Читать книгу Abandoned - John Schlarbaum - Страница 9

The pandemonium inside the O.R. began to subside when the two porters, the respiratory specialist and a nurse wheeled Helga’s stretcher down the hall to the express elevator. Exiting onto the third floor, the foursome ran into the I.C.U. department and with the help of three waiting nurses, Helga was transferred onto a high-tech hospital bed in room 8. As the team hooked their unconscious patient up to various machines, the porters quietly pushed the stretcher out of the room to wipe it down with disinfectant cloths.

“What do you think happened, Rita?” asked Jeff, the younger porter. “Hip surgeries don’t usually go wrong.”

Rita, a grizzled decades-long hospital employee who had seen it all, shrugged. “The hip probably wasn’t the only problem. She’s pushing 90. It’s a miracle they brought her back to life at all, if you call that living.”

“I guess,” Jeff said as they discarded their rubber gloves and used cloths into a garbage can. “Who’s next?”

Rita unfolded her call sheet and crossed off the line listing Helga’s surgery. “Mr. Mason on the sixth floor. Gallbladder.”

As they approached the exit, a nurse filling out paperwork at her desk commented, “Thanks for bringing us more work.”

“She’s not even your patient, Amanda. What do you care?” Rita asked in a sarcastic tone.

“I cover for Pam when she goes on break, so technically 8 will be my responsibility at some point. From what I’ve heard, that bed may be vacant soon.” Amanda checked the row of rooms. “I don’t know what’s in the water, but this wing could be rechristened Critical Alley, because the majority of our current guests won’t be leaving by wheelchair.”

The outer hallway door opened.

“What a coincidence – here's Luke now with the morgue cart,” Amanda said as they watched him enter the department. “Where’s your partner?”

“Rob’s going to meet me. Room 2, right?”

“To start,” Rita cracked as she and Jeff went on their way.

Luke gave a courtesy smile and left the cart in the aisle. He wandered the horseshoe-shaped department peering into rooms, thinking Rob may be inside one helping to boost a patient in their bed. Retracing his steps, he slowed his pace when he overheard the charge nurse on the telephone say, “Yes, she’s in room 8 ... Helga Klemens, spelled with a K, not C. ... She apparently died on the operating table and they somehow managed to bring her back from the other side.”

Luke turned his head toward Helga’s room where a doctor, four nurses and a respiratory tech were hovering next to the bed. Momentarily forgetting his search for Rob, he edged the door open and asked in a shaky voice, “Do you need any help?”

The nurses looked in his direction and simultaneously smiled. Luke was one of the good ones. “No, we’re alright here, Luke,” the head nurse answered. “Are you on the floor for turns?”

“Ah ... no, I’m here to pick up number two,” Luke said, his eyes unable to break from the sight of Helga with an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth and numerous I.V. drip lines attached to both arms. Wanting to leave the professionals to do their work, he quietly stepped out and walked in a daze to the body cart.

“Where were you?” Rob inquired, sticking his head into room 2. “Not that we’re in any hurry.” Returning his attention to Luke he asked, “Are you okay, man? You’re as white as a sheet.”

Luke switched into auto-pilot mode, knowing he couldn’t get out of this call. Afterwards he’d take his second break to settle his nerves. “Yeah – let’s get this done,” he replied as they lifted the butterfly-emblazoned cover to reveal a steel slab that resembled the cooler trays in the morgue.

A few minutes later, Luke and Rob were exiting the elevator on the ground floor when an announcement was made over the hospital’s speaker system.

“All available porters – Code blue. I.C.U. room 8 stat. All available porters – Code blue. I.C.U. room 8 stat.”

Luke reached for his radio and stepped away from the cart.

“We can’t go, Luke!” Rob insisted. “I’m not leaving a dead body in the hallway.”

Two porters rounded the corner, passing the body cart like they were lapping their coworkers at a track and field meet.

“Don’t worry, boys. We’re heading to I.C.U.,” Noelle, the female porter advised, jogging to the still open elevator door.

“Thanks for coming to work today, fellas,” Brad, the male porter added, pushing the floor and door buttons. “Have fun.”

Watching the elevator door close seemed to stir something in Luke, loosening the logjam of conflicting thoughts he’d been having of Helga. She’ll be fine.

“Let’s get this call done, dude,” Rob said impatiently. “I’ve got a coffee date with that hot volunteer from the Help Desk.”

“Obviously, she’s the one who needs help,” Luke said with a smile, steering the body cart down the hall. “Let’s get buddy here settled in and go on break.”

In the midst of offloading the deceased onto a morgue tray, another announcement came over the airwaves.

“I.C.U. Code blue – cancelled.”

Luke knew of only two reasons to terminate the call: the patient had been successfully resuscitated or died.

“That was quick,” Rob said, pushing the tray further into the cooler. “I hope they made it.”

Don’t let them kill me.

“Somehow I don’t think she did,” Luke said glumly, removing his gloves. “I suddenly have a splitting headache. I gotta find some aspirin. Can you fill out the paperwork?”

Rob noticed that his friend was off again. “No problem. Take a power nap in the locker room. I’ll drop the keys and checklist to security.”

“Thanks.”

After getting permission to take his break, Luke found an empty waiting room and collapsed into a chair, where he contemplated whether to tell anyone about his conversation with Helga or let it go. “She was 88 years old,” he told himself. “Maybe it was just her time.”

He checked his cell phone and saw an email from his girlfriend about having lunch together. He replied he’d meet her in two minutes. Before that however, he touched base with the female porter who had attended the I.C.U. call and she confirmed, “The old lady didn’t make it.”

Enroute to the front lobby, a crestfallen Luke caught a glimpse of Dr. Singh in her office with the newspaper reporter he’d talked with earlier.

Maybe Jennifer could help me, he thought, remembering her business card in his pocket. I’ll ask Maryanne first. After all, she had access to the security camera footage that might be helpful, if there ever was an investigation of Helga’s death.

***

Jennifer repositioned herself in an uncomfortable plastic chair across from Dr. Singh, who sat behind a desk that resembled a miniature army tank.

“If your office supplies budget ever runs too low, I know a scrapper who’d gladly take this 1960s monstrosity off your hands.” Jennifer smoothed her hand over the dull metal finish. “Emile could probably get $200, minus his commission,” she added with a wide smile.

Dr. Singh laughed. “I believe the basement in any building is where old furniture goes to die, which in our case seems appropriate.”

“It does.”

Dr. Singh folded her hands together and put them on top of the desk. “So how can I help you? On the intercom you mentioned our latest John Doe.”

“Latest? Do you get a lot of them?” Jennifer asked.

“Maybe a dozen or so a year,” Dr. Singh replied nonchalantly, “but they aren’t classified as John or Jane Doe for very long. In the majority of the cases, a missing person report is the key to identifying a body found in a field or an alley or floating in the river.”

Jennifer retrieved her notebook and flipped to the information Mitch had given her. “The most recent find ... can you confirm it’s a Caucasian male in his mid-20s?”

“Yes to both questions. He was approximately 5’9” with a slim build and in good physical shape at the time of his death.”

“Was the cause drowning?” Jennifer asked as she wrote down the details.

“Without a full autopsy it’s hard to know conclusively. Using a large syringe, I did extract water from his lungs. There were also numerous contusions around his face and head. However, those could have occurred while the body floated in the water, making contact with debris in the river.”

“And he was fully clothed?”

“He was. Blue t-shirt, jeans, black socks and one Nike shoe –basic items you can purchase at any department stores. No jewellery.”

“Tattoos?”

“None. Also, his palms were smooth. I don’t believe he worked in a factory or did manual labour.”

“Hmmm ... this guy really is a mystery man,” Jennifer said. “So what’s next?”

“A police sketch artist is coming tomorrow to render a drawing to be released to the media,” Dr. Singh replied.

“That’ll work if he has family or friends in the area. But if he was a tourist and got rolled for his wallet, he might not be claimed for quite a while.”

“That is a possibility, yes. We can only do so much.”

“The irony is if this was a found puppy case, there could be a microchip imbedded under its skin for fast identification.”

Dr. Singh weighed this theory in her mind. “In the future that may be the case. As it stands, our fingerprints are still the best bet, but the police didn’t get a hit when they ran John Doe’s. I did take some blood samples for future DNA testing as well.”

Jennifer scanned her notes and then closed the pad. “I guess I’ll hold off with what you’ve told me until the police sketch is ready tomorrow.” Jennifer stood and extended her hand that contained her business card, which Dr. Singh took. “If there are any new developments, please give me a call.”

Dr. Singh shook Jennifer’s hand. “Of course.” Jennifer opened the office door. “Can you find your way back to the front lobby, Miss Malone?”

Jennifer looked at the bland coloured surroundings. “I will somehow,” she said, leaving the door partially open and making her way down the hallway she’d travelled earlier. “Where is Luke when you need him?” she muttered to herself, finally locating a main entrance wall sign with an arrow facing north.

Outside the air was warm and fresh, the opposite of the morgue setting Jennifer had left behind. In her car, she gave Mitch a phone call.

“I’ll tell Metro to get that sketch,” Mitch said. “Write up what you’ve got – a hundred words – and I’ll pass it along. How does that sound?”

“Like fifty words too many,” Jennifer said, noticing a small mark on her dress. Did it fly off the undercarriage of Luke the Transporter’s death wagon?

“What are you going to work on now?”

“Getting this stain out of my dress,” she responded absentmindedly.

“What stain?”

“It’s a long story, Mitch, involving a dead body. You wouldn’t understand or condone with your religious upbringing,” Jennifer said. “The less you know, the better. Plausible deniability. Trust me.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line until Mitch replied, “You’re right, I don’t want to know or understand! I just hope you wore gloves and will call your P.I. friend now about Councilman Tilley’s missing plaything.”

“I hope those two wore gloves,” Jennifer replied. “And yes, Jeffrey Hamill is on my call list today.”

“Does he still work for a box of donuts?”

“No, he’s increased his price to a box of cronuts. Specifically the chocolate-champagne ganache, orange sugar and champagne-chocolate glaze ones.”

“Each one has 600 calories and 80 grams of carbs!” Mitch said in disbelief. “I’ll hang up so you can call him, before his heart gives out.”

Their connection went dead.

“And ... bye-bye,” Jennifer said as Mitch’s image was swapped out with a smiling Liam Neeson screen saver. “Oh, Liam,” Jennifer sighed, “please find me like those bad men who abducted your daughter. I promise not to put up as much resistance.”

Her cinematic hero only continued to smile as Jennifer placed him on the passenger seat and headed toward the lot’s checkout booth. As she handed the attendant her parking ticket, she saw Luke and Maryanne exiting the front doors and walking to a bench. Neither were smiling, but Jennifer didn’t sense they were having a fight.

With her ticket paid (ten dollars per hour!) and receipt in hand, she waited for the bar to rise and slowly pulled next to the bench, rolling down her window.

“Everything okay?” she inquired. The words, ‘You look like someone died,’ hung back in her throat as she remembered Luke’s last call.

Luke and Maryanne looked over in astonishment. It was then that Jennifer noticed that they were holding the business cards she’d given Luke earlier.

“Tell her what you told me, Luke,” Maryanne implored, putting a reassuring hand on her boyfriend’s leg.

Simultaneously, Luke appeared to be terrified and embarrassed.

“Yeah, Luke, tell me,” Jennifer said with a grin. “I don’t bite, even though I say I’d consider it on my dating profile. But hey, everyone lies on those websites, right?”

“I guess,” Luke said with a shrug of his shoulders. “You know what – I am being ridiculous. People die all the time. It’s a hospital.” He paused. “She was a drugged up old lady when I took her to the O.R. You can’t take what she said seriously, can you?” He glanced at Maryanne and Jennifer. “Patients probably say that stuff to nurses every shift and it means nothing. They’re nervous. I would be.”

“What patient and what stuff?” Jennifer asked, completely intrigued by Luke’s rambling soliloquy.

“Helga Klemens,” Maryanne answered. “She was 88 years old and her heart stopped on the operating table during a hip surgery. They got her back, only she died later in I.C.U.”

“That fills in half of my question. What did this woman say, Luke, that’s spooked you?” Jennifer held his attention with her eyes.

Luke gave Maryanne one final look and received a supportive head shake in response.

“When I walked in her room, the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t let them kill me,’ and now she’s dead.”

Jennifer wasn’t sure what she’d expected to hear, although a suspected elder murder storyline wasn’t in her Top 100 possibilities.

“Okay ....” she said cautiously. “A question for you, Maryanne. As a security guard, can you validate parking? Because I’m going to be here quite a while longer.”

***

Jennifer re-parked her car and met Luke and Maryanne at a picnic table on the edge of the hospital grounds. As both were on a break, time was of the essence and Jennifer wrote down their cell phone numbers first.

“How long were you with Helga when you transported her to the O.R.?” Jennifer asked Luke. “And why are you giving any credence to the theory she was murdered? Was there anything else she said that got your Spidey senses tingling?”

Again, Luke had a far-off expression as he considered his answers. “To be honest, I don’t know why Helga has had such an effect on me. On midnight shifts I do three I.C.U. rounds, stopping in each room to help turn, boost, or change the bedding of patients holding onto life by a thread. When I come back a few days later, many times these same people are gone – most of them passed away – and I don’t give it a second thought.” Luke stopped, realizing how cold that sounded. “You know what I mean. For me it’s a circle of life thing. I feel sad for the person’s family, but their loved one is no longer in pain and suffering.”

Maryanne looked affectionately at Luke and put her hand in his. “I feel the same way when I release a body to the funeral home.”

Watching the two lovebirds, Jennifer felt a twinge of jealousy. “So, Luke, why is Helga different, aside from her request not to be killed?”

“I guess it freaked me out. She reminded me of my grandmother and if she made the same statement at her nursing home, I’d be worried too.”

“Then to have Helga die, you stop and wonder if she wasn’t telling the truth,” Maryanne chimed in. “As a security guard and fledgling journalist that’s how I reacted.”

Yes, Maryanne, I recall you’re a budding reporter, Jennifer thought, annoyed by this declaration as she checked her watch. “Did Helga mention any family in the area or her address?”

“Only that when she was 10 years old her and her brother left Germany. I don’t know if he’s still alive,” Luke said. “Her medical chart listed her home out in Greenheart Station. I don’t recall the specific address.”

Jennifer jotted down the information. “Do you remember what room she was in?”

“8103.”

“When will that room be cleaned?”

“Fairly quickly,” Luke replied. “The floor could already know that Helga was going straight to I.C.U. A housekeeper would then clean 8103 for a new patient.”

“What about her belongings?”

“Normally, a porter would be dispatched to get the patient’s belongings and take them to the new room.”

Jennifer pondered this information. “Luke, without causing suspicion, could you go to 8103 and see if there’s anything out of the ordinary? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Luke and Maryanne exchanged glances before he said, “I can do that. As a transporter I’m in and out of rooms all the time trying to find pillows, I.V. pumps or nurses.” He stood, ready to begin his new assignment. “Even if the room has been cleaned, I know the housekeeper on duty and can ask if she bagged any belongings.”

“Bagged?” Jennifer asked.

Maryanne got up and smiled. “That’s where I might be helpful, as security is in charge of securing deceased patient’s belongings, until they are claimed by the family.”

“And if they aren’t claimed?” Jennifer inquired.

“Clothing is donated to area thrift shops or possibly thrown out. I do know we hold onto it for thirty days.”

After promising Luke and Maryanne that she’d be in touch, Jennifer remained at the table to add to her notes. She wasn’t certain this was any kind of news story beyond the obligatory obituary notice. It was, however, a nice, albeit bizarre, distraction from the cheating councilman and his missing-in-action honey pot circus she’d been chasing the past two weeks.

On a whim, Jennifer called the hospital switchboard, asked for room 8103 and was put through. Two rings later, a familiar voice hesitantly answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Luke?”

It took him a few beats to catch on. “Jennifer?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’m still outside,” she said. “You work fast, don’t you?”

“Maryanne went on patrol and I headed here. I only see the clothes Helga came in with.”

“Any cards or flowers?”

“No cards, probably because she came directly from E.R. and not too long after went down for surgery. There are some flowers though, which is interesting,” Luke said, excitement in his voice. “A dozen yellow carnations and a card that reads, All the best, Helga! See you soon!”

“Somebody knew her,” Jennifer said. “Is there a store name or phone number on the back of the card?”

Luke gently removed the card and flipped it over. “It’s from the hospital gift shop.”

“Luke, I have a call for you, if you’re done with your break,” a female voice said on his work phone.

“I have to go, Jennifer,” he said. “Do you want me to take the card?”

“No, leave it. Good work though. You’re all right, Luke,” Jennifer said. “In the interim, if possible, see if you can find anything dealing with Helga’s operation or what happened in I.C.U. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll do my best,” Luke replied.

While Luke and Maryanne did their respective insider’s work on her behalf, Jennifer visited the gift shop. The selection of items for sale were of the generic something-for-everyone variety, from books and stuffed animals, to trinkets, cheap jewellery and greeting cards for any occasion. However, what really caught her eye was the flower cooler containing a bunch of yellow carnations.

“Excuse me,” Jennifer said to a pink vested female volunteer named Mary. “Do you have any more yellow carnations, aside from the six here in the cooler?”

The woman looked surprised by the request. “We had over two dozen yesterday,” she said as she walked past Jennifer. “They’re very popular.” She turned to Jennifer. “They certainly brighten up a room.”

“They do,” Jennifer agreed. “I’m just a day late.”

The volunteer studied the remaining selection of flowers. “What if you bought the carnations and a couple roses? That combination would cheer me up.”

Jennifer tried to give the outward expression of thinking about such a purchase. “My heart was set on a full dozen. Will there be a delivery in the morning?”

The volunteer returned to the counter, picked up a spiral-bound binder and leafed through the pages.

“Yes, a new shipment is coming tomorrow. Do you want me to hold twelve for you?”

Jennifer hesitated as she examined the security camera facing down from the ceiling. “If it’s no bother,” she said.

“And your name?”

“It’s Jennifer.”

The volunteer wrote the name on a pad and taped it next to the cash register. “There – in case I can’t make it in for the morning shift. Now, is there anything else, dear?”

“No, that’s it. Thank you for your help.” Jennifer prepared to exit the shop, but stopped. “This may sound like an unusual request ... Could you ask the other volunteers working earlier if they remember if the buyer was a male or female?” The volunteer was perplexed. “It’s a long story that I don’t want to bore you with – family issues, sibling rivalries – that type of thing. I just want to be sure no one from my clan bought those flowers.”

An expression of empathy flashed over the volunteer’s face. “Wasteful drama. The worst times for any family are when a parent is hospitalized or dies, or there’s a wedding.”

“That’s true,” Jennifer said with a smile. “Okay, that’s it, again. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. See you then.”

The volunteer wrote a second note to be taped below the first: Who bought a dozen yellow carnations? Important! ~ Mary.

On her way toward the front lobby escalator, Jennifer saw a middle-aged man with a take-out bag in one hand, and a helium balloon that read: Congratulations!

If he can wander around the hospital unsupervised, why can’t I? Jennifer followed the stranger to the bank of elevators, where they both entered the same car.

“Floor?” the man asked Jennifer.

She noted he’d already pushed “7” and said, “Eight, please. Thank you.”

They rode in silence until he exited, saying, “Have a good night.”

“You, too,” Jennifer replied, inching forward to hold the door open. She saw the man stroll by the nurse’s station without stopping and disappear down the far right hand corridor. She noted the wall signage indicating rooms 7101-7109 were to the left and 7110-7116 were to the right. Jennifer let go of the door, which closed in front of her. “Go left. Go left. Go left,” she repeated to herself. “Third room – 8103.”

She’d already decided there’d be no need to talk to the nurses, or anyone else for that matter. Her objective was only to get a feel for Helga’s room and the surroundings. Were there surveillance cameras installed in the hallways? Could anyone get to Helga without a nurse becoming aware of their presence?

The elevator door opened and Jennifer stepped confidently out onto the 8^th floor, turning left at the nurse’s station. She noted three nurses, each busily filling out patient paperwork in green binders. None looked up as she passed 8101, then 8102 and 8103, where a housekeeper was running a mop across the floor. Jennifer didn’t see any belongings or flowers on the housekeeper’s cart. These employees don’t waste any time here.

Jennifer walked through a short corridor to the right hand hallway and back to the elevators, pushing the down wall button. Stepping into the car upon its arrival, Jennifer heard one of the nurses say that yellow carnations were her favourite flowers.

Jennifer’s immediate impulse was to investigate further, but reconsidered. Nothing useful could come from questioning staff who might not know Helga was dead yet.

Time to go home. I’m sick of this place already.

She smiled at the irony.

Back in her car, she paid another exorbitant parking fee (not wanting to bother Maryanne) and headed to her apartment.

“This dress stain isn’t going to come out on its own,” she said as she pulled into traffic.