Forty minutes after leaving Texas Canyon, Joanna pulled into the parking garage at University Medical Center and walked across the chill but sunny breezeway to the front entrance. The hospital may have been given over to the healing arts, but it happened to be the place where Andy Brady’s life had come to an end. It was also where Marianne and Jeff’s beloved Esther had died in the aftermath of a heart transplant. Years of constant construction and reconstruction had completely changed the lobby from what Joanna remembered from previous visits, but the physical changes did nothing to dispel the sense of impending doom that flooded over her the moment she stepped through the glass sliding doors.
Dr. Waller was good as his word. Once Joanna gave her name to the receptionist, the doctor himself came downstairs to retrieve her. His voice on the phone had led Joanna to expect someone much older and larger. Grant Waller, however, turned out to be a relatively small man and only a few years older than Joanna.
“Thank you for coming, Sheriff Brady. You made very good time.”
“There wasn’t much traffic,” she said, which was nothing less than an out-and-out lie.
“Let’s go upstairs and see if you can identify our patient for us,” he said, leading the way.
Upstairs in the surgical ICU waiting room, she was escorted past a group of anxious people gathered there. Once inside the unit, she was motioned into a rest room and directed to wash her hands before donning a gown, mask, hair covering, booties, and latex gloves.
“The patients in this unit are very ill,” Dr. Waller explained. “We don’t take any unnecessary chances. We’re working to prevent secondary hospital-based infections.”
When Joanna was properly attired, she was led down the hallway and into a dimly lit room where the only sound was the gentle beeping of a monitor. A sleeping figure lay on the bed. Stepping closer, Joanna saw that the patient’s head was almost entirely swathed in bandages. One eye and one badly bruised cheek was all that was visible, but it was enough.
“It’s Jeannine,” Joanna managed as her legs turned to jelly beneath her. “Jeannine Phillips.”
Supported by Dr. Waller’s steadying arm, Joanna was led out into the hallway and lowered onto a chair at the nurses’ station. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just a little woozy,” Joanna answered. “It hit me harder than I expected. She looks awful.”
Waller nodded. “I suspect she’s going to lose the sight in that one eye, and she’ll probably require reconstructive facial surgery, but what you saw in there was only the tip of the iceberg. She had severe internal injuries. We had to remove her spleen and one kidney. With all that and the amount of blood she had lost, it’s a miracle she made it to the hospital alive.”
“Will she live?” Joanna asked.
Waller shook his head. “Too soon to tell,” he said. “What I need now, though, is information-her name and the name of her next of kin. It would also help if you could provide any insurance information, although of course we’ll continue treating her in any case, regardless of whether or not she’s insured.”
While speaking, Waller had removed a PDA from a coat pocket. He paused with the stylus poised at the ready. “Did you say her name is Jeannie?” he asked.
“Jeannine,” Joanna corrected, “Jeannine Phillips,” spelling out both names, one letter at a time.
“Next of kin?”
“I don’t have that information right now,” she said. “Once I have it, I’ll get it to you right away.”
“The sooner the better,” Dr. Waller said, returning the PDA to his pocket. “I’ll be going then,” he added. “You can leave the gown and booties in a receptacle in the rest room.”
But Joanna wasn’t ready to be dismissed quite that easily “What do you think happened to her?” she asked.
Waller turned back to her. “Sheriff Brady,” he said, “with all due respect, I really can’t give you any additional information. Considering the new federally mandated patient confidentiality rules, I’ve probably said too much already. Since you’re not a parent or spouse or on a list to receive her private medical information…”
Joanna bridled at his patronizing tone. “With all due respect,” she returned curtly, “at the very least my agency is conducting an aggravated assault investigation, one that could well turn into a homicide if Jeannine dies. In that case, I’m sure the autopsy will tell me everything I need to know about her private medical information. In the meantime, you’re all I’ve got.”
They were still at the nurses’ station. Dr. Waller glanced around as if concerned someone might overhear what was said. When he spoke, he did so in an undertone. “She was stripped naked, kicked, and stomped, and left to die,” he said at length. “And when I say kicked, I mean kicked within an inch of her life. She has severe internal injuries, several broken ribs, and compound fractures of both arms and legs. You already saw what they did to her face.”
“They?” Joanna asked. “You mean there was more than one?”
Waller nodded. “Some of the bruises show actual shoe prints,” he said. “There was more than one pattern.”
“Will we be able to have photos of the shoe patterns?” Joanna asked.
Dr. Waller nodded grimly. “Eventually, I suppose,” he said.
“Was she raped?”
“That I don’t know,” Dr. Waller said. “We’ve been a little too busy saving her life to spend any time processing a rape kit.”
“If DNA evidence is available, I want it,” Joanna said. “It may be the only way to nail these bastards.”
But Waller, having given a little, retreated back into the world of rules and procedures. “We’d need a signed consent form for that.”
“Jeannine is in no position to sign anything,” Joanna pointed out.
Waller shrugged. “That’s why we need to speak to her next of kin,” he said. “One of her relatives could probably give consent.”
“What if I speak to them first?” Joanna asked. “What should I tell them?”
Dr. Waller sighed again. “I don’t really recommend that. Next-of-kin notifications are best left to the professionals.”
“I am a professional,” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Of course.”
“So what can I tell them?” Joanna persisted. “How would you characterize her condition?”
“Grave,” Waller said at last. “Her condition is grave but stable.”
With that, Dr. Waller walked away. Joanna went into the rest room and removed her hospital garb. When she walked out through the waiting room, she was aware that the people there were watching her. She knew that, even caught up in their own pain, they all were wondering which patient this very pregnant law enforcement officer had been allowed to visit and why.
On her way down in the elevator, Joanna puzzled about her next move. Jeannine may not have disclosed information about next of kin on her employment records, but there was someone who might have access to information that wasn’t in the written record-someone who was waiting and worrying and wondering what was going on-Millicent Ross.
When the elevator door opened, Joanna had her phone in her hand and was preparing to use it when, on a bench near the front door, she caught sight of Isabel Duarte. As the reporter sprang to her feet and hurried to meet her, Joanna returned her phone to her pocket.
“Is it her?” the reporter asked.
“Yes.” The answer was out before Joanna had time to think about whether or not replying was the right thing to do.
“Is she going to be all right?”
Joanna was struck by the expression on Isabel’s face and the way she asked the question. She seemed less focused on getting the story than she was about voicing concern for a fellow human being. Even so, in answering, Joanna took her cue from the way Dr. Waller had danced around the issue.
“We’re not making any comment about her condition at this time.”
Nodding, Isabel looked slightly disappointed. “But you did promise me an exclusive,” she objected. “If we hurry, we can just make the deadline for the
So the story was part of it after all. Joanna had lots of other things that urgently needed doing, but Isabel was
