The Bitterest Pill

Sixty-eight

Jesse parked by the ER entrance and ran into the hospital, blind to the world around him. A strong hand grabbed him around his left biceps and stopped Jesse’s unseeing momentum. Jesse came back into the moment, seeing the stocky man in the black leather jacket, gray/blue uniform shirt, yellow-striped dark blue pants, and tall, black boots.

“Chief Stone, I’m Trooper Quinton.”

“What happened?”

“I only witnessed the very end of the incident as the vehicle driven by Mr. Slayton flipped over the guardrail. Lucky thing I got there when I did. There was already a man down in the gully. We got him out of the vehicle.”

“How is he?”

“I understand he is your son. Is that right?”

Jesse was losing patience. “How is he?”

“Sorry, Chief. He’s banged around pretty good. Probable concussion, but unless there’s internal damage or something I didn’t see, he’ll be fine.”

Jesse shook the trooper’s hand and thanked him. “I’m going to check on my son, but will you please wait for me?”

“Sure thing.”

Jesse stopped and about-faced. “You saved one of your own, Trooper. My son’s going into the academy next month.”

Quinton smiled. “Then go see about him.”

Jesse was surprised to see Dr. Nour in the examination room standing next to Dr. Marx. Unfortunately, Jesse had had many dealings with Dr. Marx over the years. Unfortunately, not because he disliked Marx, but because cops and doctors rarely meet for good reasons in ER examination rooms.

Nour, her all-business expression on full display, looked up at Jesse. “We’re going to do some X-rays on him, but I think Mr. Slayton will be fine.”

“He’s got a concussion,” Marx said. “But there are no internal injuries.”

Dr. Nour nodded. “I concur with Dr. Marx. He is badly bruised but otherwise intact, Chief Stone. He is your son?”

“I am,” Cole said. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here. It’s creepy.”

“Dr. Nour, after I speak to my son, can I have a moment?”

She looked at her watch. “A moment, yes.” She stepped out.

Jesse put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“I don’t remember much. There was a white van.”

“What about a white van?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t know, Dad. I remember a white van next to me and then I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Jesse looked at Dr. Marx. “You keeping him?”

“Just overnight. If he shows no other symptoms, he’ll be free to go home tomorrow.”

Jesse said, “Rest up, Cole. I’ll be back to see you tonight.”

“Okay, Dad. I’m sorry about the Explorer.”

“Seems like I get a new one every few months. Forget it.”

Jesse pulled Marx over to one corner. “Petra North.”

Marx’s optimistic smile vanished. “I don’t know. We sent some to the lab so we knew what we were dealing with. Fentanyl, heroin, and Oxy ground up into a pretty lethal mix. Probably would have killed anyone without some tolerance for opioids. Good thing you got to her when you did. Prognosis?” He shrugged. “We’ll know more tomorrow. At least there’s brain function.”

Dr. Nour was pacing outside the examination room door.

“Thank you, Dr. Nour.”

“It is my job to consult on these sorts of things, but you are welcome. Is there anything else, Chief Stone?”

“Rajiv Laghari and Myron Wexler.”

Dr. Nour took her dour expression to a new level. “What of them?”

“Yes, what of them?”

“Rajiv is a good doctor, but the high life brought him low. Lost his family, privileges at two hospitals, and his practice. I haven’t seen or heard of him for a year now. Dr. Wexler was my supervising physician when I came to the Boston area. A very good man and an excellent orthopedist. I heard he had to resign because he was losing his faculties, but that was many years ago. Will that be all, Chief Stone?”

“It will. Thanks again.”

Trooper Quinton was chatting up the triage nurse when Jesse returned. Nurses and cops: So it ever was, so it would ever be. Jesse cleared his throat.

“Chief, how’s your boy?” Quinton asked.

“Your diagnosis was a good one. Thanks for getting him out of there. You mentioned there was a man down in the gully already when you arrived on scene.”

Quinton nodded. “A Russian, I think. Guy had a thick accent, but he helped me get your boy out of the car.”

“When you arrived, was this Russian guy heading down the embankment or up?”

Quinton tilted his head at Jesse. “That’s a funny question, but now that you ask, he was heading up. I guessed he was going to get something from his van, a tool or a pry bar to get into the van.”

“A white cargo van?”

Quinton’s eyes got wide. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“My son mentioned it.” It was only half a lie. Cole had mentioned a white van but hadn’t mentioned that it was a cargo van. “If you saw the van again, would you recognize it?”

“Probably.”

“Good. When we’re done, can you go over to our stationhouse? I’ll have my officer, Molly Crane, pull up some footage for you.”

“I’ve got to clear it with my commander. He says yes, sure thing.”

“Do that. I’ll call Officer Crane.”

They both got off their phones at the same time.

“My commander told me to give you whatever you needed.”

“This Russian guy, did he give you a name?”

“Nah. After the ambulance came, I lost track of him, and the van was gone.”

They shook hands. Jesse gave him directions to the station. When the trooper was out of sight, Jesse set out to find Petra North’s room.