Читать книгу Abandoned - John Schlarbaum - Страница 7

Henrik Dekker replaced the payphone handset in its cradle and tried to figure out the fastest way to the front parking lot from the O.R. Family Waiting Room.

He was tired and needed to go home to rest.

His job was done.

Helga was in surgery and it would now be someone else’s responsibility to get her to the morgue. How this would happen wasn’t his problem. His boss hadn’t been pleased with the botched confrontation, but how was he to know she’d slip free from his grip, trip over a cat and then tumble to the first floor, breaking her hip on the way down.

If only she’d hit her head and hadn’t started to scream before I could get to her, he’d thought.

The appearance of a woman through the unlocked front door had been the second unlucky incident, forcing him to run out the back door, where he found the fences were too high to jump. “It’s impossible for an 80 year old man to climb a six-foot wooden fence,” he’d advised his boss as they drove out of the area.

Henrik was dropped off at a diner and told to stay put. “I’m heading back to the house. Hopefully there’s still a way we can get this done.”

But there wasn’t.

The paramedics and police were at the King Street address in minutes, both responding to Genifer’s 911 call.

“I sit and wait,” Clive Hill said aloud, parking the stolen Alero up the street. He hoped that Henrik’s account of what happened was wrong; that the target would be treated for a strained muscle and then left alone. If that was the case, he was ready to act brazenly to complete the deadly task today. “’She’s an old lady,’ he says. ‘How much trouble could she be?’ he says,” Clive recalled in disgust.

Within twenty minutes, Helga was in the ambulance on a stretcher and driven away.

Unreal, Clive thought, hitting the steering wheel with his right palm.

On the front porch a police officer spoke with the good Samaritan who had crashed Henrik and Helga’s party for two.

“Let’s find out who you are, my pretty lady,” Clive said, putting the car in gear as he watched Genifer walk out of the neighbourhood.

He followed her at a safe distance and was rewarded when Genifer entered her house several minutes later. Clive scribbled down the Whelan Drive address and the license plate of the grey Volvo C30 parked in the driveway.

Pulling to the side of the street, Clive retrieved his cell phone and placed a call. “I need information on everyone who lives at a house I’m watching. I see two girls’ bicycles in the backyard. I want their names too.” He repeated the house and car plate numbers to ensure there’d be no mistakes. “Call me as soon as you have anything!”

A few minutes later, his phone rang.

“Give me what you’ve got,” he demanded.

“The house is owned by Stan and Genifer Grant. They have two girls: Zoe is 11 and Aleena is 9. The car comes back to that address. Stan is a CMM operator – you know, writes programs for die cuts in the tool and die industry – and Genifer has worked at the post office for 23 years. I think she’s a carrier.” The female caller paused as she scrolled through Genifer’s Facebook page. “It appears she’s very active at work. The vice-president of the local union, the Health and Safety Committee co-chair, a shop steward, a Human Rights Master Trainer, whatever that is.”

“In other words,” Clive broke in, bored already, “this woman doesn’t take shit from many people and may be trouble.”

After writing the Grants’ home phone number, Clive disconnected the call and drove to the diner where Henrik was seated at a window table.

“Call this Grant woman and scare the living daylights out of her,” Clive said, ripping the information from a pad and handing it to Henrik. “She cannot meddle in this job again. Do you understand me?” Clive’s voice had risen in pitch and nearby customers had heard him.

Henrik took the page and read the chicken scratch on it. “I understand,” he acknowledged slowly. “I’ll do it after I’m done my coffee.”

“You’d better,” Clive said, giving an apologetic gesture to the patrons around them, before returning his attention to Henrik. “I have to fix your mistake. You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can. Take a cab,” Clive said in a threatening whisper. “Keep an eye on that old woman and update me on what’s happening.”

“How am I going to do that?” Henrik asked with an air of defeat.

Clive put his hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing as he did so. “Like the commercial says, ‘Just do it.’”

After Clive had left Henrik took his time sipping his coffee and ordered a piece of peach pie as he formulated a plan.

A half hour later he stepped out of a cab and entered the Metropolitan Hospital lobby.

“Can you assist me?” he requested of the female security officer.

“Of course,” Maryanne replied cheerfully. “Are you here to visit someone?”

“A friend. Helga Klemens. She was brought in by ambulance.”

Maryanne consulted her computer. “She’s currently in the E.R. department.”

Henrik noticed the security cameras that covered the lobby and lowered his head. “Thank you. I’ll find her,” he said, shuffling away from the desk.

“Just take this hallway and ...”Maryanne began as she stood from her chair.

“I know where I’m going,” Henrik said with a wave and stepped out of Maryanne’s view.

“Alrighty then,” Maryanne said as she sat down and sent her transporter boyfriend, Luke, an email about meeting for lunch.

Although hopelessly lost in the basement corridors, Henrik didn’t care as long as he wasn’t near the guard desk. He kept his chin close to his chest so his face couldn’t be seen by other security cameras. The fact he was wearing a very noticeable tan overcoat didn’t cross his mind as he approached a kind of crossroads near the bank of visitor elevators.

“Can I help you?” asked a young woman in a smock pushing a cart with blood vials in it.

“E.R.?” Henrik said, exaggerating his already thick accent and appearing confused.

“You’re close, sir,” the woman said, outstretching her arm. “Down this hallway and turn right, then left through the second door. Someone will be able to direct you from there.”

Henrik mumbled, “Thank you,” and proceeded to the E.R. department. Inside he noticed a large television monitor hanging above the front reception area and found Helga’s name typed in the examination room 11 box. As no hospital employee was approaching him, he walked to a telephone designated for patients and their families across from Helga’s room where the curtains were drawn. He placed the receiver to his right ear, while listening to a nurse speak to Helga with his left ear.

“We’re going to transfer you to the 8^th floor. The O.R. had a couple of emergency surgeries due to a multi-car accident that’s backed up the entire schedule,” the nurse stated apologetically.

“Will I still be operated on today?” Helga asked in a frail voice.

“Yes, I believe that’s the plan. This way you can rest a while and when the surgery is done they’ll bring you back to the same room.” The nurse partly opened the room’s curtain to exit, causing Henrik to step behind a partition, before walking back to the main desk.

“Excuse me,” he said to the first person he saw wearing scrubs. “Where can I wait for a friend who’s having surgery today?”

“I’m heading there now, if you want to follow me,” the E.R. aide said.

Henrik was shown to the O.R. Family Waiting Room, where he learned from a volunteer that patients were taken into the surgery department through an adjacent set of doors. “You’ll be able to wish your friend well when they’re brought down,” the sunny girl said with a wide grin.

Henrik found a seat in the crowded room with a view of the hallway where Helga would be appearing. He positioned his overcoat on a chair and walked to the nearby payphone to call Clive.

“Let me know when she goes in,” Clive said. “And don’t forget to call that nosy postie. She can’t tell anyone about seeing you.”

“I will,” Henrik said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve Genifer’s information.

To Henrik, Genifer’s initial response was abnormal, only wanting to know who he was and suggesting he had the wrong number. Believing he wasn’t being taken seriously enough, he dropped the hammer all the way.

“This is the right number. What we’re going to do to Helga is the same thing we’ll do to your lovely girls, if you breathe a word of seeing me earlier. One dead old woman isn’t worth risking your precious babies’ lives, is it?” He paused for effect. “Are we clear, Genifer?”

He then gently placed the receiver in its cradle, put on his overcoat and took his seat.

Three hours passed before a chatty porter pushed Helga’s stretcher down the O.R. corridor. Henrik heard him saying, “You know ... if you’re feeling up to it, I can pop in to talk with you later. Would that be all right?”

Henrik waited a few minutes, seeing as how Helga seemed to be glancing in every direction. “Goodnight, Helga,” he said as he went to the payphone to call Clive a final time.

“She just went in. What do you want me to do?”

“Get out of there,” came the reply.

“Gladly.”

Henrik exited the waiting room and saw the elevators to his right. Immediately he felt lost and decided to go back to the E.R. where he could catch a cab outdoors. Remembering the blood vial lady’s directions, Henrik entered the first door he saw, not the second door he’d entered earlier, which deposited him at the opposite end of the department. As he passed each open-curtained room he was taken aback by all the patients who were in such pain or trauma, their last hope for a cure being a trip to the hospital. “Sad, sad, sad,” he muttered, seeing the exit he needed.

With only a few steps to freedom from this horrible place, he thought he heard a familiar voice coming from a room where the curtain was closed.

“What if an adult – say, an elderly adult – needs help?”

As he’d done earlier, Henrik checked the monitor hanging above the reception area and discovered a miracle in the making: Genifer Grant was in the room he’d just passed. He scurried into a waiting area and watched for any activity. When the nurse exited, pulling the curtain shut, he knew he had a short window of opportunity to confirm his phone message had been received.

“We meet again, Mrs. Grant,” he said in a stern tone, putting an index finger to his lips as Genifer gasped in horror. “Not a word or I’ll kill both your children while they sleep.” Genifer’s face went slack. “I’ll make this short: keep your mouth shut about seeing me and no harm will come to Zoe and Aleena.” Henrik knew that saying the girls’ names added another level of terror.

“Please don’t hurt my children,” she pleaded. “I ... I ... didn’t tell anyone I saw you.”

“What about the police officer when Helga was being carted away in the ambulance?” Henrik asked coldly.

He was watching me! Genifer’s mind screamed.

“He didn’t ask. Please believe me.” Genifer tried to catch her breath. “Helga didn’t say a word about you either.”

That’s interesting, Henrik mused.

“I don’t know your relationship with Helga,” Genifer said slowly. “I was just walking by and wanted to help. That’s all. So please leave me and my family alone. I’ll never say a word about what I saw ... because I didn’t see anything.”

Henrik had often encountered this act of desperation and promise-making in harder humans than Genifer could ever be.

He believed her.

“Do you swear on the lives of your girls and your husband Stan?”

He knows everything about us!

“I do.”

“That’s good,” Henrik said, giving Genifer a sinister wink before walking out of the room and making a hasty retreat for the exit.

Passing the reception desk Henrik heard a bedside call bell begin to ring, but didn’t hear Genifer screaming or see her room curtain move.

She’s smarter than she looks, he said, stepping outside and walking away from the hospital with a satisfied smile on his face.