Fear itself

3

Emergency rooms, with their gurneys, sparsely furnished cubicles, rolling carts, folding screens, and curtained-off beds, had always seemed to Pender to have a sort of makeshift feel about them, as if they were temporary, and not very well suited, accommodations to be utilized until permanent quarters were ready. He couldn’t wait to get out; as soon as his cast was dry and his arm in a sling, he went searching for Dorie.

She wasn’t hard to find-a uniformed cop was stationed on a folding chair outside the door of her cubicle. He recognized Pender, tipped him a little salute, then leaned over without getting up, and opened the door for him.

“Helluva job,” said the cop.

“Sure is,” Pender replied pleasantly.

“No, I mean you did a helluva job.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Pender was slightly taken aback-locals weren’t usually all that appreciative of federal help. Still, it was a good job, he thought, closing the door behind him. And there before him was the proof, sitting up in bed, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, looking surprisingly good for a woman with a broken nose and two black eyes.

Dorie was equally glad to see Pender. There had been times, sitting next to him in the basement, or upstairs, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for the ambulance, or in the ER before they were wheeled off to separate cubicles, when she’d wanted to express her gratitude to this man who hadn’t given up on her, who’d risked his life to save hers. But every time she looked at him, the feelings just welled up inside, threatening to overwhelm her. And above all, Dorie did not want to be overwhelmed by anything right now; she was having a hard enough time holding it together as it was.

Now she looked up shyly. “How’s the arm?”

“Good as new in six weeks. I had ’em put the cast on with my elbow in putting position. How about you?”

Dorie shrugged. “They tried to talk me into a nose job, till I told them I didn’t have any insurance. They still want to keep me overnight-somebody came by from admissions to ask me if I had a credit card with me. I told her the guy who kidnapped me forgot to bring my purse along.”

“Have they taken your statement?”

“Repeatedly,” said Dorie. “Berkeley cops, your FBI guys, detectives from San Francisco-I even talked to Wayne’s uncle. He sounded, I don’t know, almost relieved Wayne had been murdered, instead of having killed himself.”

“I’ve seen that before. Are you staying overnight?”

“Not if I have a choice.”

“Think you can drive?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wanna blow this pop stand?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”