Before She Dies (12 page)

Chapter 19

Deputy Howard Bishop saw me as I rounded the corner by the nurses’ station. He started down the hall toward me at a brisk walk, unusual for a man to whom exercise was a nice nap in a shady hammock.

“Her mother’s here,” he said.

I stopped in my tracks. “It’s about time. How long has she been here?”

Bishop glanced at his watch. “About half an hour. She’s calmed down some.”

“I can imagine that she’d be upset.”

“It was quite a show there for a while,” Bishop mused.

“No show, I’m sure, Howard,” I said. A twitch in his expression said there was something else, but he settled for a shrug and accompanied me back up the hall to intensive care.

Helen Murchison stopped me just as I began to push the swinging doors into the ward.

“Sheriff,” she said. She kept her voice low but it was pure steel. “Now you listen to me.” She drew me to one side. Over her shoulder I could see the ghost of a smile crinkle the corners of Deputy Bishop’s eyes. I’m sure Helen and I made quite a pair, squared off the way we were—she a matronly block of efficiency, dark eyebrows glowering over those wonderful blue, piercing eyes, long thin lips compressed with anger. And there I was, a tired old bulldog with too many hours on the clock.

“This can’t go on,” she said.

“What can’t?”

“The young lady’s mother has arrived,” she said with finality. “And she has been questioning every step we take. She insists that Ms. Real be transferred to the city. She questions every medication and every dosage.” Helen stopped and inhaled deeply, the air hissing past her clenched teeth. “And not ten minutes ago she told me that if Linda loses the sight in her left eye, it will be our fault.” She looked at me, her fierce blue eyes scanning my face. “I suggested that she wait in the ICU waiting room, and she practically struck me.”

“Does she actually know the extent of Linda’s injuries?”

“I tried to tell her, but it’s impossible to get a word in edgewise. The woman is…”

“Distraught,” I said. “Let me talk to her.”

“I would appreciate that.”

I nodded and pushed open the ICU doors. Linda was awake, and this time she managed to shift the position of her head slightly. She brought me into focus and blinked several times. Mrs. Real stood on the other side of the bed. She was nearly as wide as she was tall, her round face framed by jet black hair teased into a wild conflagration. I nodded at her.

“Good morning, ma’am.” She raised her nose slightly as if sampling the air. Maybe it had been too many hours between showers for me.

I took Linda’s right hand in mine and touched her cheek lightly with my left. “How’s it going, doll.”

She blinked and then, ever so softly, eased a couple of words past wired jaws. “Eh…eh.”

I nodded. “Linda, I need to talk with your mother for a few minutes outside, all right?” She blinked and I looked up at Mrs. Real. “Just a few minutes,” I said.

The mountainous woman followed me out into the hall, and I motioned toward the waiting room. “Let’s go have a cup of coffee,” I said.

“I don’t need coffee,” Mrs. Real snapped.

I flashed her my most engaging smile. “I do,” I said. “Come on.” I held the waiting room door open for her. “Come on.” She relented and bustled past me, her wake of perfume wide and strong.

“Now who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m Undersheriff William Gastner, Mrs. Real. Let’s talk about Linda for a few minutes.”

“I already spoke with the sheriff,” she said, as if that settled that.

“I’m sure you did. Now you’re going to speak with me.” I gazed at her, unblinking, for a long minute. “The head nurse tells me you have some concerns about Linda’s care. Now, as a physician, I’m sure you realize…”

“I’m not a doctor,” she said quickly.

“Ah. I thought perhaps you were, to know medications and the like so well.”

“I was an LPN. I retired a number of years ago.”

“I see. Did they explain the exact nature of Linda’s injuries to you?”

Mrs. Real looked behind her, located a chair, and sank her considerable bulk into it. She let out a long sigh. “One of the doctors—maybe he was just an aide of some kind—spoke to me earlier for less than half a minute. He was in such a hurry to be elsewhere…” She waved a hand.

“Linda has made great progress in a very short time, Mrs. Real. She was gravely injured. I won’t kid you.”

“But if there’s damage to her eyes, then she should be transferred immediately to a facility where she can receive the best possible care.”

“She’s receiving that here, ma’am. I’m sure that if Dr. Guzman…is that the doctor you spoke with?”

“No. He was a foreigner of some kind.”

“Dr. Perrone?”

“That may have been it.”

“He’s chief of surgical services, ma’am. What I wanted to say was that if the physicians think she should be moved, she will be. It’s that simple. And I’ll be the one to tell you, if no one else has. Linda is blind in her left eye. Permanently.” I didn’t see the need to tell the woman that Linda didn’t even have a left eye anymore.

Mrs. Real looked at me incredulously. “He didn’t say anything about…”

“I’m telling you now, Mrs. Real. Now listen. Linda is very lucky to be alive. Very lucky. I’ll spare you the details, but basically the shotgun blast struck her in the side of the head. She has serious injuries all around the left orbit, and to the sinuses on that side of her skull. Her jaw is broken and there’s damage to lots of the soft tissue inside her mouth on that side.” I held up my hands. “She has a long road ahead, Mrs. Real. But she’s already much stronger. The surgeries went well. I’m sure she’ll need more.” I smiled. “She’s a tough young lady, though.”

“And you’ve caught the ones who did this?”

“No, we haven’t.” I walked over to the small coffeemaker and felt the side of the pot. I poured myself a cup. “You sure you don’t want any?”

She dismissed the offer with a sniff.

“But we’re going to catch them, ma’am.”

The woman heaved herself to her feet. “And you stand here drinking coffee when you could be—” she stopped, fuming and groping for the right words, “out there.”

I sipped the coffee, wondering what the woman had been like a quarter of a century before when she watched her daughter as a tot taking her first staggering steps.

“Ma’am,” I said, “we have people ‘out there’ working themselves sick. We have some officers who haven’t had any sleep since Sunday night, when this happened.”

“Well, then maybe you can tell me what Linda was doing in that police car in the first place?”

“She frequently rides with one of the officers, Mrs. Real. On occasion, she writes an article about the department for the newspaper. Other than that, I don’t know why she spends so much time with us. Perhaps she’s husband hunting.” I regretted the comment the instant I said it, but it was too late. Mrs. Real’s eyes narrowed into slits and her heavy jaw thrust forward—an expression I was sure that Mr. Real, if he still cowered somewhere on the planet, had learned to dread.

“You had no business allowing her,” she snapped, and she shook her finger under my nose. “No business whatsoever.”

“Mrs. Real,” I said wearily, knowing already that it was a waste of breath, “Linda is an adult professional. She has the right to observe public agencies such as ours as much as she likes. We extend her the courtesy of riding with officers when she deems it necessary. She signed a waiver of responsibility with the county attorney. It’s her call. We’re as sorry as anyone that this happened.”

“Now, you say that. But you let…” she began.

“You might remember, ma’am, that one of our deputies was killed in that same incident. You might bear that in mind. We’re hunting a killer. Your daughter is lucky. Just plain, flat lucky.”

“She shouldn’t have been allowed,” Mrs. Real said, and she made for the door. There were tears in her eyes and I let her go. She headed straight across the hall like a huge, waddling missile. I closed my eyes and drained the coffee.

Mrs. Real was still snuffling into a tissue when I slipped back into the ICU and walked up to the bed, yellow legal pad in hand.

“Oh, just leave us,” the woman said.

I ignored her and took Linda’s hand again. “Linda, I’m going to lay a pad of paper under your right hand,” I said. I slid the legal pad between her hand and the sheets.

“May I interrupt?” A young voice chirped behind me, and I turned to see Patsy Montaño, face sober and brow furrowed with concern.

“Sure.”

“I need to check the patient’s drip,” Patsy said seriously.

Right this instant
? I almost replied, but nodded. “You do whatever you have to do.” I watched closely, but Mrs. Real remained rooted. The nurse slipped past her. I leaned over close to the bed. “Linda, if I put a pencil in your hand, can you make a few marks for me?” She blinked and said something like
umph
. “And penmanship doesn’t count,” I added. I slid the pencil between her fingers and she held it like an old pro, tip poised over the yellow paper. “I’m turning on the tape recorder, Linda. All right?” She blinked.

I slid the tablet under the pencil. “Linda, yesterday you indicated to me that you knew at least one of the people in the vehicle on State Highway Fifty-six on Sunday night. The vehicle that Deputy Paul Enciños stopped to assist. What was the name of that person, Linda?”

Even wandering as it did, even with hesitation now and then, Linda’s freehand writing was better than mine at its best.
Tammy Woodruff
.

“Tammy Woodruff,” I repeated for the recorder’s benefit. “Was she with anyone else?”

No
.

“She was alone. All right. Linda, yesterday you told me that the vehicle was already stopped along the shoulder of the road when the deputy stopped. Is that right?”

Yes
.

“Was the vehicle disabled somehow?”

The pencil wavered for several seconds, and Linda’s eye closed. I could sense the regret as she wrote,
Don’t know
.

“When you say ‘Don’t know,’ do you mean that you couldn’t see anything obvious? You didn’t see a jack, for instance, or a tire, or something that might indicate to you that the vehicle was disabled?”

No
.

“You didn’t see any of that. Was Tammy Woodruff out of the vehicle?”

Yes
.

“Did she walk up to the patrol car when the deputy stopped behind her vehicle?”

No. To front
.

“Toward the front of her vehicle?”

Yes
.

I slid the pad out and turned the page. Patsy Montaño had finished checking her machinery, but we were still parked right in the center of her day, making life difficult. She stood near the head of the bed, not sure what she should do.

“Can you give me just a few more minutes?” I said.

Patsy nodded.

“Can you answer a few more questions?” I asked Linda.

Nothing else to do
. She was getting used to driving that pencil without looking at it, and the words came smoothly.

I chuckled and squeezed Linda’s hand. Her mother’s eyes narrowed again.

“Linda, what kind of vehicle was the parked vehicle?”

The pencil tip drew a little spiral as if a memory was refusing to swim to the surface. Then she wrote,
Chevy pickup
.

“A Chevrolet pickup. Do you remember what color it was?”

White
.

“All white?”

Just saw back
.

“But it was just a regular pickup?”

Yes
.

“You’re sure?”

Yes
.

Yes
. She paused.
Think so
.

“Were you able to make out the license plate, Linda?”

No. Wasn’t one
.

“No license plate?”

No. It had
…The pencil stopped and I looked at Linda’s face. Her eye was closed.

“She doesn’t have the energy for all this,” Mrs. Real snapped. “You should leave now.”

The pencil wavered.
Thinking
.

“Take your time,” I said.

Temp tag in window
.

“It had one of those paper permits in the back window? Like it was just purchased?”

Yes
.

“Linda, I need to ask you about the second vehicle. What direction did it come from?”

West
.

“From the west. It came toward you then. And it stopped on the other side of the road?”

Yes
.

“Was Deputy Enciños out of the patrol car then?”

Yes. Standing by front fender
. She shifted her grip on the pencil and I moved the pad a bit to give her room.
Think was going to talk to Tammy
.

“And you didn’t see the driver of the second vehicle?”

No. Headlights too bright
.

“Did the person fire from the vehicle?”

No. Got out. Paul backed up
.

“Paul backed up? Can you tell me what you mean?”

Linda made a small groaning sound as the memories surged back.
Stepped back. I saw hand move down toward holster
.

“The first shot came from across the highway.”

Yes. Right away. Then he walked across. He walked across road
.

“But you couldn’t see who it was?”

No. I tried to get down. Tried. So scared
. The pencil’s tip drifted along the line an inch or so before touching the surface again.
So scared
.

I put my hand over Linda’s for a moment. The room was silent. Mrs. Real’s eyes bored into mine, but I ignored her.

“Linda, can you tell me just one or two more things?”

“Uh.”

“Do you know why Deputy Enciños decided to drive out Fifty-six so late in his shift?”

No
.

“It was just chance?”

Maybe he wanted
…The pencil stopped. Her forehead, what little of it I could see, furrowed, but this time in pain.
Hurts so much
, she wrote.
Hard to think
.

“We’ll let you rest.”

No, wait
. The pencil almost stabbed the paper with determination.
Paul thought Tammy maybe drinking
.