Tierney waited until he had the brain and spine exposed and could determine the extent of the damage before answering her question. “If you’re hypothesizing that he managed to walk to his car, open the door, climb in, and turn it on—no, in my opinion there’s little possibility he could have managed any of that. I think he would have dropped where he was injured. The injury would have killed him approximately ten to fifteen minutes later without medical intervention. In my opinion,” he repeated in a tone that suggested that his opinion was as good as fact. Which, knowing Tierney, it probably was.
“How would a fracture like that happen?”
“A rapid deceleration injury combined with the angle of impact. We see this type of injury in diving accidents, pedestrians—especially children—struck by automobiles, slip and falls, such as where a person lands hitting their occiput on a step or curb.”
A step. Like the running board below the SUV’s driver’s door. “What killed him?”
He glanced up from his probing of the neck bones. “That’s the unfortunate part. You see, if he’d received prompt medical attention, the fracture could have been stabilized and he might have survived. But as it was, a spinal injury that high, the accompanying swelling would have eventually compressed the nerves that control the muscles of the rib cage and diaphragm. Basically, his breathing would have become more and more shallow until, eventually, he asphyxiated.”
Suffocated, she translated. A horrible way to go. “But if he was paralyzed as soon as he fell, then someone else must have placed him in the car.” Unless… “Any signs that he was moved after he died?”
“No. All indications are that he died sitting up in the driver’s seat.”
Meaning, Standish hadn’t been alone in the garage. Someone had moved him into the car and made his death appear a suicide—all while he was slowly suffocating to death. “So, we’re talking premeditated murder.”
Tierney met her gaze through the glass separating them. He gave her a grin that suggested she was asking the right questions. “Excellent reasoning, Detective. Find your answers and you find the person or persons who left this man to die.”
Twenty-Three
“Code indigo, nursery,” the calm yet authoritative tones of the hospital operator sounded from every speaker. “All personnel, be advised, code indigo, nursery.”
“I take it that’s us,” Luka said, as he waited, on hold with hospital security. Good Sam’s campus encompassed several buildings connected by a maze of tunnels, two parking structures, and three off-campus parking lots. It was a big area to cover with only a handful of personnel.
“Code black is anyone with a weapon, code silver is for a missing dementia patient, and code indigo is a missing child,” Leah told him. They sat together inside the locked nursery where she was going over Beth Doe’s chart and was on hold with the social worker who had visited her last night.
Leah held a hand up and turned her focus to the phone. “This is Dr. Wright. I need to talk to you about Beth Doe. You did a consult on her.”
Luka was still on hold, so Leah put her phone on speaker. “Why?” the social worker answered, sounding hurried. Luka glanced at her name in the chart, it wasn’t someone he recognized from his work with Leah’s Crisis Intervention Team.
“Your note says she refused services.”
“Right, because she did. What’s this all about?” Now the social worker sounded defensive.
“I need to know exactly what you saw and what she said. What was her affect? Did she mention a plan, a home, any friends or family she’d be contacting? What safety net does she have to help her with the baby? Was the baby in the room? How were they interacting?” Leah spit off the questions in rapid fire, clearly annoyed. “You know, basic foundation of any social work consult.”
“My God, it’s her, isn’t it? She’s the code indigo.”
“And you might have been the last person to see her.” Leah was exaggerating; they already knew the nurses had seen Beth after the social worker, but sometimes a bit of melodrama loosened tongues. “By the way, I’m here with Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho of the Violent Crimes Unit. He’s also waiting to speak with you. We’re up in the nursery; when you get here, we’ll buzz you in.” Because of the lockdown, most of the hospital keycodes were deactivated.
The social worker blew her breath out. “I’m on my way.”
While they waited, Luka read the nursing notes. “They were getting ready to discharge mom even though the pediatricians wanted to watch the baby another day? How does that work?”
“Blame it on insurance,” Leah replied. “They only cover twenty-four hours after delivery, then the mom is kicked out unless she has complications. But if we have room available, the nurses are really good at finding ways to let mom stay; they call it ‘nesting.’”
“A woman just gave birth and you kick her out on the street?”
“It’s either that or the hospital won’t get paid anything for violating the insurance guidelines. And what good does it do anyone if no one can use the hospital? I mean, no wonder our infant and child mortality rate—not to mention the number of women who die of pregnancy and delivery complications—is the same as most third-world countries. It’s not because doctors and nurses are stupid or we don’t want to do our jobs; it’s because politicians and business people are lining their pockets with money meant to go to patient care. The insurance companies have skimmed everything they can from the health care industry and there’s nothing left.”
She took a breath and Luka held up his hand to indicate that he was no longer on hold. The security chief had been rambling for a few moments, but since none of what he said was helpful, Luka had barely listened.
“These are vulnerable missing persons,” he told the chief. “I need you to pull the video of any
