Читать книгу The Nurse's Bodyguard - Melanie Mitchell - Страница 10
ОглавлениеLIEUTENANT LUKE LLEWELLYN was sitting at a borrowed desk in the security office of the American Embassy in Seoul, reading a recent issue of Sports Illustrated and trying to avoid boredom. He was not particularly successful. It was a tedious way to spend a lovely Saturday afternoon, but he really couldn’t complain because it beat most of the alternatives.
Luke had been a naval intelligence officer for nearly eight years. He’d completed three tours in the Persian Gulf, where he had logged an inordinate amount of time in the E-2 Hawkeye and other early warning system aircraft, monitoring movements of men and weapons. He’d also spent hours upon hours in front of computer terminals watching satellite feed and listening to interpretations of intercepted conversations, trying to discern plans of the enemy. The work wasn’t exactly what he’d signed up for when he applied to the Naval Academy at seventeen, but he had no doubt of the critical, life-and-death nature of his work.
However, with Luke’s last promotion, the Navy had ‘loaned’ him to the Army. What followed was the longest nine months of his life. He’d been assigned to a forward operating base in Afghanistan, where his affinity for, and appreciation of the soldiers and marines who were ‘boots on the ground’ quickly rose in conjunction with his disdain for the Taliban.
While in Afghanistan he decided it was time to consider parting company with the U.S. military, but then he’d been recalled by the Army and sent to South Korea. Compared to the Middle East, life in Korea was a cake walk. There were no snipers, no IEDs, and no suicide bombers. The weather was good and the Korean people wanted the military in country—at least for the most part. All in all it was an excellent assignment to close out his career.
As a naval intelligence officer in Seoul, Luke assisted Army personnel in monitoring the communications and activities of the North Korean regime and its allies. That position had him bouncing around the northern part of the country, mostly doing spot reviews across the checkpoints of the demilitarized zone. The DMZ was the military demarcation line between North and South Korea, dating back to the 1950s, when the countries ceased overt conflict. Technically, the war had never ended and both sides continued to heavily arm their respective borders. The DMZ was at least five miles wide and heavily mined, fenced and monitored. Luke also spent significant time at a limited-access area in Seoul’s Yongsan Army Garrison. The non-descript building on the north side of the American military installation housed an impressive bank of state-of-the-art computers. Although surveillance work could be tedious, he enjoyed field expeditions with some of the Army guys—riding in Humvees or Blackhawks. And he relished the times when the teams could pass along anomalies or surreptitious movements, alerting the ‘powers that be’ to potential threats or events which might require diplomatic or even military intervention.
In addition to his other responsibilities, Luke was required to take his turn as officer-in-charge of the American Embassy’s security detail one weekend each month, even though the Marine guards who were responsible for the embassy needed scant supervision. He was expected to maintain a presence on the embassy grounds, being called on from time-to-time to help manage issues affecting State or Defense Department personnel or problems encountered by any of the thousands of Americans living or visiting the country. Because he wasn’t needed all that often, Luke redeemed the time by working out in the embassy’s well-equipped gym, watching movies, reading or playing poker with the Marines and consular personnel. One benefit—something he always looked forward to—was the first rate food in the cafeteria.
The slow Saturday afternoon was interrupted by a knock at the open office door, and Marine Staff Sergeant Antonio Mancini entered without waiting for an invitation. Approaching the desk, Mancini waved a file in Luke’s direction. “Luke, you lucky dog,” he said. “You’ve got some customers.”
Luke remained slouched in his chair. He didn’t look up from an article describing the early predictions for the upcoming Major League season. “Customers?” He turned a page. “This is an embassy, Tony, not a department store. We don’t have customers.”
“Man, oh man,” Tony chuckled, and his chocolate-brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “There’s a couple of women in the waiting room—real lookers—who need some help.”
Luke finally glanced at the sergeant and sighed heavily in feigned exasperation. “Okay, what?”
“Seems one of the ladies’ passports was stolen last night along with her purse. She’s filed the paperwork to replace it but needs to report being a crime victim. I’ve taken her statement.” He waved the skinny file in Luke’s direction again. “Unusual situation... I’ve been here almost four years, and this is the first time I’ve seen an American woman knifed by an assailant.”
“Seriously?” Luke’s nonchalant attitude evaporated and he threw the magazine on the desk. “She was knifed? How bad?” He sat up straight and took the file.
“Luckily just a flesh wound to her arm.”
Luke skimmed the first page and memorized the basics: Mary Claire Olsen...25...Rochester, Minnesota...Registered nurse...Working a month in Korea...Single. “You said there were two. Who’s with her?”
“Her roommate—for moral support. The roomie lives here.” Tony briefed him on more of the details. “The victim is doing some sort of educational thing at Samsung Medical Center. According to her story, she was attacked by two guys last night right outside the hospital. The second page is the original police report and the third page is the English translation.”
“Actually at the hospital?” Luke flipped to the third page. “That’s in a good part of the city... It’s well lit and there are plenty of people around, pretty much twenty-four-seven.”
“Yep.” The sergeant pointed to the file. “Right there in the police report. The wound was pretty significant. It took a couple dozen stitches to sew her arm up.”
“Seriously?” Luke repeated. “Man, this is a first.” He closed the folder and stood. “Come on, Tony. Let’s go take care of our customers.”
* * *
AS TONY MANCINI FOLLOWED Luke from the room he was struck for about the twentieth time by the lieutenant’s size. He’d known Luke for a year but had known of him for nearly a decade. Luke didn’t quite rate being called a legend, but he was pretty close. Indeed, it was rare for a man from one of the service academies to be drafted into the NFL, but Luke—an outstanding football player for the Naval Academy—had been selected by one of the pro teams. Tony didn’t recall which. In the end, though, Luke had decided to keep his commitment to the Navy and the NFL had lost out.
As he trailed the lieutenant, Tony could certainly see why the NFL wanted him—the man was a barn. In his fifteen years in the Corps, Tony had never seen anyone that big wearing a uniform. The man was at least six foot six and weighed somewhere north of 260. Come to think of it, Tony wasn’t certain where Luke got his clothes; he didn’t think the Navy made standard uniforms that large.
The embassy’s Marine guard detail genuinely liked Luke and enjoyed when he was the weekend officer-in-charge. Luke took the duty seriously—some of the officers didn’t—and he didn’t look down on the enlisted guys—some of the officers did. Luke was an intelligent and affable Texan, and he’d done several tours in the Middle East—that alone had earned their respect. He was amiable most of the time, but tough when he needed to be. He played a good game of poker and was a magician when anyone was having problems with anything electronic. In addition, he was the only man Tony had ever seen actually bench-press 400 pounds. In truth, the guys were a little in awe of the big man.
* * *
AS THE TWO MEN strolled down the wide hallway toward the large waiting area, Tony said, “Heard you were getting out... Any truth to the rumor?”
“Yep.” Luke’s drawl became more pronounced. “Got three weeks left in Seoul. I’m off to Honolulu around the first of May to sign papers and get counseled. Then I’m headin’ home.”
“Well, dang,” Tony replied. “Since this is your last weekend with us, we need to pull together a game of Texas Hold ‘em. You’ve got a reputation as an easy mark. We’re gonna miss you.”
Luke scoffed good-naturedly and opened the door to the large waiting room. He saw two women looking a bit lost among the dozens of chairs.
The American Embassy in Korea was located in a converted seven-story office building. During normal working hours, the waiting area was often standing-room-only.
During the weekends, the embassy was essentially closed, though Americans were allowed in for emergencies. Those situations were evenly split between U.S. citizens experiencing accidents, serious illnesses or even death and situations in which U.S. citizens—typically young men—got into legal trouble. Most of those cases involved too much alcohol. This case was baffling, however, because in nearly a year as substitute duty officer, Luke had never even heard of a case of a random mugging, much less a physical assault on an American woman.
Luke studied the two women as he crossed the wide waiting area. The closer woman was blonde and appeared to be on the tall side. She was attractively dressed in skinny jeans and a snug red sweater. Beyond her was a slender Korean woman, more somberly dressed in a long gray skirt and hip-length tan jacket. Both women stood as the two military men approached and Luke noted that the blonde was indeed—as Tony had remarked—a looker. Her wavy, streaked, shoulder-length hair was brushed back, accenting intelligent blue eyes. Her deep-pink painted lips parted in welcome, revealing pretty white teeth.
Luke had years of training and experience in observation and assimilation of details, and his immediate impression was of a very attractive young woman. But he would have estimated that she was in her mid-thirties, not the 25 that had been reported on the form. Despite her pretty, inviting smile, that vague disconnect piqued his curiosity, causing his naturally skeptical mind to become even more alert.
Shifting his eyes a bit, Luke quickly looked at the Korean woman standing a few paces back. She was a little taller than most of the local women but had the slender build and staunchly erect posture commonly encountered here. Her black hair was pulled up in a clasp and she was wearing dark-rimmed glasses which—along with her rather frumpy clothes—contributed to a “geek chic” look. Luke got the impression that she was more nervous than her friend. She’d appeared ill-at-ease when she saw the uniformed men descending on them. Luke was very aware that his size was disconcerting to most people and was used to the response. Nonetheless, her reaction seemed a little extreme.
Deciding to start with a friendly approach, Luke addressed the tall curvy blonde. He held out his hand, and with his most reassuring smile drawled, “Hello, Ms. Olsen. I’m Lt. Llewellyn. I understand that you had a problem last night. We’re here—”
His introduction was simultaneously interrupted by Tony and the blonde.
“Oh, no! Not me—” The blonde’s cheeks darkened and she shook her head.
“Uh, Lieutenant—” Tony held up his hand.
Luke glanced back at his comrade who motioned toward the dark-haired woman. “Lieutenant, this is Ms. Olsen.” He indicated the blonde who was now grinning. “This is Ms. Jessica Tyson. Ms. Olsen is staying with Ms. Tyson while she’s in Seoul.”
Luke took a step back and glanced sheepishly between the two women. Trying to smooth over his discomfiture, he shook his head slightly and said, “Uh, sorry. Excuse me.” He held out his hand again. “Ms. Tyson, nice to meet you. Sorry for the mix-up.”
“Not a problem,” she answered, her voice tinged with humor. He shook her hand quickly before turning again to the other young woman, who was still standing several feet away.
She wasn’t smiling.
Luke covered the distance in two steps. This time when he looked at the dark-haired woman he took in details that he’d missed previously. On closer examination he realized that she was not Korean, or at least she was not full-blooded Korean. Her hair, while very dark, was not a flat black. Rather it carried deep brown highlights, and it was very glossy. Her skin was a soft, creamy color rather than the paler shades that many Korean women tried to maintain.
Then Luke realized that the most unusual thing about her appearance—what he should not have missed—was her eyes. Now that he was close enough to look past the dark-framed glasses, he could see the color—or rather colors—of her eyes. For the most part they were greenish blue, which alone would have been striking. But what was remarkable was that the outer one-third of both irises was a warm, coppery brown, interrupted periodically by small bluish flecks. The result was stunning.
Luke suddenly realized he’d been staring. Recovering his composure, he held out his hand. “Let me try this again... Ms. Olsen, I’m Luke Llewellyn, U.S. Navy. I understand that you have an incident to report.”
Cautiously, she placed her hand in his and practically gaped. Luke’s grip was gentle, but his hand was huge and it completely swallowed her much smaller, finer-boned one. Quickly she pulled her hand back and blinked nervously. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do. Last night the police detective said I would have to come by the embassy to apply for a replacement passport, and that while I was here I should talk to someone about...well about being mugged.” Her voice was soft and a little tentative, and she made a slight waving gesture with one hand.
Luke was still recovering from his embarrassment. In his peripheral vision he got a glimpse of Tony trying to keep a straight face. Ignoring his snickering colleague, he gave his best effort to appear competent and reassuring. Using his most professional tone, he explained, “In cases like this, where U.S. citizens are harmed, embassy personnel try to work as closely as possible with the police to resolve the case and ensure that it doesn’t happen again. If you’ll come with me, I need to get a little more information.” He motioned toward the hall that led to his borrowed office.
Claire hesitated a beat before responding, “Yes, okay. But...would it be all right if Jessica comes, too?”
“Of course. Ms. Tyson, you’re welcome to accompany us but I’ll ask you to avoid interfering.”
“Thanks,” the blonde replied in a friendly tone. “I promise I’ll keep quiet.”
Luke led the quartet down the hall with the curvy blonde beside him. Claire Olsen stayed a few paces behind and the Marine sergeant brought up the rear. Trying to appear casual with his initial questioning, Luke asked, “Ms. Tyson, have you been in Seoul very long?”
“It’s Dr. Tyson, actually. PhD, not M.D. And yes, I’ve lived in Seoul about seven years.” Her voice was a little throaty, and Luke discerned a bit of a northeastern accent, perhaps New York or another part of New England.
“What do you do?” he asked. They had arrived at the office. Luke entered first and pulled a couple of chairs forward to face the desk. He gestured for the women to sit before retreating behind the desk and taking a seat.
“I’m a professor of cultural anthropology at Seoul National University”
Luke responded, “Hangukmal hasil jul aseyo?”
“Yae, jogeumyo. Hangukmal hal jul ani?” she answered, looking amused.
Luke grinned and just shook his head. “No. Other than ‘hello’, ‘thanks,’ ‘how much’ and ‘where’s the men’s room,’ that’s pretty much the limit of my Korean. Do you actually teach in Korean?”
“No. I teach graduate courses, so my classes are all in English,” Jessica replied. “Most of my students want to go to the U.S. to study further, and they need to practice writing and conversing in English.”
Luke glanced toward the woman’s silent roommate and asked, “How are you two acquainted? Did you know each other before coming to Korea?”
“Seoul National provides me with a very nice three-bedroom apartment,” Jessica said. “Although I’ve lived here for so many years, it can get pretty lonely being a random American in a big city.” She shrugged. “From time to time I offer one of my spare bedrooms to visiting scholars.”
Luke nodded and turned to Claire. “Is that what you are? A ‘visiting scholar’?” He pointed to the form the sergeant had completed. “It says here you’re a nurse.”
Claire was sitting very erect. Although his question was mild, his tone indicated doubt. She cleared her throat before answering. “Well, kind of.” She shifted as if her chair was uncomfortable. “I’m in a graduate program at the University of Minnesota. I’m involved in a project for one of my professors, so I’m working at Samsung Medical Center...collecting data for a research study.”
Luke had been jotting notes as she spoke. He glanced up, “What is your professor’s name?”
“I’m sorry?” Claire responded.
“The name of your professor in Minnesota...”
“Sung...Dr. Lin-yeong Sung, but she goes by ‘Cindy’ in the U.S. Dr. Sung is Korean, but she’s been working at the Mayo Clinic Hospital for nearly twenty years.” Claire seemed to be growing even more uncomfortable. “What does that have to do with me getting mugged?”
“I’m just trying to get background information for the file.” He made another note. “What do you do for this ‘research study’?”
“I work with children who have cancer.”
He glanced back at her and then looked down to scrawl something on his pad. “In what capacity?”
“What difference does that—”
“Please just answer the question.” Luke kept his voice without inflection.
“I work on a hematology-oncology unit with children fifteen and under.” She squirmed and sighed. “We’re collecting data on play therapy involving three different activities—computer games, pets—particularly dogs—and musical instrumentation... We actually teach the children how to play either the piano or a flute. The dependent variable—or rather variables—are symptom experiences and side effects of their therapy—usually a combination of chemo, radiation and sometimes bone marrow transplant.”
He didn’t respond so she licked her lips then continued. “Specifically, I collect information on when and to what extent the children experience symptoms, including nausea, pain, anorexia, insomnia and depression. I periodically measure salivary cortisol levels and take daily blood samples looking for signs of infection or anemia. We also evaluate other parameters such as anemia, leucopenia, weight gain or loss, vital signs, alopecia and dehydration.” Her rapid, matter-of-fact explanation was done in monotone and she stopped abruptly. “Does that answer your question?”
Sometime during her recitation, Luke had stopped writing. He was watching her eyes. Several seconds passed where he tried to come up with a response, but his brain seemed to have clicked off. His mouth was dry and he had to clench his teeth to keep his face expressionless. He knew he was staring and forced himself to look down at what he’d written. Finally, he managed to come up with what he hoped was a reasonable response.
“Hematology-oncology. Is that like leukemia?” He scribbled something.
“Yes, for the most part.”
Luke knew it was his turn again. He feigned looking down at the form. “So you’ve been here a month? How long is your...um...assignment?”
“The fellowship is for three months. I should be here through May.”
He jotted something down then sat back in his chair. Staring at her with renewed intensity, he said, “Tell me about last night.”
In a few sentences, she told him about being assaulted by two men in the hospital’s parking lot. When she concluded, he watched her for a moment. “Ms. Olsen, I’m sure people have told you that physical assaults such as you describe are very rare in Seoul.”
“Well, yes... I was told Seoul is very safe. But, evidently not...”
“So, why do you think someone would attack you?”
“Mr., er, Lieutenant...I’m sorry I don’t recall your name—”
“Llewellyn,” his response was curt, and he motioned toward the name pin above his left chest pocket.
“Lieutenant Llewellyn, I’ve no idea why someone would attack me. It was dark and I was alone. I guess I looked like an easy target.”
“Target for what?”
“I’m sorry?” she said.
“What were you targeted for?”
She blinked several times and sat back in apparent confusion. “Why, my purse, of course. They stole my purse.”
“Ms. Olsen, that seems to be the case. But purse thieves don’t typically resort to violence. Why do you think you were attacked with a knife?”
“I...I guess it was because I fought back.”
“How were your approached? Did they try to grab your purse from the outset?”
She considered his question for a few seconds. “I...er... Now that I think about it, maybe at first they were trying to grab me...”
“Did they say anything?”
She looked pensive. “One kind of yelped when I kicked at him, but he didn’t say anything to me. They might have talked to each other, but I really wasn’t attuned to that, and it would have been in Korean....” She blinked and shifted again.
“Why did you fight back? Why didn’t you just give them your purse?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to think about it. It happened really fast. I was frightened and I just...reacted.” Each word was spoken with emphasis and mounting irritation. She sat up even straighter and her tone carried a hint of belligerence. “Lieutenant, I don’t like being questioned as if I was somehow responsible. All I did was walk across the parking lot. Two men attacked me! I lost my purse, some credit cards and my passport. Plus I’ve got a gash on my arm that’s really throbbing right now. I came here to follow up with someone at the embassy. That was what I was told to do, and for some reason you’re treating me like it was my fault.” Her face was flushed.
This whole case was bothering Luke. He watched her expression through the outburst...she seemed overly defensive, so he persisted with his questions..
“Ms. Olsen, you weigh—what—115? How were you able to fight off two men, at least one of whom had a knife, and come out with only a cut on your arm?”
She lurched from her chair. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” Her voice was blunt.
Jessica stood, too, and joined the conversation for the first time. “Lieutenant, this type of questioning seems inappropriate—”
Luke remained seated and his expression didn’t change. Interrupting both women, he said, “Ms. Olsen, sit down, please.”
“I was the victim! I thought someone here was going to help!” Her voice grew louder and her face redder.
Luke stood then, extending to his full height, looming over the two women. He stared into the oddly colored eyes and repeated, “Ms. Olsen, please sit down. You’ll need to answer a few more questions.” His eyes remained fixed on Claire’s although he addressed her roommate. “Ms. Tyson, you can stay or go, it’s your choice.”
A brief staring match ensued before Claire exhaled then sat down on the edge of her chair. Jessica glanced at her roommate and copied her.
* * *
AS HE WATCHED THE EXCHANGE from his station near the door, Tony was becoming exasperated. He was surprised by Luke’s brusque manner and tough interrogation. The lieutenant’s scowl was uncharacteristic. He was usually obliging and sympathetic, particularly when working with civilians. Tony’s agitation edged toward anger as his superior officer’s questions and manner grew increasingly harsh.
Despite Tony’s growing consternation, he snapped to attention when Luke addressed him. “Sergeant Mancini, the police report notes that there were surveillance cameras in the parking lot. Have one of the translators contact the precinct office and ask for a detective. See if they can send me a video file or web link so I can review the encounter.”
Tony gave an almost indiscernible nod and replied with a crisp “Yes, sir.” Immediately, he departed to follow the order.
* * *
LUKE CONSIDERED the now-tense women and decided to try to defuse the situation. Addressing Claire but including her friend he said, “Ladies, I’m sorry if my questions seem unsympathetic, but I need to file a complete report.” He tried a wry half smile and gave a brief wave to nothing in particular. “You know, the brass and all. They’ll have my head if I’m not thorough.”
That was actually stretching the truth. He would not be expected to do much beyond cursory data collection, and it was very unlikely that the Marine Duty Officer or any of the consular staff would do more than skim his report on Monday. But something bothered him about the whole episode. Physical crimes of that sort were virtually unheard of—even purse snatchings were rare. Looking at Claire and talking with her, he couldn’t conceive of how she could fend off two armed men who were intent on stealing her purse.
But she’d answered his questions about her work without pause—he was certain that part of her account was true. Plus, her roommate had seemed honest—although he would check her story after the women left.
Liars came in all sizes, and gorgeous, arresting eyes aside, the details of the attack didn’t make sense. It was conceivable that she’d harmed herself, in some kind of attention-grabbing situation, or maybe she was involved in something sordid or illegal that went wrong. If there was surveillance video, though, he could get a few answers fairly quickly.
“While we’re waiting, can I offer you something to drink? We have coffee or all kinds of soft drinks... Water?” His drawl became more pronounced.
Luke’s change in manner and engaging grin worked with Jessica. She smiled. “A Diet Coke would be wonderful, if you have one.”
“Can do. Ms. Olsen?”
“Just water, please.” Her response was flat, and Luke realized the only expressions she’d exhibited so far were frustration, irritation and anger, with maybe a hint of fear or timidity.
“Coming right up.” He left the office and quickly proceeded down the hall to the break room. He grabbed a small bottle of water and can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and quietly jogged back, pausing outside the room hoping to eavesdrop on the women. He was disappointed however, as their voices were pitched softly and he was unable to discern their conversation. He sighed and walked into the room.
“Here, ladies.” He gave the can to Dr. Tyson who took it gratefully and popped the top. He handed the water to Claire, who took it from him, carefully avoiding touching his hand. Luke surreptitiously watched as she unscrewed the top and took a quick sip.
“You’re right-handed?” It was both a question and observation.
“Yes.” Her answer seemed a little hesitant.
“Where is your injury?”
She set her water on the desk and held up her right arm. She pulled back the sleeve of her tan jacket almost to her elbow, revealing a bulky dressing of white gauze encircling her arm. “Do you want me to take off the dressing so you can actually see it?” Her tone was blatantly sarcastic, and her eyes steadily held his.
“I don’t think that will be necessary. Can you point to where the wound is?”
She indicated the underside of her forearm, from a few inches under her wrist, nearly to her elbow. Luke felt an odd sense of relief. The placement of the wound supported her story. It suggested a defensive injury, as if she’d held up her arm to ward off the attack. Further, if the cut had been self-inflicted, it was a pretty sure bet her left arm would have been injured. He jotted a note and was about to continue his questions when there was a brief knock at the open door.
“Lieutenant,” Tony Mancini didn’t enter the room. He caught Luke’s eyes and gave a quick nod to his superior officer.
“Excuse me a minute. This shouldn’t take long.” Luke closed the file, nodded briefly and left the room.
During the short walk to the security office, Tony succinctly filled Luke in. “Getting that footage was a piece of cake. Our translator was able to find a detective—a Mr. Park—who speaks English. While I was still talking to him, that dude emailed me a video link to footage they had already excerpted from the surveillance cameras in the medical center parking lot.” He pushed open the door to the security office where two other marines were monitoring the three dozen remote camera screens. They started to rise in deference to Luke’s rank, but he nodded to them and they continued working. Tony pointed to a computer at the end of the row. He shook his head and gave Luke a meaningful look. “Wait’ll you see this.” Both men remained standing while Tony reached down and started the video.
Fortunately the hospital parking lot had been fairly well lit, and the video was of good quality. Luke and Tony were silent as they watched a white-coated Mary Claire Olsen come into view, walking at a brisk pace. She was almost out of the camera’s range when a man approached her from behind. At first she jumped out of his way when he tried to grab her, then as he swung his fist, obviously intending to strike her, she seemed to whirl and lean away, barely missing a serious blow. They saw her use her purse as a shield to deflect the arching knife, and then watched as she kicked out and struggled to fend off the two men. Luke swore quietly as she managed to stumble away from the assailants. Although the video was not in color, they could easily discern blood rapidly staining the white sleeve of her lab coat.
There was no audio, but he could tell that she screamed for help and then screamed again. He caught the surprised reaction of the two men as they heard the guards responding to the altercation. Both started to run off, but one paused briefly then ran back to pick up the purse the nurse had dropped. As the men ran out of the camera view, two guards approached from the far side and led the bleeding young woman back to the hospital. According to the time stamps, the entire incident took a little more than ninety seconds.
Luke re-played the video, swore again, and then ran it a third time. He leaned over the keyboard, pulled up his secure email account, and in a few keystrokes quickly saved the link so he could view it again. Finally, he turned to Tony. He looked grim.
“So, what do you think?” the sergeant asked.
Luke stared at the now blank computer screen. “I think I’ve got to go apologize to our customer,” he responded. “Some groveling may be necessary.” He paused a breath before adding, “I don’t know, but something about that attack still bugs me...” He sighed then and glanced at the sergeant. “What do you think?”
Tony looked at the computer and then back at Luke. He nodded, “Yeah, I think groveling would be appropriate.”
