Smolder (16 page)

Officer West’s first name was Nancy, and she used to box and wrestle in college. Sparring with her would have left me with aches and pains. I stuck to karate practice as they took a break and sat at the table. When Dmitri and I, hopefully, slept together, I didn’t want to have bruises.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she said.

“What for?” I thought I knew, but her pained expression told me it was a sincere sentiment and not the usual attempt to alleviate guilt.

“We let that kid get past us. The background checks for the hospital go through the local police department. It was a flagged name that let us know something was up, but it happens so often after 9/11 because we search for everything now that we didn’t look deep enough.”

“Unless the name came up with a warning in red neon that said he has a serial killer in the family, I’m not sure you could have known.”

“You are a smartass. I like that.”

Josh sat there like a love-struck teenager. The look on his face could only be described as swoon.

I finished my workout happy with my progress—class was tomorrow night, and I wanted to show off my skills to my new instructor.

“You two behave,” I said. “Or keep it down.”

Showered and in bed, I ran through the day's events. I meant what I said to Dmitri—something in Owen’s reaction indicated this serial killer thing set him off. I would have to check out his past in Atlanta tomorrow. Maybe that would help me figure it all out.

Chapter Fifteen

I woke up and found Nancy’s uniform shoes under the kitchen table. My brother was a romantic. A splash outside drew my attention to the pool where he was swimming laps.

I sat on the edge until he noticed me and stopped. “This house isn’t safe. His nephew has been here. I don't feel safe.” I hadn't planned on saying it that way, but I didn’t want to take it back.

“Where are you going to go and when?” he asked.

“Dmitri offered for both of us to move in with him. He has five bedrooms and lives in a secured neighborhood. It’s safer than this. I would hope.” I wasn’t sure you could stop a serial killer copycat with a gate and a guard, but it beat welcome signs at the neighborhood entrance.

“I’m not sure, Ellie. I like being here where we can work out in the yard, swim in the pool, watch the boats go by... I really like your little house.”

“I’m not moving permanently, Josh. I love this place too," I said.

“Give me until this weekend to decide?” he asked.

“Okay.”

I headed to work for an early start since I didn't get to any patients yesterday, I had a full load today. Four of today's patients were hospitalized with ketoacidosis because they were diabetics who didn’t monitor their blood sugar. One of them was a sweet older black woman who would need a leg amputation from the knee down.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Dr. Quinn, from psychology.”

“Why, you are a pretty face first thing in the morning. How are you, sweetie?”

“I’m just fine, ma’am. Is that apple cobbler?”

“Yes, it is. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you. And you really shouldn’t either, you know.”

She smiled at me. “Honey, I've had the sugar my whole life. I’m seventy years old and have enjoyed food for the last two years. It’s costing me a leg, but the damn thing aches so bad I’m better off without it anyway. Since the lovely people here make sure my sugar stays okay even if I cheat, why shouldn’t I enjoy homemade cobbler before surgery?”

That question didn’t need an answer, so we made small talk while she finished her food.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“About a month.”

“You need to see the sights, my dear. I lived my whole life in Savannah. I have six children and fourteen grands. If could put a wheel on the bottom of my new leg, I could keep up with them at the park.” She laughed and told me about her family.

The rest of the appointments went by so fast I forgot to eat, so I stopped in the cafeteria around two o’clock. The dining room was empty and only a few things were out to choose from. I fixed a salad at the bar and sensed someone behind me.

“I want to apologize for yesterday,” Owen said.

“Owen. We are all under stress, but you can’t attack people. I don’t know why this got to you. Does it have something to do with the person you said you couldn’t save?”

“Yes. And you have a very good memory.”

His demeanor changed enough when he’d mentioned it, that I catalogued the information. “It’s part of the job. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No. I’m working it out in other ways.”

He walked away, and I was still puzzled. Something didn't click with him. I wasn’t used to people putting up barriers with me. Strangers walked up and told me things their own families never heard, and yet this man had erected a very strong defense to keep people away.

I paid for my food and carried it to the office. The notes from today's consults written and signed, I headed home around five o’clock.

Nancy was at the house when I got there, but it was clear this was no social call. She was in uniform and paced the den in front of Josh.

“I don't want to know," I said to them both as I passed them. “Not today, not tomorrow. Anyway, we can stop the information age long enough for me to get a few days without more bad news?”

“Bad day, Ellie?” Josh asked.

I rarely complained about my work or the amount of trouble that came with it. I was new to the profession, but I'd trained for two full years in hospitals larger than this and had less happen in a month. Maybe I needed a small break so I wouldn't feel overwhelmed. Or my brain was busy working on what didn't click about Owen, and it exhausted me. I wasn’t sure, exactly.

They were polite and waited until I got out of my work clothes. Each nervously fidgeted with a pen in their hands as they tried not to say anything. I grabbed a huge bowl of coffee and put enough sugar and creamer in to qualify as an ice cream topping. The den had one couch and a non-matching loveseat. I crawled into the oversized love seat and waited for them.

Nancy sat on the couch next to Josh, across from me.

She began. “It seems Travis’s nephew isn’t the only questionable person Owen hired at the hospital.”

Obviously expecting a reaction, she paused. I waited for her to continue. Her expression became impressed as I didn’t flinch.

“Four members of his security team are using aliases. The other three were cops in the same precinct as Owen in Boston before he moved to Atlanta. He was transferred to Atlanta to get him away from this group because their captain suspected them of harassing the criminals instead of arresting them. Before he left, suspected child molesters disappeared. The authorities weren’t called until a large group of homeless men, all on the sex offenders’ registry, went missing over a two-week period.”

“Ellie,” Josh started.

I looked down at the coffee in my hands.

She continued. “They think Owen's crew, not Owen himself, killed those men. The cops were suspended, and the next time they showed up on law enforcement radar is here.”

“Can you stop for a minute?” I asked.

“El, you don't look good,” Josh said.

“I’m mentally exhausted. I have no idea how I’ve held up this long. So it’s going to take a little while for me to process this. One thing I want know before I crawl into my bathtub with massive amounts of bubbles.”

“Yes, Doctor?” Nancy asked.

“Are any of these men, Owen included, suspected of beating, raping, or killing anyone since they showed up here?”

“No. Our concern is that these are highly trained policemen with vigilante leanings, and it could explain why Travis’s nephew fit in with them. They wouldn’t have questioned his fake identity or reported it, to us or the security company, if they found out.”

“So serial killer wannabe joins rogue cops as security guards at a public hospital.” My head ached. “There’s a piece I’m missing. It's like the table-sized puzzle has a four inch hole in the middle, and my mind keeps running around the edges trying to figure out the patterns and then back to the hole to see if that theory fits.”

“It seems your mind is as unique as your patients,” Nancy said. “I meant that in a good way.”

“It’s okay, I took it as a compliment.”

Josh shooed me to my room so he could be alone with Nancy.

Surrounded by perfumed bubbles, I let the world fade away. My mind did have the capability of figuring out complex problems in the background while I was otherwise occupied. It led to some strange a-ha moments.

The sound of laughter outside woke me up. I checked the clock—I'd been asleep for an hour. Wrapped in a fluffy robe, I crawled in bed with a good fantasy book.

The fantasy worlds where magic was real and imagination wasn't limited fascinated me the most. A few people I met in my previous positions were convinced that modern diagnoses for mental health dismissed the possibility of different realms only they could see. When theoretical physicists showed upon on television and talked about alternate universes, the clients refused their medications and insisted on speaking with the other universe beings. There wasn't a good argument they were wrong, all I could do was request they take they medications on days they needed to be fully engaged in this universe. It worked.

Thursday morning, I woke with my tablet on my chest and snippets of dreams in my mind. I felt groggy heading off to the hospital. I heard muffled sounds from Josh’s room and was grateful the door was closed as I went by. My car was in the garage, and I backed up past Josh’s SUV and a Jeep.

Tomorrow, my brother would let me know if he was going to move with me to Dmitri's temporarily. Today, I got to the office and had ten people I needed to see.

“That’s a lot,” I said.

Lee laughed. “It seems there was a party in Pooler Friday after a football game. The parents stocked the house with liquor and beer for their son and his friends. It got out of control when someone announced the party on Facebook and fifty other kids showed up with prescription pills. Everything was passed around, and no one can remember much of anything, including the parents who were drunk by the time the group showed up.”

“They arrested the parents, right?” I asked.

“Yes, they’re in jail, and their son has to find a relative to live with while all the stuff gets straightened out. They want you to see who can remember the pills they brought since one of the kids is in intensive care with an allergic reaction—”

“And they don't know what to give because they don't know what they took.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Who does that? What parent thinks it's okay to get drunk with a teenager?”

“The actual number would surprise you.”

I started with the kids whose parents were in the rooms with them. After asking the parents to leave, the kids told me they got the drugs from their families. Some were pain pills, other anxiety pills, and some the kids couldn't remember.

The pediatric intensive care unit was a rough place to be. When I walked in, a toddler wandered out of his room on wobbly legs as tense parents watched. There is nothing like the sound of a child laughing. It makes me laugh along with him and when he made it to the nurse and back, he bounced until he fell and kept on laughing.

Just beyond that beautiful moment stood a couple in a tight embrace experiencing memories as they watched the small child. These were the parents of the teenager, and I escorted them to a separate counseling area.

“I spoke with the other kids here at the hospital and gave the doctors a list of the medications they remembered bringing. It may not help your son.”

“It's a start," his father said.

“Yes. They have somewhere to start. The adults who hosted the party may have destroyed the pill bottles. I've asked the nurses to pull the parents from the kids’ rooms and get a full list of any medications their children had access to either at home or a relative’s house. I’m going to talk with one of the psychiatrists here to see if he can advise on this as well. He knows more about the mental health medications and their complications than I do.”

The child’s mother had tears covering her cheeks as she stood up and held her hand out to me. “I want to thank you, Doctor.”

I shook her hand and stood to leave. She hugged me and held tight while she cried. Her husband looked apologetic, but I waved him off. Hugs were a perk of my job.

I escorted them back to their son’s room, and the pediatrician stood there ready to discuss options with them. I informed him of the need to call in the psychiatrist and offered to make the call myself as he was busy with the family.

The psychiatrist and I had passed in the hall a few times and I had his number. I dialed it while I made my way back to my office.

“Steve? This is Ellie, how are you?”

“I’m doing okay. I've been doing rounds all morning.”

“Did you hear about the kids’ prescription party that landed ten of them here, with one in ICU?”

“Not yet. But if I returned the calls on my voicemail, I’m sure I will.” He sounded concerned. I thought I remembered Lee mentioning he had a few of his own.

“I’ve met with all of the kids and the parents. The pediatric attending has a list of the meds I was told about. I would appreciate it if you could talk with the parents of the kid in ICU. His is an allergic reaction to something on that list, either individually or in combination.”

“Got it. And Ellie, please feel free to ask me to help you any time you need it. I was thrilled when they hired a psychologist because I don't have time to spend with the patients the way I would like.”

“I’d be happy to, and thank you," I said and hung up. The walk back to my office took an extra twenty minutes, I found myself wandering the long way to treasure the time between tragedies.

“You look like shit,” Lee said with a smile.

“I miss you when I’m gone,” I replied.

“There’s fresh coffee, and I took some treats from a party down the hall. They’re on the counter in there.” She motioned toward the kitchenette. “Dr. Kriss called, the psychiatrist. He asked if you had time tomorrow for lunch. Seems he has some ideas about those kids and wants to talk.”

The coffee and muffins were delicious. “Thanks for that. He sounded like a nice guy.”

“He is. He's been here a while, and until you showed up, they expected him to see all of the patients in the psychiatric wing and everyone in the main hospital every day. The poor man was run ragged most days.”

“It’ll be nice to have another mental health professional to talk to,” I said.