One Step Ahead

To Hell And Gone

8:11 PM

      Nora Sanger rushed into the emergency room, closely followed by her husband. Scanning the sea of people for a familiar face, she finally saw the head physician of the ER night shift, Odette Morgan, standing near the desk, and plunged through the crowd, calling out, "Dr. Morgan, I'm here! What do you need?"

      The wiry Jamaican woman looked up from the pile of paperwork in front of her and said, "Nora! Thank the Almighty! I need you to scrub up and head over to fifteen, get everything together to help Dr. Massey remove splinters and glass shards from the young man in there. Make sure he doesn't touch the one in his neck, don't want him to start bleeding out if it hits a vein."

      Nora gave Garrett a brief wave and disappeared into the mass of people milling about the area, as he approached Dr. Morgan. She finally noticed him, and said, "Hello, Lieutenant. Is there something I can do for you? I've already told your people that they're not questioning anybody until after they've been treated, and if anybody complained about that, tell 'em to take it up with the hospital board."

      "No, doctor, that's not why I'm here," he replied. "I was told that a couple of witnesses in one of my current cases are among the victims, and I was hoping that you could confirm if that's the case. If it is, I'd like to speak to them, if possible, but if not, I'd at least like to know the extent of their injuries."

      "I suppose that's a reasonable request. What are their names?" she inquired, placing her hand on the small mountain of paper in front of her.

      "Briar Malveaux and Ashley Purdy."

      "Simple enough, then. You'll have to wait awhile on Mr. Purdy, at least until Nora and Al finish up with him. He's one of the luckier ones, actually. He became a bit of a pincushion, but the only real worry is the piece of glass laying along his collarbone. As long as it doesn't move in the wrong direction before they get it out, he should be fine. And let me see..." she muttered, rifling through the stack. "A-ha, here it is! Malveaux... yup, she's in seventeen, waiting for the meds to kick in so someone can stitch up her bottom lip. Three broken ribs, already wrapped, and some facial bruising, but nothing life-threatening. Does that help?"

      "Immensely. Thank you, Dr. Morgan," he replied. "I don't suppose there's any chance that I could speak to her, is there?"

      "I doubt she'd be too comprehensible with a needle and thread in her mouth, but I'll tell them to let you know when they're finished."

      He nodded, and then let his eyes travel around the room until they landed on June Whaley, one of the night-shift patrol sergeants, who appeared to be wrapping up a conversation with a large, red-bearded man in a tweed beret, who seemed to be uninjured, but rather distraught. Sanger approached the officer as the man made his way to the elevator, and inquired, "Witness or relative?"

      "Host parent. He and his wife have been hosting a Vietnamese exchange student, and her younger brother flew in to visit for the week, so she took him out to dinner," Whaley responded. "The boy lost part of his left pinky finger, and has around forty stitches in the rest of his hand, might not get full use of it back. He's thirteen years old, and permanently disfigured. The girl, who just turned twenty, took a faceful of glass, and it's apparently a coin-flip whether she'll keep her sight. And you wanna hear the kicker? She's a fucking art major! Kinda hard to draw and paint if you can't see! Whoever this asshole is, he needs to be strung up on a meathook by his nutsack!"

      "Couldn't agree more, June," Sanger said, trying to speak calmly. "Were you at the scene, or dispatched straight here?"

      "Mickey Ludovic and I rolled here as soon as we clocked in, because they'd already started bringing the victims here, so we were told to see if we could get any statements. He's gone up to see about talking to a couple of people who've already been taken to rooms, and I figured I'd try to catch people as they finished up here. The ones who are capable of talking, at least."