Steeled for Murder (14 page)

I hefted the woman up slightly to see how heavy she was. She weighed almost nothing. I wrapped the blankets around her more tightly. My hand encountered a wet spot underneath her. I wondered how long she had been lying there.

Sam came back and handed me the purse and the keys. I went out to see about the van.

The ignition coughed a few times and caught. I was relieved to see the automatic transmission. I hadn’t driven in years, but how different could it be? I turned on the lights and the windshield wipers. Putting my foot on the brake, I moved the gearshift into drive. Letting up gently, I eased the van out of the lean-to and toward the front of the house. It obediently went where I steered. When I got near the front door, I stepped on the brake. The van shuddered and veered to the left, but it stopped. I moved the gear shift to park. Despite the sleet, which was turning to snow, I rolled down the driver’s side window. I didn’t want to turn it off again, but I also didn’t want to accidentally lock the keys inside.

The front door opened. Sam came out, carrying a lumpy bundle that turned out to be the baby. Behind him trailed the twins, hats on their heads and boots on their feet, but their coats unzipped.

I opened the passenger side door and reclined the seat as far back as it would go. Leaving Sam to the details of strapping the younger children into their car seats, I went in and gathered up the woman with all her blankets. She was still awfully hot, and her breathing seemed even shallower. Walking carefully down the porch steps, I carried her out and laid her in the passenger seat. I fiddled with the belt until I got it around her.

“I got to get the diaper bag,” Sam said, heading back into the house.

I looked at the purse. I hoped it had some ID and a medical insurance card. The hospital would want that information for sure.

Sam came out with the diaper bag. He still wore the oversized shirt, but it was tucked into a pair of pants. Unzipped boots flopped on his feet.

I got into the driver’s seat and did up my seatbelt. I glanced back at all my passengers. They seemed to be secure. The baby whimpered. One of the twins said, “Uncle Carl?”

Was this technically kidnapping?

I eased the gearshift into drive.

The van lurched down the rutted driveway. I hoped the roads weren’t too icy. I could just hear Mr. Ramirez if I crashed this thing with all these kids in it.

This was crazy. I couldn’t begin to count the number of parole regulations I was violating. But I saw no alternative. If I got locked up again for this, at least it would be for something I’d actually done.

Snow was beginning to blanket the road. I concentrated on keeping the van away from the ditches on either side. Huge flakes slammed into the windshield. I could barely see.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Sam asked from the back seat.

Without taking my eyes off the road, I said, “No.”

“But—” Sam started to whine.

“No!”

He shut up. I felt kind of bad, snapping at him like that. He was just worried about his mom. But I had to keep all my attention on driving. I tried not to listen to the rasping breath of the woman beside me.

As we came into town, traffic picked up. I inched the van over close to my side of the street. At least I knew where the hospital was, over near the courthouse and the library.

Given the road conditions, everybody had to be driving slowly, but other vehicles seemed to be whizzing by us at an alarming speed.

Took an eternity before I saw the bright red sign that said “Emergency Entrance” shining through the gloom. I turned up the ramp. The van slipped going up the slick surface, but I was going slow enough so it didn’t cause a problem. Other than to my already taut nerves.

Two ambulances and a patrol car were parked by the big double doors. I thought about going directly into the parking lot instead of stopping in the driveway. I wasn’t anxious for police to notice the van or my unpracticed driving. I glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. I couldn’t detect even the shallow breaths anymore. Pulling the van over, I hit the curb. I was only two thirds the way up the ramp, still a fair distance behind the patrol car. I put the van in park.

“Keep an eye on the kids,” I said to Sam. “I’m gonna bring your Mom inside. I’ll be right back.”

The double doors opened automatically as I carried her through. An alert attendant took a quick look at me and my burden, grabbed a gurney, and hurried over.

I laid her down. The attendant tossed the blankets aside, scanning the woman, feeling the heat radiating from her body. “Go to the front desk,” she ordered briskly. “I’m taking her right back.” She and the gurney disappeared through another set of double doors.

I went up to the desk. At least three people were ahead of me. The kids were still in the van. So was the purse. I didn’t even know this woman’s name.

The van was going to attract attention if I left it there. Especially with four kids in it. The last thing I wanted was for someone to ask the cops who went with the patrol car to check into it. I could do without them investigating what was going on.

I doubted a child could give permission for someone to use the family vehicle. Grand theft charges. Add in child neglect for leaving the kids in the van. In addition, of course, to the kidnapping.

I went back outside and got into the van.

“Where’s Mom?” Sam demanded.

“They took her back to see a doctor,” I said. “We can’t leave the van here; it’s in the way if an ambulance comes in. We’ll park it and then go see what we can find out.”

I guided the van to a space toward the rear of the parking lot. I fumbled with the buckles on the car seat holding one of the twins. Some mad genius had obviously designed them so no child could escape and few adults could figure them out.

Sam undid the twins in seconds flat. Then he did something to the baby’s car seat and lifted the whole thing out. I took the baby in her car seat, now a carrier, and grabbed the purse and the diaper bag. Sam took a twin’s hand in each of his, and we straggled across the slushy parking lot to the pedestrian entrance.

The waiting room was almost deserted. I put the baby, carrier and all, down in a corner by some worn plastic chairs, a TV droning overhead. Sam yanked the jackets off the twins and told them to sit and watch the TV.

I opened the purse. Probably a good idea if I had a name to give them before I talked to the people who filled out all the paperwork. How could I begin to answer all their questions?

Maybe I should just give Sam the keys and tell the lady behind the desk to call Social Services. Wasn’t there some kind of law that protected people who took children to hospitals and left them? Couldn’t be charged with neglect or abandonment just for that. Or did that only apply to babies?

“Is Mom gonna be all right?” Sam asked me, his brown eyes big and trusting.

One of the twins—they had to have names, and I’d have to find out what they were soon—clutched my leg and wiped his nose on my pants. “Uncle Carl?” he asked, looking up at me with another set of big brown eyes.

They were scared. They trusted me. Good thing they didn’t know how useless I was. And I knew how much more scary it would be to have the lady from Social Services show up, annoyed at being called in, and have to hustle the kids off to placements with people they didn’t know. Four of them—very doubtful they could keep them together. Might not even try. I’d stick with them, at least for a little while.

“The doctors will know what to do for your mom.” I ruffled Sam’s wild curls. “But remember, she’s pretty sick. They’ll probably give her some medicine, but she’ll need lots of sleep. So they may not want us to bother her for a while.”

I opened the purse to look for a wallet or something. The purse was stuffed with things. What could a woman possibly do with all these tubes and little plastic packets and zippered thingies? The comb, I recognized. Likewise, the wad of tissues. They’d come in handy with the twins’ noses.

At the bottom, I finally found a wallet. Opening it, I saw a few twenty-dollar bills, two credit cards, and a driver’s license. Tiffany Robinson. I turned to Sam. “Your mom named Tiffany?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I also found a medical card with Quality Steel Products listed as the group. Would she still be covered if Mitch, who had worked for the company, was dead?

Didn’t matter. She needed medical care. I took the wallet and went up to the window, where the last person in line was now leaving.

“Yes?” the lady sitting at the desk asked, shuffling papers and picking up a pen. Her fingernails were gnawed short.

“I, uh, just brought someone in…” I said. I was uncertain how to proceed. The only other time I’d ever been in an emergency room, I had been the patient. Years ago, after my original arrest. I had been shackled down completely, my sliced hand dripping blood down the back of my pants while the clerk filled out the paperwork. Even when they’d uncuffed my hand and the medical staff had worked on it, they’d dealt entirely with the police escort. No one talked to me at all. I’d felt like a dog with a questionable disposition at the vet’s.

“Where is he?” the intake clerk asked, snapping a piece of paper onto a clipboard and shoving it toward me.

“She.” I shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Somebody already took her back.” I indicated the interior set of double doors.

“I see,” the lady said, tapping her pen on the desk. She picked up her phone and turned away from me, shielding her mouth with her hand. She talked for a few seconds, nodded her head, and hung up.

“What is the patient’s name?” she asked.

“Tiffany Robinson.”

She typed away on her keyboard. “Ah, here she is. We have her records. Any change of address?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Any change of medical service provider?”

“No, ma’am.”

“And you’re her husband?”

I blushed. “No, ma’am.”

I felt a tugging at my leg. Looking down, I saw a twin, nose running and snot all over his face. He looked up at me. “Uncle Carl?” he said.

“Carl Miller? Listed on her emergency contacts? Brother?” the lady asked, tapping away at the keyboard.

The interior double doors opened, and two uniformed police officers strode out. One of them was Officer Simmons, who had arrested me just three days ago.

I turned to face the window. I didn’t say anything. Contradicting her would just call attention to me. I really had no good answer to give her anyhow.

“Just have a seat over there—” she waved toward the plastic chairs “—and someone will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, reaching down and picking up the little guy.

He wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. How could one little kid produce all this snot? I tried to hold him so he shielded my face from Simmons’ view. He smeared the side of my face with mucus.

The other twin was lying on the blanket on the floor, thumb in his mouth, staring at the TV screen. Sam sat on the floor next to the baby in her carrier. She was starting to whimper.

I glanced over at the two cops. Of course they had stopped and were talking to the receptionist. Each had a cardboard cup of coffee in his hand. A big cup of coffee. They were in no hurry to go out into that weather. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

What kind of duty rotation had Simmons working the early morning hours so recently and the day shift now? At least it wasn’t the same partner as last time, so the other guy wouldn’t be likely to recognize me.

“What’s the matter with the baby?” I asked Sam. She was attracting attention.

“Hungry,” Sam said knowingly.

“Do you know to feed her?” I asked. I’d helped Mrs. Coleman take care of plenty of kids, but she always handled the babies herself.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I feed her all the time. Can you get a bottle out of the bag?”

I put the twin I was carrying down next to the other one and stepped over to the bag. Underneath the clean, folded diapers, I found a bottle. I handed it to Sam. Expertly, he pried the cover off the nipple and stuck it in the baby’s mouth. She stopped her whimpering and sucked eagerly.

Maybe I should go back to the receptionist and tell her I wasn’t the kids’ uncle and she should see who else on that emergency contact list could come get them. When the cops left. If the mysterious Uncle Carl showed up, he could figure the whole thing out and let me off the hook. Assuming he knew how to take care of them and wanted to undertake the responsibility of four little kids until Tiffany got out of the hospital.

I refused to entertain the possibility that Tiffany wouldn’t get out of the hospital to take care of them. These kids had just lost their dad; it would just be too unfair for them to lose their mom, too.

And just what evidence did I ever have of any of that type of cosmic fairness?

I was thinking too much. Therein lay insanity.

“Mister,” Sam said, looking up from feeding the baby.

“Yeah?”

“That pig, he’s looking at you. Real funny.” He nodded toward the cops.

“What did you call him?” I said.

Sam looked down at the baby. “Pig,” he said quietly.