How Does Your Garden Grow

How Does Your Garden Grow - Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

Detective John Harper walked out of the cafeteria of Blackwater Memorial and down the hall toward the ER wing. His detective’s badge was clipped to his belt and he made certain it was visible. Harper carried a cup of coffee in each hand. When he arrived in the ER, he scanned the large room until he found the doctor he was looking for; she stood by the nurse’s station looking over charts.

“Hello, Cassie.”

“John."

Dr. Cassandra King Harper didn’t look up at him, but continued reading the chart in her hand and making notes. Harper noticed the name tag she wore on her lab coat. Dr. Cassandra King. Her maiden name.

“I brought you some coffee.”

Cassandra signed the chart, tucked the pen into the breast pocket of her coat, and handed the clipboard to the nurse behind the desk. She finally looked at the coffee cup he held out.

“No thanks.”

Harper said nothing; he simply placed the extra coffee on the nurse’s desk and sipped from his own.

“I didn’t know you caught this case,” Cassandra said.

“Lucky me.”

“They give you a new partner yet?”

“Still flying solo. Chief says they’re not exactly lining up at his door to sign on.”

Cassandra nodded. “Can’t say I blame them.”

“Thanks.”

Cassandra paused, softened her voice just a bit, then said: “John, did you get the papers my lawyer sent?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you sign them?”

He sighed. “I thought we should talk about it some more.”

“Just sign the papers, John.”

He nodded, but said nothing, just sipped his coffee.  The silence between them grew awkward until he finally spoke. 

“What about the girl?” he asked. And with those casual words he knew the book on their marriage was closed.  He could see relief in Cassandra as the tension in her shoulders visibly faded.

“I’ll take you to her.  We got her cleaned up.”

Cassandra pulled a new chart from the rack and started walking down the hall, Harper followed.

“What am I looking at here, Cassie?”

“Young girl, fifteen, covered in blood and brains. Someone elses.”

“Yeah, I got that much, read the initial report.  Old woman named Agnes Bellows found the girl on her door step.  No name. No ID. We have uniforms canvasing the neighborhood. What about the girl’s condition?”

Cassandra stopped beside a closed curtain at one of the ER bays. “Unhurt; physically, anyway. Aside from the Carrie impersonation, she came in with just some bruises, scratches and sprains.”

“The old woman claims she was delirious. No head trauma?”

“No.”

“Drugs?” Harper was thinking of the Jeffrey MacDonald case that was recently in the news; a Special Forces Green Beret doctor in North Carolina convicted of brutally killing his wife and children while high on drugs, then trying to blame it on a mysterious Manson Family-style hippie group.  He needed to rule such a thing out.