Читать книгу Vital Signs - Bobby Hutchinson - Страница 9

THE EMERGENCY ROOM at St. Joseph’s Medical Centre in Vancouver hummed in the midday heat. The sound came from huge air-conditioning units, white noise that the ER staff no longer heard. They heard, instead, the scream of sirens arriving at one of the emergency bays, and the intercom announcement that signaled incoming trauma.

“Trauma alert, emergency department. Paramedics arriving with abandoned baby—male, estimate two years old. Dehydrated, not conscious. ETA four minutes.”

“We’re set up in room three.” Triage nurse Leslie Yates did her best to keep her voice calm and steady, but the one thing that most disturbed her and the rest of the ER staff was a mistreated child.

One of the doctors cursed under his breath, and Leslie knew her own face mirrored the expressions of the rest of the ER staff when the medics arrived with their tiny patient. She found a moment to talk to one of them and he described where and how the child had been found.

“Apartment hotel downtown, a real dump. Must have been ninety degrees in there. The kid was too little to get to a tap. If he hadn’t turned on the TV, the neighbor would never have gone to investigate. She got pissed off when the sound went on all night and all morning.”

Leslie notified Social Services just to be sure they knew. It turned out the paramedics had already called, and probably the firemen and police, as well, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

During the next half hour, she dealt with several more incoming crises, but every moment she was aware of the drama going on in trauma room three.

“How’s it looking with the boy?” Leslie asked one of the nurses when she hurried out with blood samples. The young woman shook her head, her expression grim. “Poor little thing’s dehydrated. His vitals are way off the scale.”

Ten minutes later Leslie saw a flurry of frantic activity in and around room three and her stomach tensed. The boy must have arrested. Tension was palpable in the ER as the staff fought to save his life. Leslie did what most of them were doing. She prayed.

By the time her shift ended at three o’clock, the boy had stabilized, much to everyone’s relief. He was sent up to pediatric intensive care, and a collective sigh of gratitude could almost be heard throughout the ER. The firemen and the medics who’d attended had called several times to find out how he was doing, and before she went off shift, Leslie made a point of phoning them all to tell them the child was stable.

They all knew the situation might only be temporary, that he could easily go bad again during the night. But at least for now, he was holding his own.

With one last fervent and heartfelt prayer for the little boy’s continued well-being, Leslie went home.

ROY ZEDYCK had gotten home late. There’d been an emergency—one of the foster kids he’d recently placed had pulled a fire alarm at his school. Roy had spent the past two hours meeting with the principal, the kid’s foster mother and the nine-year-old boy, trying to calm them all down. The boy’s explanation for why he’d done such a thing was that life was boring.

This from a kid who’d stolen a car the month before and run it through a neighbor’s garden, added bubble bath to a washing machine and dog-napped a mutt outside a grocery store. Roy could only pray that these new foster parents would persevere, that they’d see past the kid’s penchant for mischief to the brilliant potential Roy detected. The kid had an IQ right off the scale, but he’d managed to wear out three sets of foster parents in less than a year.

Roy pulled on the trousers to his gray suit—his only good suit. He zipped up the pants, noticing how loose they were around the waist. He’d dropped some weight since he last wore them, and he couldn’t afford to lose weight, because he had no intention of buying a new wardrobe.

Must be stress doing it, because it sure as hell wasn’t sex. His love life had been at a standstill for weeks, ever since Anna left in search of greener wallets.

It wasn’t exercise, either. He hadn’t been for a run in ten days, and he’d had to miss the last three pickup rugby games. The court case he’d been involved in had eaten up what little time the job hadn’t.

His testimony had resulted in the formation of a commission that would eventually make changes to the system, but Roy couldn’t forget that those changes had come about as the result of a child’s death. It seemed at times that the world was going to hell, and all social workers could do was spit on the flames. He was weary in a way he hadn’t been since he first took the job with the ministry seven years ago this month.

The phone rang, and he shot it a baleful glare. It might be work, and he already had a briefcase filled with files he’d barely looked at. However, he was part of the after-hours unit, and he was on call.

Or it could be his sister, Nicole, who was going with him to the family party at their sister Jennifer’s tonight. Or it might be the retirement home where his mother was battling another bout of flu. Whoever it was, he had to answer.

He picked up the receiver and silently cursed. It was his team leader, and that could only mean another emergency.

“Hi, Marty, what’s up?”

“That abandoned kid at St. Joe’s—did you see the item on him in the newspaper yesterday?”

Roy’s heart sank. Abused or abandoned kids were bad; they pulled out emotions already raw from overuse.

“I saw it.” There’d been a double murder in North Van, so the article had been buried on a back page of the Province.

“I know your caseload is crazy already and Larissa was supposed to be on this one, but she just called me. Her father died, and she’s flying back to Calgary tonight.”

They’d been shorthanded for the past five years, and with the recent government cutbacks, things had gone from desperate to ridiculous. It took restraint not to remind Marty of that. Roy let him ramble on about their co-workers’ latest personal problems.

“Rita’s getting married this weekend and Jake’s having a hemorrhoid operation. Larissa’s done the preliminary work on the case. The kid’s name is David Riggs. His mother’s known to the ministry—she’s on assistance, name’s Shannon Riggs. I’ve got the case file right here. Mother’s seventeen, she was on the street at twelve, heavy into drugs, but she straightened out when she got pregnant. One of the downtown volunteers, Tonya Cabral, took her in and helped her get clean. The police and the downtown street workers are watching out for Shannon, but so far no sign. David’s two years two months. He was taken to St. Joe’s forty-eight hours ago seriously dehydrated. A neighbor found him, called the fire department. Estimates are the boy was alone three days.”

Roy shuddered. He’d seen babies like that before. He’d watched one of them die.

“It was touch-and-go as to whether David would pull through, but looks as if he’s on the mend now. He’s in St. Joe’s—got out of intensive care this morning and was transferred to the pediatric ward. Harry Larue is the attending pediatrician.”

Poor little kid. Intense compassion, deep sadness and bitter anger ate at Roy’s gut, the way it always did when an innocent child was the victim of neglect. Along with the other emotions came resignation. This was, after all, social work—the job he’d chosen. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that he was having second thoughts. It went without saying that he’d do the best he could for David Riggs.

He went through the mental checklist of what needed to be done, then asked Marty where matters stood, how much Larissa had already waded through.

In cases like this, what had to happen immediately was legal removal of the child from the parent, for the boy’s protection. Larissa had taken the proper steps; the boy was now a ward of the ministry. Unfortunately that was about all she’d done.

Roy needed to talk to the kid’s doctor, the firemen who’d found him, and anyone else who’d been on the scene or knew anything about Shannon and David Riggs. It had to be done immediately, because firefighters and police were busy people, and he wanted to know what their impressions were while they were still fresh in their minds.

It was also important to go see the boy himself, so that he had a feeling for the little person, instead of just a name in a file. It was his policy to do that stat.

“We’ve managed to keep this out of the headlines so far, only because of that double murder. Be prepared for reporters, though. They’ll be after you because of your involvement in the Sieberg affair.”

Tragedy, Marty, Roy wanted to say. The Sieberg tragedy, where the authorities sent a little boy back to his birth mother and he died. But he held his tongue. What did semantics matter when the kid was dead?

“Better refer them to me,” his team leader said. Marty wasn’t a bad guy, but he was a publicity hound who longed to see his name in print. He’d resented the press coverage Roy had gotten during the Sieberg trial. Roy just resented the press coverage.

“Gladly.” He’d had enough run-ins with the papers to last him a lifetime.

So much for tonight’s family dinner. He wasn’t going to be able to stay long. He’d just drop off the gift for his sister Dana and then get to work. Nicole could get a ride home with someone else easily enough.

He’d been looking forward to dinner, though. He was famished. Maybe Jennifer would take pity on him and make him up a plate of food to carry with him.

“Okay, Marty, I’ll get on this right away.”

“Thanks, Roy.” Marty added with gallows humor, “Have a good evening.”

Roy glanced at his watch. Jennifer had said the birthday dinner was at seven-thirty. If he got out of here in five minutes, and if Nicole was ready when he got to her place—a big if, since his sister wasn’t often on time—he could just about manage a quick stop at St. Joe’s to see the boy. It was on the way to Jennifer’s house, anyway, he rationalized.

Well, almost. Ten minutes out of the way, give or take.

He shrugged into his jacket, ran a brush through his hair—he was two weeks past a date with his barber—and was out the door with a minute to spare.

Things seemed to be going well for a change, because there was a parking spot right in front of Nicole’s condo. Roy swung his aging blue Toyota into it and sprinted to the entrance. He punched in her code number and waited impatiently until she buzzed the door open.

Nicole was standing at the door to her condo. She tipped her lovely face up so he could kiss her cheek.

“Hey, handsome, love your suit. Is it new?”

“Vintage. Just had it dry-cleaned. Those guys do wonders.” It was an old joke. She’d seen the suit many times before. Nicole was a clothes freak, and she liked to tease him about his total lack of interest in his wardrobe.

“You look as gorgeous as ever,” he complimented her. He studied her and hazarded a pretty safe guess. “New dress?”

She nodded. “First time out. I’m testing it on you guys and then I’m going to wear it when that hunk of an airline pilot takes me to dinner on Saturday. Think it’s too dressy for a family birthday party?”

“Not at all. It’s a good color on you.”

Nicole burst into giggles. “Roy, its black, you idiot.”

“So?” He feigned hurt. “It’s still a good color on you. But then, any color would be a good color on you.”

It was the truth. His sister was stunning. At five-eleven, she was just three inches shorter than he was, with long, straight, gleaming blond hair. She had the slender figure of a fashion model and a mind like a high-speed computer, and under that golden tan were the muscles of an Amazon. Tonight she was wearing spiky heels, so they were nearly eye to eye.

Nicole was warm and funny and vulnerable. Out of three sisters and two brothers, she was his favorite sibling, a go-for-the-jugular divorce lawyer who dreamed of being a landscape architect. She fantasized about living in a cottage on acres of land where she could grow tomatoes and babies, but for convenience’ sake she lived in a condo with a postage stamp for a yard.

Single, as he was. Searching, which he assured himself he wasn’t.

She reached up and smoothed his hair back. “You could use a haircut, or are you going for that killer ponytail look? Crooked nose, dimple in your chin—you might just get away with it.”

He scowled at her. “It’s not a dimple, it’s a cleft. And I plan to get a haircut. In fact, I’m thinking of a brush cut.”

“I’ll get Mom and the sisters to vote tonight on whether or not you should. My money’s on the ponytail.”

“I won’t be around to hear the results. I’m gonna have to cut the evening short, Nicky. I got a call from work just as I was leaving. Can’t stay for dinner.”

“Just as well for the rest of us. Jen’s making Italian—the cake’s gonna be that cream-and-chocolate masterpiece. What’s the emergency?”

“An abandoned baby at St. Joe’s. I need to meet the little guy and talk to the doctor. You mind if we stop on our way?”

“Not at all. The family knows my car’s in for repairs, so it’s your head that rolls if we’re late.”

“That’s what I love about you, Nicky. You’re clear that it’s every man for himself.”

“It comes from growing up in a house where there was one bathroom and seven bladders.”

“That’s something I’m not sorry I missed out on.” Roy had reunited with his birth family when he was seventeen. His adoptive parents had had two bathrooms and one kid.

He handed her into the car, then took the slight detour that would lead them to St. Joe’s.

“Did you hear Dana’s pregnant again?”

“Nobody tells me stuff like that. This’ll make, what, four for her?”

“Five.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Without me to remind you, you’d never remember how many nieces and nephews you’ve got.”

“It keeps changing all the time.”

“Lucky Dana.” Nicole’s soft brown eyes were wistful. “What did you get her for her birthday?”

“A Swatch watch. I asked Greg what she might like and that’s what he said.”

“I guess she’ll need it to time her contractions. I played it safe and got her soap and bubble bath. You can’t go wrong with that. She told me the kids used the last of her stash to make potions in the bathtub. They’re deep into wizardry. Harry Potter has created a whole new market for bubble bath.”

He laughed. “They’re good kids. And Dana and Greg are great parents.” It was reassuring to know there were people who took care of their kids. He saw so many of the other kind.

“What’s with the baby at St. Joe’s?”

“Two-year-old David Riggs, found abandoned a few days ago in a downtown apartment.”

“I think I saw a small article about him in the paper, but it didn’t give his name or anything.” Nicole frowned. “How could a mother leave a little kid alone for three days?”

It was more a sad statement than a question. Nicole heard too many horror stories to be surprised by much.

“She’s seventeen. She’ll probably insist she didn’t plan to be away more than a few minutes.” He’d heard it so many times before. “David’s now in the care of the ministry, so she’s gonna have to jump through hoops to get him back.”

Unless some idiot judge decides otherwise. Four-year-old Scotty Sieberg had begged to stay with his foster family, and Roy had petitioned the court to leave him there. But Scotty had been handed back to his birth mother. And her boyfriend had shaken the little boy for not picking up his toys, and Scotty had died.

Rage boiled in Roy as he pulled into the lot beside the medical center. He knew he had to shove the Sieberg case into a mental file drawer marked Don’t go there unless you have to.

“Mind if I come in with you?” Nicole asked.

“Well, I was really planning to leave you out here sweltering in the car,” he teased. “But maybe you can come, as long as you cling to me and do that swivel-hip thing you babes do in heels. Nobody here knows that you’re my sister, and it’ll get me a whole lot of respect from the male members of the staff.”

“And here I thought it was the females you wanted to impress. Is there something sensitive and personal you want to tell me, big brother?”

“Only that I need help fighting off the hordes of rabid women after my body.”

“In your dreams.”

The pediatrics ward was behind a locked door on the fourth floor. Roy presented ID, and the security guard let them in. There was no one at the nurses’ station, but they could hear children’s excited voices and loud laughter erupting from the playroom at the end of the corridor, so Roy headed that way.

“Sounds like a party,” Nicole remarked. “We’ve come to the right place.”

On the floor of the playroom, a group of children sat around a young woman with short, fiery-red curls. Huge, gray rabbit ears were secured to her head by a yellow ribbon. She was wearing a pink T-shirt patterned with garish sunflowers over a pair of green uniform pants, and she was sitting cross-legged, her head bent over a book she was reading aloud.

On the floor beside her, a live rabbit in a wire cage munched on a lettuce leaf, a bored expression on his face. The room was overly warm, and there was a pungent odor of children, antiseptic, urine and rabbit turds.

There was also the ripple of children’s laughter, and Roy smiled with pleasure and surprise. A hospital wasn’t usually a place where kids enjoyed themselves, and it delighted him to hear them having fun.

The sound of laughter died as one after another of the kids caught sight of Roy and Nicole. The woman stopped reading and turned toward them.

“Hi,” she said in a voice that was husky and filled with what musicians called blue notes. “I’m Hailey Bergstrom. What can I do for you?”

She was no beauty. Her nose was long and thin, her mouth too wide in a decidedly square face. Roy noticed those things, but he also noticed that she had unusual eyes, large, tilted, widely spaced. They were a peculiar color, like dark honey.

She made no move to get up. The tag pinned to her chest said she was an RN.

“I’m Roy Zedyck, David Riggs’s social worker. This is Nicole Hepburn.”

“Hi, Roy. Hello, Nicole.” She gave Roy a questioning look. “How can I help you?”

“I wondered if I could see David, and also whether Dr. Larue is around? I’d like to speak to him.”

She turned to the kids. “Sorry, you guys, I’ve gotta go.” She rose to her feet, rabbit ears flopping, and the kids sent up a protesting howl. She held out the book to an emaciated girl in a pink tracksuit. The child was bald, and her eyes had immense brown circles under them.

“Brittany, you finish the story, please.”

“Noooo, nooooo, we want you, Hailey, pleeeeeze,” the kids chorused.

“Brittany can read every bit as well as I can. Stop the noise or Skippy will freak out and have heart palpitations, and we’d have to call Doc Benson.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And you know how grumpy Doc Benson can be.” She pretended to shudder and then stood tall and held her hand to her forehead in a salute. “When duty calls I must obey, or I will live to rue the day.”

Roy noted that she was very tall in her flat sandals, probably five-eleven like Nicole.

“C’mon, David’s in 4B.”

Brittany’s clear, high voice followed them down the corridor.

Roy figured that Hailey Bergstrom was oblivious to the fact that she had a huge, furry bunny tail pinned to the seat of her uniform pants. It swished as she walked, emphasizing narrow hips. She was thin rather than slender, with long arms and legs, but there was a vibrancy about her that was almost palpable. She seemed to give off sparks. He wondered idly whether getting too close to her might result in an electric shock.

“David just came up from intensive care this morning. He’s my patient. I thought his case worker’s name was Larissa Mott.”

So she’d done her homework, Roy thought. Good for her.

“Larissa’s father died, and she’s off on bereavement leave. David’s got me now.”

She nodded and narrowed her eyes at him. “Any sign of his mother yet?”

Roy shook his head. “Police are watching out for her, but so far no luck. How’s he doing?”

“He’s a pretty sick little guy. His electrolytes are all out of whack and he won’t drink yet. We’ve got him on IV. There’s been a lot of phone calls about him. People saw the article in the Province.”

“I’m sure Larissa already covered this, but I’ll be leaving written orders of my own that David not be released to anyone, and if anyone tries, I’m to be notified immediately.”

Hailey nodded and opened the door to a two-bed ward. One of the cribs was empty, but in the other a tiny figure wearing a blue pajama top and a diaper lay sprawled on his back, deeply asleep, his curls dark against the white pillow. A stuffed dog, filthy and much the worse for wear, was clutched to his face, and an IV tube was attached to his foot with strips of tape. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes.

Roy looked down at the sleeping child and his heart contracted. Children were fragile and precious, their lives dependent on the adults whose job it was to care for them. This one had been betrayed, and it tore at his gut. It always did. The discouraging thing was that it happened all too often in big cities like this one.

“Were there other visible signs of abuse?” Roy knew he’d get the report, but he wanted to know now.

Hailey held up a cautioning hand, frowned and shook her head at him. “We can discuss that outside the room.”

“He’s so sweet, so very small.” Nicole’s voice was husky, and when he looked at her, Roy saw tears shimmering in her eyes. Her gaze was on the baby. “He can’t even tell anybody what hurts. That must be awful.”

“You’re gonna talk a blue streak when you wake up, though, aren’t you, David?” Hailey leaned over the crib and in a crooning voice added, “You’re such a beautiful, smart boy. We’re gonna be great friends, aren’t we, little one?” Her hand lightly touched the boy’s curls, one finger stroking his cheek. She checked the IV drip and carefully covered his legs with a blanket.

The boy turned his head restlessly to the other side and slept on, and Hailey led the way into the hall, her rabbit ears flopping around her neck.

“No matter how little they are, no matter how deeply asleep or unconscious, they hear us talking, and even the smallest ones pick up on what we’re saying,” she said to Roy in a ferocious tone. “He was seriously dehydrated when he came in, he arrested down in the ER, he’s gaining a little ground, but he’s still really sick.” Her tone turned sarcastic. “And in answer to your question, other than being alone for three days without anything to eat or drink, he doesn’t seem to have been abused. He’s well nourished, no bruising or old scars, no broken bones. Real fortunate little guy, wouldn’t you say?”

Roy felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry, Hailey, that was stupid of me. I should have known better than to talk in front of him.” He was embarrassed, but he also couldn’t believe he was being lectured by a woman wearing rabbit ears and a tail.

“Does he have anything of his own, any toys or clothes?” Nicole asked. She was still looking through the glass door at the small figure in the crib.

“The stuffed dog he’s clutching is all that came in with him. It’s his security blanket. It needs a wash, but there’s no way I’m taking it from him right now.”

“Maybe I can bring him some things?”

Hailey smiled at Nicole. “That’s sweet of you, but don’t go overboard. Stuff gets shared in here, and it also gets lost. But it is nice for the kids to have something that belongs just to them.”

“I need to use a phone.” Roy had to contact the police and the firemen who’d found David.

“There’s one at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks. I’ll use it on our way out.”

“How on earth do you stand it?” Nicole was looking at Hailey, and there was awe and admiration in her voice. “I’d want to kidnap a baby like that and spoil the living daylights out of him.”

“All we can do is love ’em and let ’em go,” Hailey said with a resigned shrug. “Nursing is care, not cure.” She turned her attention to Roy. “And having said that, do you know anything at all about this so-called mother of his?”

Roy shook his head. “Sorry, that information’s confidential.”

“Figures. Protect the criminal at all costs,” Hailey said scornfully, giving him another of her scathing glances. “Makes you wonder what was going on in her head, walking out and leaving him like that.”

“He’s lucky to have you as his nurse,” Nicole said. “They all are. You’re obviously just what these kids need.”

“Hey, thanks.” Hailey’s resentment seemed to evaporate. Her grin was spontaneous and wide, her face animated. She had straight, white teeth, and her amber eyes sparkled. “It’s so good to hear that on the day you’re wearing a bunny costume at work.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Whoops, speaking of work, I’ve gotta go. It’s time for meds.” She turned to Roy. “Dr. Larue is on his dinner break. He’ll be here later this evening if you want to speak with him. Or the aide can give you his cell number.” She waved a hand at Roy and Nicole and hurried off toward the nurses’ station, tail swishing with gay abandon.

Nicole watched her go. “Now there’s an unusual woman for you.”

“Vicious is more like it.” The looks she’d given him were lethal. He wouldn’t want her armed with a hypodermic.

“She’s not vicious, she’s gutsy.” Nicole looped an arm through Roy’s, and they hurried toward the nurses’ desk. “Balls enough to tell you off and enough perspective to accept the parameters of her job. It’s evident she really likes being a nurse.”

“Nurses, lawyers—power. It’s all about power with you females.”

But he silently agreed with Nicole. Hailey Bergstrom was an example of someone who’d obviously found the perfect job, and it suited her, even the part that included wearing rabbit ears and a tail.

Or cutting him into chunks and spitting out the pieces.