The detective asked her a few questions, none of which she was able to answer since the patient hadn’t come out of surgery yet. The only thing she knew definitely was that the surgeon was Dr. Leonard Shapiro, who seemed to know Jack. She guessed they knew each other because they both attended the same synagogue.
Pratt waited until the surgeon came out of the operating room. He stood up facing Dr. Shapiro, flashed his badge and introduced himself. He told the surgeon that he needed to ask him some questions.
“Sure, as soon as I get a chance to wash up, change into my civvies and have a cup of coffee, I’ll be glad to answer whatever I can for you, Detective.”
Twenty minutes later, Shapiro joined the detective in the doctor’s lounge, sat down, offered Pratt a cup of java.
“Thanks, but I’m coffeed out just waiting for you to get out of surgery.”
“Doctor, before you gave Mr. Green anesthesia, did he have anything to say?”
“No, he was out cold. The anesthesia was used just to assure us that he wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the surgery.”
“What exactly were his injuries?” Pratt asked.
“He was hit by a bullet on his left rear side, passing through his kidney and severing his renal artery. Had there been another ten minutes after the ambulance got to him, the coroner would have been called,” answered the doctor.
“Were you able to extract a slug?”
Shapiro was ready for that question. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bullet, handing it to the detective. “How’s that for service, Detective?”
“Excellent, Doc, better than I could have expected. That’s a .45 caliber slug. Thank you very much for holding on to it for me, I understand that you may know the victim. Is that correct, doctor?” Pratt asked.
“Yes, Detective, I know Mr. Green very well. We both belong to Beth Israel Synagogue and see each other there all the time.”
“Then do you have any idea why anyone might have wanted to shoot him?”
“Only if he cheated on his golfing partners. That’s just a joke, Detective. There is no reason in the world I can think of why anyone would want to harm him. He is the sweetest, most honorable, kindest, and funniest guy I know. There are a lot of crazy people out there though, so who’s to say?” said the surgeon.
“Would you be willing to testify in court should I need you, Doctor?”
“If I get subpoenaed, certainly. You see, with a subpoena the hospital will pay for my time,” replied the surgeon with a smile.
“I understand, Doctor,” Pratt said as he asked one last question. “Before I let you go, when will I be able to speak with the patient?”
“Not for a few more hours and only after the family has seen him,” Shapiro responded.
Pratt then remembered the EMTs. “By the way, Doctor, I promised to commend the two ambulance attendants who brought him in. They were immensely helpful to me. Please convey my praise to their manager for me.”
◆◆◆
Andre arrived home after working at the synagogue. With tremendous anxiety, he opened his front door and looked around trying to listen for unusual sounds. He didn’t want to be the next victim and wondered if anyone were inside who would try to shoot him. He didn’t see or hear anything unusual.
Feeling a whirlwind of emotions, he bellowed as loud as his lungs would permit with a trembling voice, “Olivia? Pablito? Olivia, where are you? Pablito, are you here?”
Pablito, his teenage son, was running down the stairs from his bedroom and Olivia, his wife, came running from the kitchen and saw her husband perspiring and trembling.
“Honey, what’s the matter?” asked Olivia.
“What’s up, Dad, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Why are you yelling so loud and sweating?”
Andre’s mouth was as dry as if he had survived a desert dust storm. “Pablito, please get me a glass of water while I try and calm down and I’ll tell you both what happened.”
“You didn’t lose your job, did you, Honey?” Olivia asked nervously.
“No, I didn’t lose my job. Let me just drink the water Pablito brought me and I’ll be able to tell you.” He gulped down the entire glass full of cold water and sat down in his chair in the living room. Olivia and Pablito joined him and sat on the couch across from him and observed his rapid breathing begin to slow down.
“Mr. Green was shot today!” Andre declared.
Olivia, not believing her ears, said, “What did you just say?”
“Mom, he said that Mr. Green, whoever that is, was shot today.”
“Mr. Green is that nice man dad told us about, who comes and has lunch with the Rabbi a few times a week,” Olivia explained.
“Andre, what happened? Why would anyone shoot Mr. Green?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Olivia, and that’s not the whole story,” he said.
“He was shot in front of the synagogue and I found him on the ground bleeding from his backside. There were no people in there on Tuesday. The only person in the building was me, because the Rabbi and three boys he gave lessons to had gone home already. I leaned down close to Mr. Green’s mouth to see if he was still breathing and when I felt his breath, I called 911 for help and then ran into the building to get a couple of clean rags. Then I rushed back out to put them on his wound and pressed down hard to try and stop the bleeding, but it just wouldn’t stop.”
“You mean he died?” asked Olivia.
“No, no, I forgot to tell you that the ambulance arrived. The paramedics took over, placed him into the ambulance, and took him to the hospital.
