innocence and uncertainty he had observed in her earlier were gone as well. Nick sensed that she was going to be a capable doc, whatever specialty she chose. During his own residency, he often questioned the absurd amount of responsibility thrust upon new trainees. Now, that thought segued into images of the soldiers he served with at FOB Savannah, many quite a bit younger than Amanda. The thought put a damper on his mood.
“Done,” Baker chirped. “Fifteen stitches, seven-oh nylon, with three six-ohs thrown in just to secure the suture line. Looks pretty spiffy if I do say so. Now for some Steri-Strips to keep the tension off, and the real mystery about you will be whether or not you ever cut yourself at all.”
“Told you not to worry.”
“Five days. Sutures out in five days.”
“Five days it is,” Nick said, unable to fully cull Savannah from his thoughts. “Listen, Dr. Amanda, one of our patients from the medical van, Michael Campbell, was brought to the ER a few hours ago. I heard he had been transferred to the fifth floor of the Grossbaum Building, but I don’t know which room.”
“Of course,” she said.
Nick followed Amanda over to her desk, where she dialed the floor’s number.
“This is Dr. Amanda Baker in the ER. You have a patient named Michael Campbell. Could you tell me his room number?… Five-oh-two? Thanks.”
“Ask her if any police have been in to see him,” Nick whispered.
“Pardon?” Amanda shot him a puzzled look.
“Please ask.”
“Have the police been in to see him yet?… No? Okay.” She covered the receiver and whispered to Nick, “Apparently, a police officer is on the floor now.”
“Thanks,” Nick replied. “I gotta run.” He headed out of the ER, then called back over his shoulder, “You did a great job, Doc.”
Nick followed the signs directing him to the Grossbaum Building. The fifth floor was a step-down unit for intensive care patients being transitioned onto medical or surgical floors, or who would have been admitted to the ICU had there been space. Campbell’s room was the last on the right. There was no police officer in the hallway, suggesting the officer was already inside his room. Nick knocked softly and entered.
Campbell, on his back, was restrained to the bed by all four limbs. A uniformed female police officer stood at his right. Nick was glad to see the addict hadn’t required endotracheal intubation, but he did have a laryngeal mask airway in place, helping to provide some mechanical breathing support. The surgeons at City Hospital had done a CT scan and apparently decided the knife wound had not caused internal damage that would require an exploratory operation.
Campbell’s eyes were open, but glazed. His expression was an intense mix of fear and confusion.
“Who are you?” the woman, a stocky brunette, asked.
Her brass name tag read SAMPSON, and her expression said there were an infinite number of places she would rather be than where she was.
“Dr. Nick Garrity from the Helping Hands Mobile Medical Unit,” he answered. “Mike here is one of our patients.”
“You the one who reported this guy’s knife wound?”
Nick could see Campbell stiffen.
“Actually, no,” Nick said. “That must have been someone here in the hospital.”
“You know it’s mandatory to report all stab wounds.”
“Gosh, I thought it was more mandatory to save the patient’s life. I did help to do that.”
Sampson glared across at him. He had six inches and at least twenty-five pounds on her, but he had little confidence that he could have taken her in a fight, and no confidence at all that she would not like to try and find out.
“Can we remove this contraption?” she asked, gesturing at the airway. “I need to talk to him.”
“I can’t answer that question, Officer, except to say that I’m a surgeon, and if I went to the trouble to put a laryngeal airway in someone, I wouldn’t want it taken out.”
“But you’re
“Let me guess, Officer. You majored in community relations at the academy.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Dr. Important.”
“And I think my role is to remain here with my patient.”
Just as it seemed Sampson was about to leap across the bed at Nick, the door burst open and a bulldozer of a man, stuffed into a tweed jacket, wearing a crinkled blue shirt and red-striped tie, stepped inside. The veins on his tire-thick neck pulsated, and his face was flushed with anger.
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Don Reese, MPD. Which one of you idiots is fucking up my case?” The detective reached into his jacket pocket and flashed his badge. “Who are you?” he growled at Nick.
“I’m a doctor. I’m not from this hospital. I work on-”
“I don’t care if you work on the good ship
“Not really, I only-”
Reese, even more furious, cut Nick off again and turned back to Sampson.
“I want your district. I know every goddamn commander and captain in every police service area. Do you know what you’ve done?”
Sampson paled.
“Hey, I’m not talking to Dr. Eric the Red over here,” Reese snapped, pointing his thumb at Nick. “You’re the cop. I asked you a question!”
“I… I’m with the Four-oh-four,” she stammered.
“The Four-oh-four. Commander Trudy Sandoval. She’s not going to be happy with this. Not at all. Do you know what you just did?”
Sampson shook her head. “Lieutenant,” she said, regaining an ort of her composure, “I’m just trying to make a report and probably an arrest here.”
“Well, it’ll be the last bust you make for a while if you do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because this guy here with the knife hole in his side is an undercover cop working my case and you are about to flush two years of wiretaps and judicial hoop-jumping down the toilet.”
“Shit,” Sampson muttered. “Well, what do you want me to do now?”
“Either go get primped up because you are about to make the six o’clock news for blowing a major narcotics investigation, or just walk away and let me see if I can fix what you might have already broken.”
The woman did not take long to decide.
“Thanks for not making a big deal about this, Lieutenant,” she grunted on her way to the door.
“You can thank me for saving your career later,” Reese replied. “That goes for you, too, Dr. Doolittle, out!”
Nick followed Sampson down the hall to the elevator. She made no attempt to keep the door from closing in his face before he could get on. He waited until he heard the car start down, then returned to Room 502, where Reese was waiting in the hallway.
“That was some performance, Don,” he said, shaking the burly detective’s hand. “Really impressive stuff. I guess we can finally call us even now.”
“Hell no! You’ve got a long way to go and a lot of favors to collect before I’ll call us even.”
“What about that fancy GPS unit you fixed us up with after those kids heisted our RV and took it for a joyride?”
“Not even close. It’s not every day a cop smashes his car into a rolling medical clinic during a drunk blackout. You saved my badge and maybe my pension by letting me sleep it off in the back room of that bus of yours and not reporting the accident.”
“I did what felt right. Junie vouched for you, and you agreed to pay for the damages and to hook up with two of our AA pals.”
“Three years now. I got my three-year medallion to prove it.” Reese held up his key ring and let Nick squeeze the ornate bronze coin. He clasped Nick’s shoulder and led him into the room.
