Harper pulled into one of the reserved parking spaces at the ER. She killed the engine, sitting in the sudden silence for a long moment, taking a few cleansing breaths. Macy was going to be okay—thanks to Leah. Darius was in custody. And soon Harper might have the answers she needed to bring Lily justice.
Those thoughts echoing in a reassuring cadence, she strode out from the car and into the ER, flashing her badge at the security guard to enter the inner sanctum.
“He give you any trouble?” she asked Miller, the patrol officer waiting at Darius’ bedside.
Miller gave Darius a glare. Darius responded by closing his eyes tight and pretending to be asleep. “Nope.”
“Everything by the book. Full medical eval, tox screen, and once he’s cleared by the doctors and processed, call me.”
“Sure thing, Harper.”
Darius squinted one eye open. “Harper? That your name? Get ready, because I’m going to sue you all.” He rattled his handcuffed wrist against the steel rails of the bed. “I’m going to take everything you have. This is false arrest, police brutality!”
“Shut up,” Miller told him. “Save it for the judge, why don’t ya?”
Not for the first time, Harper wished that Cambria City had the budget to be able to afford bodycams. But the patrol vehicles’ dash cams would have caught most of the encounter—along with the civilians with their phones. There was probably already video streaming.
The thought brought her up short. Which meant Luka might at this moment be facing calls from the press—or worse, Commander Ahearn. She knew Luka was shielding her from the commander’s critical gaze, putting his own reputation on the line for her sake. And she’d let him down, big time.
Assured that Darius was in good hands, she moved down the hall to a quiet corner and called Luka. “Everyone’s okay,” she started, then explained what had happened. “If anything, this is good for the department,” she finished. “No one fired their weapons, Leah did her crisis intervention thing, Darius is in custody—”
“How’s the girl?” he asked, cutting to the heart of the matter, like always. She could tell by the background noise that he was in his car.
She glanced down the hallway to the resuscitation area. Macy wasn’t in the major trauma area—a good sign, Harper thought—but rather in one of the nearby glass-walled rooms. Nurses swarmed over the girl in a well-rehearsed choreography, cutting off her clothing, covering her with a sheet as they applied monitor leads, drew blood, and inserted an IV.
“They’re treating her now. I think she’ll be okay.”
He was silent for a long moment. “How’s Leah?”
“Seriously? I think she loved it—maybe not so much the talking Darius down part. That was stressful, especially with us needing to be prepared to use force and the civilians cheering like Darius was some kind of hero. But you should have seen her, taking care of Macy. She’s a good doctor.”
“Listen. You’re going to get questioned ten ways from Sunday about your tactics, about your motivations. Civilians and the press will ask why you didn’t do something stupid like tackle an armed man, other cops might tell you you should have shot him as soon as the knife came out. But no one died today and, no matter what anyone says, that makes this a good day.”
She slumped against the wall, the adrenaline that had sustained her earlier now totally dissipated. “Thanks, Luka.”
“I’m headed over to Good Sam now. Tassi Standish and Foster Dean are causing some kind of ruckus in the morgue.”
“Want me to leave, go down there?”
“No, you’ve got your hands full. Document everything, make sure it’s all by the book. When you’re done, let me know. I need to interview Tassi and Dean, so if the CIC rooms are open, I’ll probably do it while I’m there.”
“Okay.” Usually she would have been pissed off, being excluded from an important interview, but now she was relieved. It gave her the freedom to see if she could get Macy talking about Lily Nolan. “Thanks, Luka.”
He hung up. Harper saw the nurses had backed away from Macy, and several had left, so she took that as a sign that Macy might be stable enough to talk. She walked into the glass-walled room. Macy was on oxygen and in soft restraints, although she didn’t appear to be fighting anymore. Her color was ashen, she reeked of vomit, and she barely stirred as Harper approached.
But she was alive. And from what Harper could interpret from the monitor, she was doing okay. The nurse turned to Harper, her hands full of Macy’s clothing, shoes, and purse all collected in a clear plastic bag. “Detective, do you want to sign for her personal effects? I’ve inventoried them and found what could be drugs. The lab said her initial tox screen was positive for fentanyl, which explains why she needed multiple doses of Narcan.”
Harper took possession of the bag, which was now evidence. “Are you testing for other drugs as well?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Harper liked that—no one ever called her “ma’am.” And the nurse wasn’t even that much younger than she was. “We’re running a complete tox screen.”
“Thanks.” She’d grab one of the uniformed officers to help her document Macy’s belongings before taking them down to the station where they’d be logged into evidence. “When can I talk with her?”
The nurse shook her head. “Probably will be a while. Dr. Davidson is her attending, he can give you a better idea.”
Harper glanced at Macy. She looked very small and very young, dwarfed by the medical technology surrounding her. Clutching the bag with Macy’s belongings, Harper left the room and spotted Leah at the nurses’ station talking with Dr. Davidson, the head of the ER.
“Any idea when I can interview Macy?” she asked them.
Leah started to answer but then stopped, no doubt remembering that Macy was no longer her patient. A quick look of yearning crossed her face and Harper realized she’d been right about how much Leah enjoyed—and missed—her life in
