The Bones Will Speak (23 page)

“The room used for isolation is near the nurses' station and in the old part of the hospital. That's the bad news. It's also near an elevator. That's the good news. You know the plan. Ready?”

Beth nodded. Aynslee and I slipped from the car and headed across the nearly empty lot to the back of the building. I'd condensed my composite supplies to paper, a few pencils, an eraser, a photo reference book, and a cell phone, all which fit into a small canvas bag. The hospital was a cream-colored, single-story building sprawling over a gently rolling lawn. In the rear, a sloping ramp led to a service entrance belowground with both regular and vehicle-sized doors. Dumpsters lined up on the left, and just outside the employee entrance was an overflowing container for cigarette butts. After one of my surgeries, I'd overlooked this popular spot for the smoking staff members.

The garage door was open, and Aynslee and I slipped inside. A hallway bisected the lower floor. Listening for any sound of approaching staff, I moved forward past closed doors:
Maintenance, Mechanical, Plant Operations, Housekeeping
, and finally the door I sought.
Supply.

The room was empty and filled with rows of neatly labeled, gray metal shelves. The section on my left held blankets, gowns, towels, spreads, and other linen. Behind the door were lab coats with the hospital's name and logo embroidered on the pocket. I pulled on one, then found a small gown for Aynslee. “Put this on.”

“It's, like, ugly.”

“Yeah. I know. Put it on anyway.” The gown covered her T-shirt and draped to her knees, with blue jeans and muddy sneakers below. I snatched a white cotton blanket, then peeked out the door.

Two orderlies sauntered toward the smoking area.

I ducked back and put my finger to my lips. Aynslee looked as if she might start giggling.

Coast clear, Aynslee and I crept down the hall. At the end, an arrow pointed left and noted
Cafeteria
. The elevator was straight ahead. I spotted a wheelchair. I'd just gotten Aynslee seated and covered her jeans and shoes with the blanket when the elevator door opened.

I gripped the armrest of the wheelchair.

“Need help?” a male voice asked.

“No, I got it.” My back was toward them, blocking Aynslee from their sight. “Now, listen to me, young lady, just because you have a wheelchair, you can't just go anywhere in this hospital. Let's get you back to your room.”

Aynslee had both hands over her mouth, and her eyes streamed tears from holding in her laughter. A hot flash bathed me in sweat.

“You bet,” the voice said. Footsteps retreated.

“Aynslee,” I whispered. “This isn't funny!”

“I can't help it, Mom.” She gasped. “I gotta go to the bathroom now.”

I waited for the hot flash to pass and Aynslee to get control of her mirth before entering the elevator. The timing had to be perfect.

The ride up seemed to take forever. My hands were slick on the wheelchair handles.

The door opened.

Beth stood at the end of the hall, peering at a room number. The nurses' station sat on my right, with a short hall to my left, ending with a door blocked by a young police officer engrossed in a book.

Beth dropped the vase. The piercing crash echoed down the hall. Flowers splayed across the shiny floor, and glass shards flew in all directions. “Oh no!” she shrieked.

The officer dropped the paperback, put his hand on his service revolver, and charged past us. Nurses and orderlies popped from nearby rooms.

I shoved the wheelchair out of sight behind the nurses' station, grabbed Aynslee, and flew toward the now unguarded door.

The room was dim, with the blinds half closed, but I could clearly see Mattie lying on her back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Cloyingly sweet-smelling flowers overwhelmed the odor of rubbing alcohol and cleaners. An IV line hooked into Mattie's wrist, and her splinted hands lay crossed over her waist.

“Hi, Mattie; it's me, Gwen.”

No response. I moved closer. “Do you remember me? We met . . .”
Don't remind her of the house.
“Is there anything I can get for you? Mattie?”

The
click
of the IV pump created the only sound. I leaned over the bed so Mattie could see my face. “Mattie?” I asked quietly.

“Hi,” she muttered.

“Can I get you anything? Water, a soft drink . . .”

“I'd kill for a cigarette.”

“There's no smoking in here with the oxygen and all, but maybe I can get you some gum.”

“Nah. That's okay.”

“This is my daughter, Aynslee.”

Aynslee moved closer so Mattie could see her. The two girls studied each other. “Hi,” Aynslee said.

“Hi.” Mattie looked like she wanted to say more but snapped her jaw shut.

A single chair sat beside her bed, and I pulled it closer. Aynslee moved to the far side of the bed and sat on the floor. I concentrated on my senses; focusing on every movement, comment, pause in speech, subtle sound. “Mattie, I'd like to draw a picture of the bad man. That's what I do, I draw faces.”

Mattie's head moved just a fraction.

I unpacked my facial identification book and pad of paper. Speaking slowly and quietly, I said, “I have no idea how terrible it was for you, but maybe we can do this drawing and make sure he doesn't do this again to anyone else.”

Mattie didn't move.

“You might think this will be like on TV. That I'll ask you a lot of questions, wave my pencil over a piece of paper, and, poof, I produce the spitting image of the suspect. Well, this isn't television, and I'm not a movie star.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“I don't know how long I can stay, so we'll work fast. When
we're done, it won't be a portrait, only a drawing of your memory. It might eliminate some people and hopefully lead to an identification. An innocent person won't be arrested because of this sketch.” I finished reciting the litany of disclaimers. It always reminded me of the flight attendants spiel just before takeoff.
Keep your seat belt low and tight across your lap.

“Could I have a drink of water?” Mattie turned her face toward the window.

“Sure.” I poured a glass and then found the control to raise the bed. I held the straw so Mattie could drink.

Mattie sipped, then cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

I put down the glass and sat on the chair. “Just so I have an idea of what happened, think back to the day and tell me about it. Don't leave anything out, even if you think it's unimportant.”

Mattie's eyebrows furrowed. “Why every detail?”

“You might have seen something that you think is unimportant but is very critical. You may have information stored on what we call a memory peg. For example, let's say you saw a small dog just before the incident. You watched the dog cross the parking lot and wondered if it was a stray. It passed in front of a car with an unusual bumper sticker.”

“I didn't see a dog.”

“Uh, right, I mean, there may be clues, such as the bumper sticker, connected to unimportant details, like the stray dog, and if the details aren't mentioned, the connecting clues might be lost.”

“I told you I didn't see any dog or bumper sticker.” She glanced out the window. “I had a dog once, but not anymore.”

“Uh, never mind. Just tell me what you did see.”

She paused, looked away, then said, “You're asking me what I did see? I didn't see his face.”

My heart sank. She was lying. “You can tell me—”

“But he came here. He called me. He said you'd come.”

The sketchpad dropped from my suddenly numb hands. “What?”

“He said I had to tell you something. He said . . . he said you were a traitor. And you owed him three.”

“Three?”

“Lives.” She looked at me and her lips trembled. “Your dog. Your daughter. And you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

DAVE STEPPED OUT OF CHURCH AND TURNED
on his phone. Three missed calls, two from his department and one from Gwen. He hit Redial.

“Dave,” Louise said. “This is Louise.”

“I know your voice,” Dave said dryly. He handed the car keys to his wife and waved her on.

“Oh, well, yes. I stopped by the office to drop off some rhubarb for you. I know your lovely wife makes pies—”

“You called me two times about rhubarb?”

“No. I was getting to that. Anyway, I found a man in your office.”

Dave clenched the phone tighter. “Who was it?”

“I didn't recognize him, but one of the fellows said he was that artist fellow from Missoula.”

“Wes Bailor? What was he doing in my office?”

“That's just what I asked him. He said he was looking for you, then he left.”

“How did he get in?” Several people leaving church stopped talking and looked at him. He made an effort to lower his voice. “How could he get past the front desk?”

“I guess he told them he had a critical report on the Mattie Banks case to drop off. They buzzed him in, he gave them a big envelope, then they thought he left.”

A vein pounded in Dave's forehead. “What was he looking at on my desk?”

“Oh. I didn't look. Give me a minute.”

Dave paced.

“I'm back,” Louise said. “Your desk was a mess—”

“Not now, Louise.”

“Well, ah . . . I think he was looking at a copy of the toxicology screen on Mattie Banks.”

“What does it say?”

“She had Ketamine in her system. What's Ketamine?”

“An animal tranquilizer. Where is Wes now?”

“I don't know.”

“Who's on duty?”

“Uh . . . Dre—”

“Get him to start looking for Wes. I'm grabbing some lunch with my wife, dropping her off, then I'm coming to the department. Heads are going to roll on this one.”

The hospital door slammed open.

Mattie jumped.

A young cop charged into the room, grabbed Gwen, wrenched her from the chair, and cuffed her. “Out!”

Gwen twisted in his grip. “But—”

“You press won't stop at anything.” He dragged her from the room and firmly shut the door. They could hear his voice in the hall. “You, there. Stand here until I get back. No one goes in or out. Understand?”

Aynslee jumped to her feet. “Did that guy just arrest my mom?”

Mattie was already sitting up. “Yeah. He didn't see you down there on the other side of the bed. Hurry. We don't have much time. You have to help me.”

Aynslee crossed to the door, but paused before opening it. “Like, how?”

“First we gotta get this thing out of my arm. Help me. My fingers are broken. We can escape through that window. You're small, like me, so we'll fit. And it's on the ground floor. We gotta do it now!”

“But—”

“Never mind. Forget it.” Using her teeth, Mattie tore the white tape around the needle, then pulled the IV out. Blood dribbled from a tiny catheter still in her wrist. She tugged at the remaining tape holding the tube. Blood smeared on her face.

“Here, let me help.” Aynslee returned to the bed and eased the catheter from her wrist. She grabbed a tissue and placed it on the IV site. “Hold this for a few minutes to stop the bleeding.”

Mattie held up her splinted hand.

“Sorry.” Aynslee gently pressed the tissue in place.

A cart squeaked outside the door, stopped, then voices, speaking softly.

They froze.

The cart squealed again, fainter, then gone.

Mattie stood. Her legs were rubber. She fell, slamming into the hard floor.

She gasped and curled into a ball, holding her broken hands close to her stomach. Tears leaked from her eyes.

A soft hand touched her shoulder. “You're really scared. Look, it'll be okay. Mom will be back and get us out of here.”

“Didn't you hear me when I told your mom that the guy was going to kill you, your mom, and your dog?”

“I heard, but it's safer in here, with a cop at the door and all.”

Gulping, Mattie used her elbows to right herself and shoved against the floor until she was sitting. “Listen to me. See those flowers?
He
brought them. He can get in here anytime he wants.”

Aynslee bit her lip, then looked at the bouquet. “Okay. So. Where are your clothes?”

“Look in that closet.”

Aynslee stood and disappeared around the bed. “Empty.” She returned and helped Mattie stand.

“Never mind. Let's go.” Leaning against Aynslee, she made it to the window. “Pull down the handle.” Aynslee complied. A small pane opened inward.

Using her foot, Mattie shoved a chair to the window and stepped up on it. The world twirled for a moment, and she held on to the chair until the dizziness stopped. She stuck her foot through the opening to a brick ledge. Slowly lowering her body, she wiggled through, the latch on the top of the window gouging her back before she was free. She fell.

Pain shot up her arm and she moaned.
Get up! Get up!
She rolled over to her knees. The hospital was on her right, the windows safely above her head. The ground fell slightly in front of
her before ending in a short cement retaining wall. A line of trees and hillside were on her left.

She stood and peeked back into the room. Aynslee was on the far side of the bed. She snatched the flowers out of the vase, dropped them into a trash container, and grinned at Mattie.

Mattie pumped her arms.

Aynslee soon wiggled out the window and dropped to the ground. “Ouch!”

“Come on,” Mattie said. “We can go hide in the forest. Live off the land. I saw a television show—”

“Do you like the woods?”

“No.”

“I have a better idea,” Aynslee said. “Follow me.” They crept to the wall. “You'll be caught in two seconds wearing that nightgown. And I can see your naked rear.”