Acoustic Shadows (5 page)

‘What’s your role here, exactly?’ he asked.

She let her eyes roam over him without hurry, or embarrassment. Her pupils were dilated. ‘Whatever you need,’ she said, the double entendre dripping off her words. That smile again. ‘I’m here for federal presence in case there’s something beyond what it looks like.’

‘Well,’ said Thiery, ‘on the surface, it seems like most school shootings. One of the perps used to attend the school years ago. Not sure about the other one, yet. I don’t see anything that would lead me to believe this was a terrorist act, domestic or foreign. I heard the explosives they found were just pipe bombs and homemade crap.’

‘So were the pressure cooker bombs in Boston.’

‘Understood. I just don’t think you’ll find much that demands you or your department’s time.’

Logan shrugged. ‘So, I hang out and assist as needed. Maybe liaison with ATF, take one monkey off your back. Okay? I’m not trying to interfere.’

Thiery knew this to be true. She might be a horny woman with a questionable moral compass, but she was a damn good investigator, too. She was insightful, and she had helped him on several huge and legally tricky cases in the past.

‘One of the teachers reportedly shot the intruders,’ Thiery continued. ‘Her name is Erica Weisz. Maybe you could look into why she had a gun in a public school. Did she have a permit to carry and, if so, why? I’ll let you know if I need anything else,’ he ended, knowing full well how she would interpret those words.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, lowering her chin but raising those cat eyes back up at him.

He hesitated before telling her but figured she probably knew already. She’d once told him that she’d looked up his credit rating, knew which Internet sites he visited most often, and what grades his kids made in school. She was a Fed, so what was alarming about that? It was creepy, but not surprising to him.

‘I’m at a little cheesy joint up the road, The Sun Beam Motel. There’s nothing else nearby unless you want to go up to Lake Wales or Orlando.’

‘I’m in Orlando, at the Gaylord Palms. You know I couldn’t stay somewhere I had to worry about my feet sticking to the carpet.’

‘Of course not,’ said Thiery.

Her Blackberry rang, and she put up a finger as if asking him to wait, then put the phone to her ear and turned away. He watched her walk to her car and felt his heart sink. Her blue FBI windbreaker failed to cover the ass that filled out her tactical pants. It taunted him like a schoolyard bully.

‘Ah, shit,’ he said to no one.

Erica couldn’t sleep. They offered her pain medication, but she refused it. She wanted to be alert. The news covering the shooting was on; she tried not to watch it, but almost every channel had coverage of it. She was pleased none of the children had been killed, and terrified when they kept flashing a picture of her on the screen as they played up her role as a hero. They must’ve obtained it from the Calusa County School Board from her identification badge. It wasn’t a great picture, but it was good enough for someone looking for her to recognize.

The photo popped up again, this time in response to one of the mothers of a student being interviewed. The reporter asked what she’d like to say to Erica Weisz, the hero of Travis Hanks Elementary. With a microphone in her face, her deep southern drawl making it difficult to understand, the woman said, ‘Yeah, I s’pose she is a hero.’ Her emphasis on HEE-row mortified Erica and she wished the reporters would just stop. ‘I mean, she saved the kids’ lives, right?’ the mother continued, ‘but, what would I like to say to her? I guess I should say thank you. But, to be truthful, I’d like to ask why she had a gun in a public school.’ The footage stopped with the woman’s face framed on screen mid-sentence, her mouth twisted, and her hair driven back by the wind making her look severe and angry.

The reporter for a THN affiliate, a woman whose hair didn’t move when the wind blew, returned her attention to the camera and said, ‘there you have it, a thankful parent. But, as we’ve begun to hear, there are questions about where the gun came from that Erica Weisz used to slay the shooters. Initial reports came in saying she had wrestled the gun away from intruders, but police are now saying it at least appears she may have brought the gun onto school grounds, which, according to school officials, is strictly forbidden.’

Erica turned off the television, her anxiety growing. She noted the nurses had left the syringe that inflated the bulb in her Foley catheter next to the bed. She used it to deflate the Foley and drew it painfully out of her urethra. When she looked at the collection bag, she saw she wasn’t producing much urine. An ominous sign.

Keeping intact the electronic monitoring devices hooked up to her, so as not to alert the nurses, Erica pulled the IV out of her arm. They had used a large bore, 14-gauge catheter, and the hole it left behind started to bleed. She held a tissue on it and used the tape that held the IV in her arm to secure the tissue over the wound. Then, she slowly got out of the bed, her abdomen so sore it took several attempts to simply sit up. Finally, she made it into a semi-erect posture, crossed the room, and peeked outside the door. Thank God for long electrical cords and beds with wheels.

Her legs were trembling from the loss of blood and the freezing air conditioning. A wave of nausea swept over her, but passed as she took a few deep, calming breaths. Icy sweat frosted over her forehead and lower back, but warmed slowly as her circulation began to flow again. An empty chair was outside her door, a walkie-talkie sitting atop a folded newspaper. The Calusa County Sheriff’s deputy assigned to stand guard at her room had moved to the nurses’ station and was flirting with the one of the women. She would have only a few minutes.

She looked under her hospital bed and found a plastic bag with her name scribbled on it in block letters. Inside were her underwear, running shoes, and purse,
sans
the pistol. The dress had probably been taken by the police to examine the blast pattern. Her side felt as though it might rip open as she bent over and retrieved her belongings. She gritted her teeth and wondered if she would be able to maintain consciousness. After a few deep breaths, the pain subsided, and she looked around the room. On the back of the door was a long, white lab coat with a name tag. It would have to do.

She brought her purse over to the sink in the disability-equipped bathroom adjoining her small room. She quickly washed her face, brushed her hair, and spruced up her sallow complexion with a little make-up. She wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, but she might pass for something other than a bloodless zombie. She peeked out the door one more time and saw the deputy was still preoccupied. At the very last moment, she took a deep breath then pulled off the pulse oximeter cord, blood pressure cuff, and the EKG electrodes. It would take a moment for the lights to indicate a problem at the nurses’ station, another minute or so for one of the nurses to notice, and another moment for them to convince themselves the patient hadn’t accidentally pulled the monitors off rolling over in her sleep. In all, she could expect a minimum of three minutes before they would come in to check on her.

Erica pushed open the door and turned quickly down the hall without looking back. She walked with purpose, sucking up the pain, not hurrying, but assuming the role of an efficient nurse looking for something for one of her patients. It had been a familiar role at one time.

She found the room where nurses kept their personal belongings in lockers with names taped to the front. Only two or three were locked. Evidently, most of the nurses knew and trusted each other. Erica tried to remember when last she could trust anyone; it seemed a lifetime ago. Feeling guilty but having no choice, she found some women’s clothing: a pair of jeans and a Lady Antebellum concert T-shirt. She rolled them up and shoved them into her purse, then noticed the door to the supply closet adjoined the dressing room. She wanted to simply leave – ASAP – but it might be worth her while to take a quick glance.

Erica stepped into the supply closet and looked around. She noted the narcotics were locked in a refrigerated glass case, as they should be, but most of the non-narcotic drugs were on the shelves. She threw a bag of normal saline into her purse, some bandaging and IV materials, and was just reaching for the Amoxicillin when the door opened behind her. She turned to find a young doctor standing there, fumbling with his keys, trying to find the one that opened the narcotics cabinet. He looked up at her.

He frowned, obviously not recognizing her. She hoped that the hospital had enough part-time nurses that her being there wouldn’t draw curiosity. The doctor smiled and held the bunch of keys in his hand.

‘I can never find the right key to open this thing.’

Erica smiled back and nodded, but her heart was racing now. She felt sweat forming on her upper lip and swallowed dryly. Then, she felt something move down her arm. She glanced down and saw blood beginning to seep through the lab coat where the IV had been.

‘Haven’t seen you around here before,’ he said, as he fumbled with the keys.

Erica swallowed dryly. ‘I’m … I work
per diem
… you know, with a registry. I … uh, usually do private duty but the registry called me today and said the hospital needed more staff, so … ’

The doctor stared at her for a moment, his eyes meeting hers, as if contemplating what she told him. He turned his attention back to the keys and finally found the right one that opened the cabinet. He withdrew a vial of morphine, jotted his initials on a form attached to a clipboard inside the cabinet and was about to close it when he turned back to her.

‘Need anything out of here before I close it?’

‘Uh, no,’ she managed, trying to keep her voice from breaking. ‘No, thank you. I was just getting some Amoxicillin.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘For the patient in 309?’ His eyes went to her sleeve and saw the spot of blood. She could see him staring at it.

Erica’s mind began to race. She thought she might lose it, but managed to hold herself together.

‘The teacher with the gunshot wound?’ he added, his eyes now locking with hers. ‘Not too many other trauma patients here right now.’

Erica stared at him for a moment thinking she’d been discovered, then nodded slowly.

‘She’s some lady, huh?’ the doctor continued. ‘Poor thing, they had to take some shotgun pellets out of her abdomen. A few nicked her spleen, but they managed to save it. She’s got some healing to do, but I heard she is going to be fine. Good thing that she had that gun. Probably saved every kid in that school. That’s a hero in my book. Take good care of her, eh?’ He turned to go out the door, then stopped and turned back to her. ‘Grab a coffee later on?’

‘Uh … okay,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, coming back into the room. ‘I’m Doctor Spirazza. Todd,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘And you are …?’

Erica couldn’t look down at the name tag on her coat without giving herself away.

‘Susan,’ she said, smiling broadly.

The doctor frowned. ‘Nice to meet you … Susan.’ He stood there for a minute as if he were waiting for her to say something. ‘It says “Melissa” on your name tag.’

Erica looked down at it, feeling her face flush. ‘Oh, shoot. Mel and I came on the same time tonight. We were so busy gabbing that we must’ve accidentally grabbed each other’s coats.’

The doctor stood gazing at her for another moment, then smiled. ‘I’ve got to finish my rounds, but I’ll be looking for that coffee in about an hour, or so. Think you can break away then?’

Erica licked her lips, trying to be a little sexy, but her tongue was as dry as her lips, and it was like licking flypaper. ‘An hour, sure,’ she gulped. ‘Meet you at the nurses’ station then?’

He winked at her as he left the room, then hesitated again. ‘You’ve got some blood on your sleeve,’ he said.

Erica looked down, again, as if surprised, and could see the stain had spread.

‘Oh, damn. Must be from the gunshot patient. I was changing her dressing. Melissa will have a tizzy fit if I don’t get that out. Thanks for telling me.’

The doctor smiled again, turned, and sped off toward his rounds.

Erica had to sit down for a moment or she would have fainted. She put her head between her legs and breathed slowly. She rolled up the sleeve and wrapped some gauze around the IV site.

When she stood up this time, she made a beeline into the hall and hung a left. She found the elevators and pushed the button. As she waited, she looked back down the corridor. The cop that had been flirting with the nurse was walking back to Erica’s room, the nurse accompanying him. The nurse was with him. Erica’s heart began to race again. She looked at the elevator light above the door that indicated which floor the car was coming from. Three more floors to go.

The cop and the nurse entered her room. She was screwed. Within thirty seconds, both emerged. She heard the nurse say, ‘I can’t imagine where she could’ve gone with her injuries, or why she would’ve removed her IV. It doesn’t make sense. I’ll look to the left, you go to the right. I’ll notify my supervisor, too.’ They weren’t panicky yet, but it was clear they wanted to find her and get her back where she belonged. The cop started in Erica’s direction. She held her breath.

Ding
. The elevator finally arrived at her floor. The doors stayed shut for what seemed an eternity. She wanted to dig her nails into the crack between them and pry them apart. When they finally opened with a sucking sound, Erica darted inside. Then, the doors took forever to close. As they finally began to inch toward each other, she saw the cop walk past, looking both ways, but not into the elevator.

Once in the lobby, Erica practically ran out of the hospital and into the parking lot. She walked away into the darkness, feeling safer with every step, but her side began to throb with pain. She leaned against a car and tried to catch her breath. Looking into her purse, she took out the stolen clothes, kicked off her Nikes and began to pull the jeans on. As she was doing so, she noticed a lump in one of the hip pockets and stuck her fingers in to investigate. Car keys. With a remote door lock. She finished sliding into the pants, then discarded the lab coat, and pulled on the T-shirt. The jeans were huge in the waist, the shirt baggy, but they would do for now. She squeezed her shoes back on without untying the laces. She noticed dots of her own blood on them and was grateful the inquisitive doctor had not noticed in the supply room.

She moved into the middle of the parking lot and pressed the red button on the remote, the one with the picture of a horn. A piercing
HONK
from behind momentarily scared the crap out of her. She turned to see which car’s lights flashed.

‘No way,’ she whispered aloud. It was a squatty, black, Chevy Camaro SS. The SS stood for Super Sport. That meant it was fast. Erica smiled and got into the car.