Shakedown

Chapter Fifty-three

Emergency rooms are like convenience stores. They’re open twenty-four hours a day, but you’d rather get your coffee somewhere else. That was particularly true at KU Hospital, where the coffee was bad, the waiting room was uncomfortable, and the staff was numb from dealing with the daily deluge of crime and accident victims mixed in with the ordinary folks whose string of good living had run out.

I knew that security guards were stationed at the entrance to the emergency room and that I would have to pass through a metal detector, so I locked my gun in the glove compartment of Kate’s car. An admitting nurse sat on the opposite side of a counter, keeping patients at arm’s length with a sliding-glass window. Access to the treatment area was restricted to patients, family, and medical personnel. The admitting nurse was the gatekeeper, pushing a button that unlocked the door if you knew the secret password.

I tapped on the glass. The nurse, a middle-aged woman with cropped red hair, an extra chin, and giant eggplant arms glanced up at me. Letting out a deep sigh, she reached for the window and slid it open six inches.

“I’m with a woman named Kate Scranton. She came in by ambulance a few minutes ago with a head wound.”

“You her husband?”

“No.”

“Father, brother, or doctor?”

“No.”

“Take a seat.”

“I need to see her.”

“Take a seat. You’ll have to wait until she’s released or sent up to a room.”

I read her name tag. “Look, Glenda. My name is Jack Davis. I’m an FBI agent. Ms. Scranton was injured during an investigation of one of my cases. I need to see her now.”

Glenda gave me a?at stare that said she’d heard that noise before. She stuck out her hand, palm up. “Lemme see some ID.”

I showed her my driver’s license.

“FBI ID,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t have it with me.”

“Then take a seat.”

One of the paramedics that had taken care of Kate at the scene appeared at Glenda’s side. She was solid without being stocky, barely five-five, and her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that stuck out the back of a ball cap. She waved and opened the window all the way.

“Hey, Agent Davis, you should get that stinger checked out.”

I gave her my best smile, noting her name tag. “Thanks, Valerie. Just as soon as I convince Glenda here to let me see Kate. How’s she doing?”

“They’re still checking her out, but I think she’ll be fine.”

I turned my smile on Glenda, who bit her lip and edged her hand slowly toward the button that unlocked the door to the treatment rooms. Before she could push it, I heard a woman’s voice from the back shout, “She’s having a seizure! Dr. Benson is the neurosurgeon on call. Get him down here stat!”

I didn’t wait for Glenda. I reached through the window, punched the button, and yanked the door open. Valerie was ahead of me by two steps. I followed her to a room at the back of the ER. People dressed in scrubs were racing in and out. I couldn’t tell who was a doctor and who was a nurse.

I pushed my way forward. A man in green scrubs tapped me on the chest, telling me to step back. I started to argue when Valerie took me by the arm and pulled me away.

“Let them do what they need to do,” she said.

I stood on the edge of the vortex, catching pieces of shouted orders. There were demands to check vitals, instructions for injections of cc’s of some drug I’d never heard of and repeated exclamations of “Where the hell is Benson?”

A moment later, a man burst through the door, also dressed in scrubs, a?owered surgical hat tied around his head. He was tall with a runner’s lean build, a narrow face, and intense dark eyes that swallowed the situation in a single glance. He was moving swiftly but purposefully, in complete control. I didn’t need a name tag to know that he was Dr. Benson.

He plunged into Kate’s room, the noise level dropping to pin-drop quiet. Valerie and I stepped close enough to hear what he was saying.

“She’s bleeding in her brain, right side. Get an MRI and then get her into the OR.”

He came out of Kate’s room with the same purposeful stride. I intercepted him.

“Dr. Benson. I’m Special Agent Jack Davis, FBI. I was with Ms. Scranton when she was injured. What can you tell me about her condition?”

He didn’t ask for identification, just glanced at Valerie, who vouched for me with a nod.

“Did you see what happened to her?”

“Yes. She was crouching on the?oor and was struck in the right side of her head with the barrel of a.45 caliber pistol.”

He nodded. “That’s consistent with the injury. Her skull is fractured. I can’t tell how badly until I see the MRI and I really won’t know how bad it is until I take a look inside.”

“How long will that take?” I asked.

“That’s a guess I never make, Agent Davis. Best thing I can tell you to do is find a comfortable place to wait. What happened to the guy who hit her?”

“Another agent shot him. He didn’t survive.”

Benson nodded, a small smile creasing his narrow mouth. “Seems about right.”

I watched as Kate was wheeled away a second time, surrounded by people who, if they were worried, didn’t show it. Valerie was still at my side.

“Benson is the best neurosurgeon in town,” she said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“No sweat,” she said. “Take it easy.”

The ER was calm again, a steady hum of nurses shuttling in and out of rooms, comforting and soothing the people they were taking care of. I stood in the middle of the?oor, uncertain of where to go when I saw Glenda walking toward me smiling like the lead in a Stephen King novel.

“Right this way, Agent Davis,” she said, directing me into a vacant treatment area surrounded by a curtain that she pulled closed behind her. “Valerie told me that you’re wounded.”

“She did?”

“Yes. She did. Now take off your pants.”

“My pants?”

“Yes, your pants. And bend over. Let’s have a look at that stinger. It won’t hurt a bit. I promise.”