Every Second

66

Albany, New York

The intensive care unit at Highland Sloan Memorial was on the seventh floor in the northwest wing of the sprawling brick and steel complex.

The unit’s corridor gleamed with polished tile.

A uniformed Albany officer holding a rolled-up Sports Illustrated was among the people gathered at Dan Fulton’s door when Varner and Tilden arrived. A ponytailed woman wearing a white coat and glasses pulled them away from the group to an alcove.

“Dr. Beth Valachek,” she said. “You must be Tilden and Varner. The desk messaged me that you were on your way up. How was your drive?”

“Fast. My ears are ringing from the siren,” Tilden said. “How’s Fulton doing?”

“Not well. He suffered six gunshot wounds-once through his right arm, his left shoulder, left hand, abdomen, the left thigh and his lower back, thankfully just grazing his internal organs. He also suffered several compound fractures to his legs, arms and ribs, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Had he not been found for another hour or two, he would’ve died.”

“The forensic people are going to need those slugs,” Tilden said.

“That’s been taken care of.”

“Can we talk to Fulton?” Varner asked.

Valachek removed her glasses.

“I advise against it. He’s been heavily sedated since he arrived. He’s just coming around now, in and out of consciousness. It’s touch and go, he might not survive his wounds.”

“We understand the situation. But Doctor,” Tilden said, “we need a statement from him, anything at all to help us because-”

“I’m aware of the gravity of the situation with his family.” The doctor tapped her pen on her clipboard as she considered. “Okay, I’ll allow you a few moments with him-after you put on some protective gowns and coverings.”

“Thank you,” Varner said.

Valachek escorted them past the others and into the room.

The soft beeping and rhythmic hum of the equipment next to Dan’s bed offered an air of calm in the dimly lit room. His blood pressure, heart and other vitals were monitored on the small screen above him. The doctor nodded to the nurse at Dan’s bedside, who moved an IV pole so Varner could get closer.

An oxygen tube was fixed to Dan’s swollen face, which was laced with cuts and bruises. His eyes were closed. Varner turned to Valachek, who nodded. Tilden stood at the other side holding a small recorder.

“Mr. Fulton. I’m Nick Varner with the FBI. Please, let us know if you can hear me?”

Nothing but stillness in the room, but then a slight change in hum of the monitoring equipment.

“There,” the nurse said. “He moved his right fingers.”

“Thank you, Dan.” Varner held up his phone. “I need your help with a few questions. Please, if you can, hold up one finger for yes, two for no. Do you remember what happened to you today?”

Slowly Dan’s right index finger lifted.

“Do you know the men who shot you?”

Dan lifted two fingers.

Varner cued up a photo on his camera.

“I’m going to show you picture number one. Can you tell me if this person was involved?”

Dan opened his eyes to Varner’s phone at a photo of Jerricko Blaine. Dan looked into the face long and hard as if searching for something more, something greater beyond it. After a long moment, nothing happened. He raised no fingers.

“Okay, I’ll show you picture number two.”

Varner showed him a photo of Jake Spencer. Again he and Tilden looked at Dan’s hand for a response, but nothing happened. Then the beeping of his monitor increased slightly.

“I don’t think we should proceed any further,” Valachek said.

“Just another moment, please.”

Varner cued up a third photo. This time, Dan shut his eyes and tears rolled down the side of his face as he moved his fingers. His index finger went up.

“Yes?” Varner was hopeful. “You recognize number three as the person who shot you?”

Then Dan extended his thumb at a forty-five-degree angle with his finger, confusing Varner, who looked to Tilden.

“A gun?” Tilden asked.

Dan lifted two fingers.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell us, Dan,” Varner said.

Valachek’s eyes flicked to the monitor. The beeping was increasing.

“Maybe an…L,” Tilden offered.

Dan lowered his thumb, leaving his index finger extended-that meant yes.

“L for Lori?” Varner asked.

Yes.

“You want to know about your wife and son?”

Dan moved his index finger for yes and the beeping increased.

“We’re searching for them. We believe we know where they are-”

The beeping got louder, faster.

“I’m ending this,” Valachek said as the beeping evolved into a loud squeal. “Out-now!” Valachek slammed a palm on the alarm button over the bed. “Susan, get the cart! He’s going into arrest!” She swiveled to face the investigators. “I said leave!”

Varner and Tilden left the room as emergency staff rushed in.