skin around the white bandage. Kate snapped two more shots. When they left the room, she turned to the detective. “What will happen if Gwen never remembers?”

“Jamal’s at her condo with the crime scene crew now. We’ll have to find some physical evidence or maybe a witness who saw Andrews there. With that much damage to her, he almost certainly left something. From what you’ve told us, he didn’t know why she wanted to see him, so he wouldn’t have gone prepared to hide anything, such as taking gloves or wearing anything in particular.”

Kate flushed, thinking of the gloves she had taken to Thomas’s house.

Waite closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just don’t tell me anything I don’t ask you about.” She resumed her review of the steps being taken to tie Thomas to the attack on Gwen. “We have the clothes he was wearing at your studio, to see if we can match any of the stains with Gwen’s blood.”

After a few minutes’ quiet conversation with Meg
Bowan
, Waite left, taking Kate’s enlargements of Thomas and the roll of film she’d shot of Gwen. She stopped briefly at the nurses’ station and showed them the pictures.

An orderly brought out a vinyl-covered chair for the policewoman and placed it beside the door of Gwen’s room.

Kate settled in the chair beside Gwen’s bed, and John moved the room’s second chair next to her. She took a book from her bag while John extracted a gray laptop computer from his briefcase. He fiddled with a power cord and moved the chairs to allow the cord to relax. When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he returned to the briefcase and retrieved a black diskette.

Kate watched all the maneuvering with interest. After he got settled she said, “We didn’t call
Venice
.”

John flashed
her a
look from the corner of his eye. “Does ‘we’ need a quarter?” he asked, not budging.

Muffling a laugh, she put her book down and crawled over John, careful not to disturb the computer’s power cord or the notes he had clamped under his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Is that your friend’s computer?”

“No, it’s mine. I bought it off him this morning. He wanted a better one anyway. I think it’s time I moved into the twentieth century. Next I’m getting a charger for the cell phone that will work in the car—so I can keep up with you.”

She kissed him and left to find the phone and call
Venice
. She didn’t want to discuss Gwen’s condition in the room with her in case she woke up.

After reporting to
Venice
and assuring her that she didn’t need to come be with Gwen, Kate got coffee from the nurses and returned to the room. She nodded to the policewoman, whom the nurses were keeping supplied with drinks and magazines. A male nurse, identified as an RN by his name tag, hung over Gwen’s bed, thermometer in hand. Kate wondered idly if male nurse was a sexist term, like woman doctor or female police officer. No one ever said female nurse or male doctor.

“Is she all right?” she asked, shoving both cups at John. She couldn’t imagine how Gwen felt; from the little contact she had had with Thomas, she was sore and stiff and her throat hurt.

“She has a little fever, nothing unexpected. We’ll be checking her off and on all night. I’m going to bring in an IV and a monitor,” he explained. “Doctor Robbins left instructions for liquids and something to help her relax.”

Kate crawled back to her chair on the far side of the bed. She wriggled and squirmed, adjusted the thin blanket behind her, added a pillow, and finally settled in. She yawned behind her hand and found her place in the book.

“Do you want this coffee, or did you bring them both for me?” John asked.

Kate turned to him, surprised. He sat with the computer balanced on his knees and a cup in each hand. She took the coffee. “I forgot. I think I’m a little tired.”

“Why don’t you open out your chair and try to sleep?”

“I’ll read a while first.” She yawned again, fishing a small aspirin container from her bag. She shook four into her hand, tossed them in her mouth, and washed them down with the coffee.

John watched as she opened the book, certain she wouldn’t last long. “Let me fix your chair. Then I won’t have to wake you up when you pass out.”

“But I might not hear Gwen.” She couldn’t stop yawning.

“Gwen is being cared for. She probably won’t wake up unless the nurses make her,” he said and leaned down to place the computer and his coffee on the floor. He opened the recliner for Kate and plumped the pillow for her. He wished she were in a bed. She was going to hurt in the morning, but he knew she wouldn’t leave Gwen. He sat back in his chair and picked up the computer, watching Kate nod. He didn’t have long to wait.

The book slid from Kate’s fingers; she was asleep before she had turned the first page. John dropped the book in her bag and drew the blue cotton hospital blanket over her. He smoothed the hair off her face and kissed her gently, anger welling inside him as he studied the bruised cheek and neck, the bluish crescents under her eyes. How long had he known her?
Two, three weeks?
It didn’t seem possible that it had been such a short time.

She made a
whiffling
sound and turned away from the light. John drained the coffee, then saved the two lines he had managed to write, gathered his notes, and unplugged the computer. He carried the chair into the bathroom, grateful for the handicapped accommodations that required the increased floor space. After checking Kate and Gwen once more, he turned off the room light, leaving only the small light on the headboard, and set up shop in the bathroom. The article should have been in this afternoon.

An orderly came in to set up the IV for Gwen, followed by the nurse who had ordered it. John concentrated on the story, sifting through his notes, and worked steadily, occasionally interrupted by the squeaking of their rubber-soled shoes on the tiled floor as the nurses and orderlies came in to check Gwen. The policewoman stuck her head in once or twice. Finally, groggy himself, he shut down the computer, turned off the light, and dozed where he was, afraid moving the chair back into the room would disturb Kate.

At the soft tap of shoes, John roused briefly and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. A nurse passed the door, head down, studying the chart in his hand. John closed his eyes and drifted off.

The soft rustling sounds of the nurse roused Kate briefly. Through half-closed eyes she saw a tall, white-haired nurse with a hypodermic needle in one hand and the tube to Gwen’s IV in the other. In the dim light, struggling for coherence, she watched as the gloved hands inserted the needle into the tube. A bubble appeared in the liquid, sliding slowly downward. A strange flutter rippled through her. Something didn’t register. Weren’t air bubbles supposed to be bad?
Maybe even fatal?
She blinked, clearing her vision, and stared at the nurse. The flash of understanding galvanized her.

Kate launched herself across Gwen’s body, grabbing the tube and screaming, loosing the furies on the quiet hospital floor. Gwen
screamed,
a terrible rasping sound. Kate yanked the needle from her arm, praying she wouldn’t cause anything worse.

The nurse yanked a gun from his pocket and turned to run. John burst from the bathroom, and the policewoman charged through the door.

“Thomas,” Gwen whispered.

Thomas grabbed Kate and jerked her off the bed, shielding himself with her body. He held the gun tight against her temple. “Get away. I’ll kill her!”

John and Officer
Bowan
skidded to a stop. Nurses crowded in the door of the room. The one in front saw Thomas and gasped.

Bowan
snapped at them, “Get away from here. Call the police and clear the hall. Keep everyone in their rooms.”

“Put your gun down, Officer. I mean it, I’ll kill her.” Thomas crouched behind Kate’s small figure, hiding as much of his own body as he could. He spat the cotton wads that had padded his cheeks onto the floor. “Then back away.”

Bowan
carefully placed her gun on the floor in front of her. “Take it easy. No one’s going to do anything.” She directed the last to John. “Do as he says, Gerrard.”

“Kick it under the bed.
Now!”
Panic caused Thomas’s voice to crack.

Kate fought to overcome the paralysis that held her frozen. Thomas’s forearm pressed against her throat, holding her upright against his chest. She could barely breathe. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gwen easing herself upward on the bed.

Bowan
saw her, too. “Don’t anyone do anything stupid. His finger is on the trigger, and he could shoot her accidentally if he’s startled.”

Kate clung to Thomas’s arm, trying to loosen his crushing hold on her windpipe. Her feet barely touched the floor. She could feel the gun’s barrel pressed into her temple. Anything she did might make him shoot.

“Out.
Everybody out.”
Thomas took a step forward, shoving Kate ahead of him. “We’re leaving.”