Perfect Justice

34.

“IS SHE CONSCIOUS?” BEN asked. The doctor nodded. “In and out. We have a catheter connected to the base of her spine feeding her painkillers. Tends to make her sleepy. Which is for the best, under these circumstances.”

Ben and Belinda were at the emergency treatment clinic in Silver Springs, in an examining room that had been converted to a makeshift burn treatment center for Maria Truong. Ben was consulting with the doctor in residence, Harvey Patterson, a tall man in his midforties.

“How bad are her burns?” Belinda asked.

“Severe, I’m afraid. If they were any worse, she wouldn’t be alive. She’s got scorched lungs and third-degree burns all over her body. Her hands are useless, virtually gone.”

“You said she’s on painkillers?”

“Yes. Some of her burns are so profound she’s suffered nerve damage, so she doesn’t feel the pain there. Some of the lesser-degree burns are still stinging, though. It’s ironic—the least critical burns are the ones that are causing her so much misery; the ones she can’t feel are the ones that may kill her.”

“Then you think she’s—”

“We have a guideline known as the Rule of Nines. It’s a shorthand method for determining the percentage of the body that’s been burned. She scores over seventy percent. And that’s mostly third-degree burns.” He paused, then looked down at his clipboard. “Burn victims with greater than sixty-percent burns rarely survive. And even if they do—” His voice choked; he never finished the sentence.

“Is there anything we can do?” Belinda asked.

“We’ve done all we can for her here, and we’ve called for transportation to a burn center in Little Rock. She’ll get all the best treatment. If that’s what she wants.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Patterson shifted his eyes to his patient. “At the burn center they can run tests and try grafts and plastic surgery, but it won’t do much good. Look at her hands, her face. Even if she survives, what kind of life will she have? She won’t be able to function; she’ll be in constant agony.”

The doctor dropped heavily into a nearby chair. “I’ve been working all night and day, doing everything I can think of to save her.” His voice lowered. “But the whole time I’ve been wondering if I should.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Ben said. He hoped he sounded confident. He wasn’t. “Is it all right if I speak to her?”

“I don’t see that it can do her much harm. But remember, she’s heavily medicated. I can’t vouch for the quality of her answers.”

Together Ben and Belinda approached the side of Maria’s bed. “Mrs. Truong?”

The top of her head was wrapped in bandages. Her eyes seemed unnaturally wide and hollow; after a moment Ben realized it was because her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone.

Slowly her eyelids opened. “Yes?”

“Ma’am, my name is Ben Kincaid.”

“Are you the one”—her voice was broken and hesitant—“in the fire—”

“No. That was Colonel Nguyen. He carried you out. Saved your life.”

“The Colonel. Yes.” She wet her lips with her tongue. “A great man.”

“Ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions. I’ve already spoken to the rest of your family, but they didn’t have much to tell me. I thought you might have seen someone, or might know something, about what happened last night. If you don’t feel up to it, though, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Maria tried to nod, but found it difficult to move her neck. Her skin was thick and leathery; her burns were hardening to eschar.

Belinda reached across the bed and gently raised the woman’s pillow. Maria smiled appreciatively.

“Did you see what happened last night?”

“Truck,” Maria whispered. “Black. Threw something …”

“Did you see what was thrown?”

She shook her head.

“Did you see who was in the truck?”

Again she indicated that she did not.

“Do you have any idea why they would single out your house?”

She didn’t. Her eyes became watery. She moved her arm toward Ben, but it was restricted by the IV.

Ben untangled the IV tube. He reached out to take her hand, then froze. It was not a hand at all. Not anymore.

He touched her shoulder lightly and hoped she had not noticed. “My understanding is that you lived with your husband and your ten-year-old son. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Are they—”

“They’re fine, ma’am. The boy’s a little shaken up, but he’s not hurt.”

“And Vanh?”

“He’s fine, too. They visited you while you were sleeping. I’m sure they’ll be in again soon.”

“That is … good.”

“Do you know why—” How should he put it? He didn’t know. It was best to just get it over with. “Do you know why a baby would be in your home?”

Even given the limited powers of expression her charred facial skin allowed her, Ben could tell she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Is there anyone who might leave a baby with you? A friend? Or a relative, perhaps?”

“A baby,” Maria repeated. “I always wanted a baby. Tim is my stepson. He was five when I married his father.”

“Do you know where a baby might’ve come from?” Ben repeated.

“No idea.” A horrified expression passed across her face. “Was the baby—”

“No,” Ben said quickly. “The baby is fine. Everyone else got out without injury.” So call him a liar. This woman had enough pain in her life.

Maria tried to roll over on one side, but her burns were too sensitive. She gasped suddenly, then released a small, stifled cry. She rolled onto her back, her face contorted in agony.

Ben fought back his tears. Burns had to be the worst kind of suffering. The absolute worst.

“Can you think of anything else that might help us determine who set this fire?” Ben asked.

He could tell Maria was trying to think, but nothing came to mind. She probably had more pressing concerns.

“Thank you for your help,” Ben said. “I understand they’re arranging transportation to take you to the burn center—”

“No!” Maria said suddenly. “No more … treatments.”

“Ma’am, they can help you—”

“No.” She held up her hands and gazed at the charred, misshapen stubs that remained. “I’m done.”

Ben looked to Belinda for help. On his own he couldn’t find the words.

“Mrs. Truong,” Belinda said, “you have our deepest sympathy for your misfortune.”

“Not so bad,” she whispered. “My boy is fine. My husband … also.” Her eyelids slowly closed. “That is enough.”