“The dad’s body temp was just at seventy degrees. I can’t stress enough that he’s suffering from a profound, potentially life-threatening level of hypothermia. By all rights, he should be dead right now except for the grace of God.”
Sheriff Mobley grimaced. “What about the mom and their son? They were pretty bundled up in the back of the truck. Why aren’t they waking up?”
“We could wake them, but their bodies need to rest and recover. We’re keeping them hydrated and warm. Both of their bodies’ temperatures recorded in the low eighties when you brought them in. I suspect they dropped to the mid-seventies overnight.”
“And the dad hit seventy?” asked Sheriff McDowell.
The doctor nodded. “You can do the math, Shawn. That means he likely hit the mid-sixties by the time your deputies found him. His vital organs were beginning to shut down, and his brain function suffered. I can’t guarantee we can save him, and even if we do, he may have suffered severe brain damage as a result of the exposure.”
“Damn,” muttered the sheriff as he sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples.
“There’s one more thing regarding the dad,” began the doctor. “Hostetler relayed to me what Ochoa observed when she found him in the back of the pickup. She said his lower legs had been exposed. That accounts for the severe frostbite we’ve diagnosed. I’m afraid it caused permanent damage to his calves, ankles, and feet.”
“What does that mean?” asked the sheriff.
“We may have to perform an amputation of both legs below the knees.”
Chapter Nine
Thursday, October 31
Driftwood Key
By dawn that morning, Jessica and Mike had arrived to help with Patrick. Jessica Albright, Mike’s wife, was a trained paramedic and a member of the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department Water Emergency Team, aptly known as WET. She was capable of providing advanced emergency medical care for injured patients. Her primary role was to stabilize people with life-threatening injuries so they could be transferred to a higher level of care such as a nearby emergency room.
The closest medical center, Fishermen’s Community Hospital, had been closed two days prior after would-be thieves attempted to steal fuel stored for the facility’s backup generators.
On any given day, hospitals consume a lot of energy. Their lifesaving devices rely upon electricity to monitor and treat critical care patients. The level one emergency power supply systems dictated by the National Fire Protection Association could be operated using either natural gas or diesel fuel. At Fishermen’s, the diesel was stored in elevated tanks to prevent them from being damaged during hurricane conditions.
The thieves had attempted to drain the diesel into fifty-five-gallon drums mounted on the back of a flatbed delivery truck. In their effort to break the locking mechanism on an emergency drain valve, they’d breached the raised tank, and diesel poured onto the ground, emptying the tank within minutes. The sudden loss of fuel caused the diesel generators to seize and shut down. While the tank was able to be repaired, the Keys had no source of diesel fuel to replenish the tank.
This meant the next closest hospital was either in Islamorada or Key West, and they were only treating critical care patients. Patrick’s injuries, while brutal, fell just short of life-threatening, so Jessica made the call to keep him there.
She set up intravenous fluids and kept him hydrated. She complimented Phoebe on her excellent first aid skills. However, with her advanced trauma kit, she was able to do some things Phoebe couldn’t, including the use of medical staples, an alternative to traditional suturing.
While Patrick was sleeping, Jessica took the time to examine every inch of his body. She was the first to discover that the man had been sodomized. She’d shed a tear as she studied Patrick’s badly beaten face. His eyes were very swollen, and both of his lips were cut from repeated punches. There was even an abrasion on his right cheek that resembled the sole of a sneaker.
After a long day, she, Mike and Hank gathered around the fire for a drink. She provided the guys an update on Patrick’s condition before their discussion turned to other events of the day.
“Hank, last night’s incident with Patrick’s sudden arrival at the gate has me concerned,” began Mike as he stared off into the darkness.
The three of them were in a solemn, melancholy mood. Patrick’s beating reminded them of how depraved their fellow man could be. Depravity was an innate, moral corruption of the soul unique to the human species. No animal on the planet had the cognitive ability, or the penchant, for wickedness.
“Me too,” said Hank as he sipped his drink without looking in Mike’s direction. It had been a sore subject. He’d made his feelings known to Mike previously that he wished he and Jessica could stick around Driftwood Key. If anything, over the last several days, the opposite had occurred. The sheriff’s department had demanded more of their time than ever.
“I know your feelings on this, and trust me, Jess and I have wrestled with what to do,” Mike said. “You know, when you’re in law enforcement, you have the same sense of duty as those who are in the military. We were hired to do a job, which includes protecting our community.”
“And being traffic cops?” asked Hank, allowing his frustrations to pour out. “Seriously, Mike. Is the sheriff asking you to investigate crimes? Are you still pursuing the serial killer? All I hear you guys talk about is evicting nonresidents and leading them off the Keys like the freakin’ Pied Piper.”
“Listen, Hank,” said Mike as he sat up in his chair. “We gotta do what we gotta do. As soon as—”
“As soon as what?” Hank rudely cut him off. “As soon as Lindsey is
