Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (4 page)

Sydia removed the stained white sheet covering the girl’s lower body. The pillow elevating her legs was drenched with blood.

Beth stood beside her. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She removed the oversized ice pack from between the girl’s legs. “Not in all my years.” She covered her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Stearns, this girl needs blood, not just Ringer’s. Did you do a type and cross?”

“Of course, I did. It’s with the rest of her labs. Should be back any second now, along with a blood gas.”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get it by tomorrow. Get some O negative units, just to keep her going? Now!” Her cynicism never ceased to amaze her. “
Hello?
Is there a doctor in the house? And what about some Dopamine?”

“No.”

“Do it,” she ordered. “We have to get some blood circulating to her heart. She’s in shock.”

She re-examined the patient as Stearns broke an ampule of Dopamine, retracted it into a syringe and injected it piggyback into the patient’s IV line. Sydia began doing a meticulous head to toe evaluation of the girl. She checked for broken bones, dislocations, any deep or soft tissue injuries. “Has anybody contacted the cops? What we have here is definitely an assault victim.”

“Who had time?” One of the nurses shouted back.

Sydia gave a dismissive look. “Who found the girl? What about x-rays, particularly of the pelvic region?”

Stearns shot Sydia a similar stare. Everybody was on overtime. Overtaxed and overworked. Patience was a luxury. Tempers flared and fanned.

A decision needed to be made. So, Sydia made it. “Beth, call the OR. I want a room. And clean up this girl. Call Dr. Randall in, too. I want him doing anesthesia.”

Beth turned away from the table. “Are you sure you want to call..?”

“Just do it, Beth. Please.”

Sydia’s personality shifted from first gear into fifth. Dr. Stearns probably wasn’t too happy with Sydia’s attitude, but, in the end, this little girl would be. At the front desk, Sydia called the OR and talked to the technician on duty. He would have a room ready. No hassle. No wait. What a surprise! Then again, it was midnight.

As Sydia exited the Emergency Room, an older, intense looking man stood by the entranceway. He approached her, panic dancing in his eyes. “Is she goin’ to be okay? Is she alive?”

This must be the man who transported the girl to the hospital. Sydia did an assessment. Her immediate perception of a person’s physical state greatly inspired her insight into their mental status. Or, as her mother had shared with her, secretly, late in the evening, serenaded by the rush and swell of the wind whipping through the dying Eucalyptus trees outside their hut, “
Sydia, you’ve got the gift
.”

He appeared to be in his early sixties, slim build, six feet or so, and under severe stress. Increased blood pressure and heart rate, he seemed greatly agitated. As she was talking on the telephone to the technician in the Operating Room, she noticed him nervously pacing back and forth in the waiting room.  Every so often, he would look out the window, lost in thought. He wore a large green scrub coat over his civilian clothes and, upon closer examination, Sydia realized the colorful plaid shirt he wore underneath was soaked with blood.

June 15
, 2007

12:22 AM

Friday

4

Tips.

Every reporter’s dream. Or nightmare. Take Bob Woo
dward, for example, from
The Washington Post.
He got whispered tips on the Watergate story from a guy named Deep Throat. In a parking garage. It happened. And personally, Janice Porter was not opposed to having it happen to her. In fact, she felt tips had real merit. Especially when she was the proud recipient of them. Which was rare. You just never knew what might break. Did Woodward know that Deep Throat had national news involving the President of the United States?

Jesus!

Then again, this
was
Charleston. And everybody knew nothing
ever
happened in Charleston!

The evening started out innocently enough. Janice was out with her girlfriend, actually not
really
her girlfriend. It was only their second date. But Janice liked her. She liked her a lot. They were having a few beers; actually, Janice was drinking beer. Lisette was drinking Merlot. That’s her name. Lisette.
Beautiful, huh?
They were at a bar/French restaurant located on South Market Street called
The Mistral,
minding their own business, enjoying the atmosphere, and listening to Shrimp City Slim’s Jazz Band. It was Lisette’s suggestion. Janice wasn’t much of an aficionado on jazz. To her, Slim and his band sounded more like some lounge act from Vegas, but Lisette knew one of the musicians, so, hey, she was learning early on in this game about the big “C” -- compromise.

So, there they were, mechanically picking at the bottom of the bowl for the last few cheddar cheese Goldfish and appreciating Slim’s last set.
Thank God.
Janice was down to her last drop of Sam Adams draft and taking in the earnest ambiance of the place. Old movie posters hung on salmon-colored walls. Loud floral banquettes screamed out in discomfort. Francoise, the short, plump, bar maid rearranged what seemed like a million miniature bottles of booze. She emptied a twelve pack of Absolut Citron, unloading them in neat single files on the wood shelf, all the while swaying her ass back and forth to the sounds of Slim City’s South.

It must have been around midnight. Janice forgot to wear her watch, but was working up her courage, thinking about asking Lisette to spend the night, when, of course, her cell phone went off.
Shit!
Everybody turned to look.
Sorry
. Janice thought she had turned it off. She retrieved it from her shirt pocket and put it on mute. She checked the number. Nothing familiar. She excused herself, walked to the back of the restaurant and reconnected. Several waiters dressed in long-sleeved white shirts, black pants, and a wild assortment of colorful ties darted past her. They were closing down the back dining room as Janice counted down the rings. About to disconnect, the line picked up. Quiet. Nothing on the other end.

“Hello?” Stillness. Not even static. “You called me? This is Janice Porter.”

Silence.

“Fuck you.” Janice ended the call and strode back to the bar. To her surprise, the bowl of Goldfish had been replenished.
Yes!
Why was she so hungry? They had just finished dinner. Nice place, too.
The Magnolia
on East Bay Street. Very expensive and delicious. Nerves, she guessed. She proceeded to order another Sam Adams. She checked out Lisette’s wine glass. Always considerate. Half full. She thanked Francoise, took a mouthful of cold ale and watched Lisette’s back move, swaying gently to the music. Nothing hard or jarring about Lisette, just long, winding curves. A fan in the back of the room made Lisette’s sleeveless, silk shirt flutter against her cocoa skin. Janice imagined a thousand yellow butterflies trapped inside and all of them enjoying the view.

Tonight was a school night for “Sweetie.” See, that’s how serious Janice was. She’d already given Lisette a nickname. Sweetie was a schoolteacher. She taught the sixth grade in North Charleston. So, after the set finished, they exchanged a few words with her musician friends and finished their drinks. Lisette had parked in the First Citizens Bank lot, right next door to the restaurant, so it took all of about two seconds before they were standing beside Lisette’s red Saturn. An awkward moment between them. The first of the evening. North Charleston was a hop, skip and a jump on I-26, but, if Lisette was anything like Janice, she hated driving. Alone. Particularly late at night. And, since Janice just happened to live conveniently around the corner, on Jeffrey Street... cute, quaint, and oh so quiet…

“Stay with me tonight…” Janice couldn’t believe she actually said it. Just like that, the words exploded from out of her mouth. Loose cannon.

Lisette turned and smiled. She took Janice’s hands and gently cupped her face. Soft skin with a lingering scent of moisturizer. Then, Lisette kissed Janice, tenderly on the lips before beeping her car door unlocked. Janice felt herself drown in an ocean full of cocoa oil and mush. Do senses usually become so heightened when craving somebody? “Thanks, honey,” she said, “I gotta get home. I’m getting my classroom ready for summer vacation. But, I’ll call you in the morning.”

The window automatically lowered as Janice leaned down and returned the favor. Lisette responded affectionately. Then she locked the door and fastened her seatbelt. Unlike Janice, Lisette followed all the rules.

“Call me when you get home. I’ll sleep better.” Janice liked saying shit like that. It made her feel like a good mother. Parental. Caring. She hoped Lisette felt the same way.

Lisette mouthed “okay,” blew another kiss and automatically upped the window. She placed a sweater over her bare shoulders, turned the ignition and backed out of her parking space. Janice watched as red taillights grew dimmer and disappeared around the corner.

She really liked Lisette. She thought she could be “the one.” Janice crossed the street, passed by the deserted market and walked down Meeting Street. Charleston rolled up the carpet early on weeknights. Every night for that matter. She turned left at the corner and strolled up the driveway to her apartment complex. Actually, it was more like an antebellum estate remodeled into apartments. Delightful. She had the bottom floor. They called it a garden apartment, because of the courtyard located outside of her front door, she figured. The weather felt unusually cool for June. And damp. A low mist hovered in the night air. She could smell the faint smell of jasmine and honeysuckle. Soon the lilac bush would be blushing purple. It was the reason she took the place. Janice loved lilac.

Jake, her beautiful Weimaraner awaited her return. His large gray paws jumped up on the door as she pulled house keys from her jeans. He continued even after she entered. Janice thought it was a puppy thing, but two years later, he still insisted on greeting her like the Tasmanian devil!

“Hey, Jakey. What’s up, you?” She called him “Jakey” affectionately. Nicknames again.

The way people had conversations with their pets was amazing. Including Janice. In fact, she was probably worse than most. While the door was still open, Jake made a hasty retreat into the courtyard and relieved himself on the curb. She grabbed his leash and walked him to East Bay Street, passing by impressive southern architecture that made up their great City. An appropriate backdrop for Jake to do his business. She cleaned up after him, she wished everybody did, and deposited his creation into an outside waste bin and hurried back home. She didn’t want to miss Lisette’s call. Her “Sweetie.”

She entered the apartment to her cell phone vibrating on the dining room table.
Ahhhh, perfect timing
. Of course, Janice fantasized it was Lisette, telling her she’d changed her mind, that she’d be right over with wine and cheese and Janice would be the lucky lesbian lotto winner of her generous, and incredible hospitality. And body. Don’t forget that. With that fantasy festering in her brain, naturally, Janice didn’t walk calmly to her cell phone, but ran, like a bat out of hell. Jake sprinted after her, sensing her sudden movement as some mad dog game and grabbed his pet dinosaur on the way. Well, what used to be a dinosaur anyway! Ferociously he shook it back and forth. Janice pretended not to notice. She could be such a bitch.

“Lisette?” She answered, out of breath.

“Janice Porter?”

It wasn’t Lisette. She wanted to hang up, but didn’t. In a dull, flat, unimpressive voice, she answered. “Yeah, this is Janice. Who’s this?”

“… from
the Post and Courier
?” 

“No, from
Bay Watch
, asshole. Who
is
this?”

“A little tip, sweetheart. A story’s taking shape over at MUSC.” The voice was low and breathy. Androgynous.

“I’m having a hard time hearing you…”

“This could be the story of a lifetime.”

Story of a lifetime? In Charleston? Yeah, right
.

Her call waiting beeped.

“Hold on for a second. I have another call.” She went to press hold.

“Don’t hang up on me.”

“Don’t take it personally, okay? I have another call.” She pushed the button. “Hello.” Lisette’s mellifluous voice intercepted.

“I’m home. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Will you be up for awhile?” Janice asked.

“At this hour?”

Janice registered a pang of insecurity in Lisette’s tone. “Tell me about it!” Always the sensitive. Preternaturally sensitive. Janice tried sounding more pissed than excited. Then again, Lisette had a right to know. The right to question.
She
would. If there was ever a time to question, now would be the time. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. “I took Jake for a walk. When I got home, my cell was ringing. I thought it was you…”

“It doesn’t matter. I hope everything’s okay. I’ll call you tomorrow from school.” Slight pause. “I miss you, already.”

“Damn, that sounds nice.” And, she meant it. “I can’t wait to see you. I had a great time tonight.”

“Me, too you.” She could hear Lisette hold back a yawn. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, sweetie.”

Janice reconnected to the other caller. She listened for breathing, background noise, anything. Instead, all she heard was silence.

Shit!

She thought about the voice. About what the voice had said.
Story of a lifetime
. Tip. Bob Woodward. It was all a jumble. A crossword puzzle waiting to be solved. And, Janice happened to love crossword puzzles, figuring things out, connecting letters to form words. She pondered her options for a moment. She would have to act fast. She could do several things. Call the Criminal Investigation Bureaus (CIB) at the precinct and ask if the Lieutenant knew of anything. Or, she could call Donny, her cousin’s husband, who just happened to be a cop at the Lockwood precinct. Better yet, he worked the midnight shift. She put her faith in family and dialed Donny. He would know if the information she’d received was on the up and up.

Donny and Janine had helped Janice out when she first moved to Charleston from Philadelphia. Janine was more like a sister than a cousin. They’d grown up together, shared dolls, Barbie’s, tea sets… first kisses, even. In fact, Janine was the first girl Janice had ever actually kissed. Janine had a difficult time adjusting to Janice being a lesbian, in the beginning, but gradually, she chilled. What else could she do? Janice adored her. And Donny was an absolute dreamboat, which brought to mind
Mystery Date
, that stupid game from Milton Bradley they used to play as kids. Janice would invariably get the nerd, while Janine always managed to walk off with the homecoming king. Then, she freaking married him. Not fair! Donny. He treated Janine like a treasure and she was happy for both of them. Besides, it was Donny who told her in that unmistakable Queen’s accent, “
You ever got a problem, you call me, no matter what time, I don’t care, you hear? Just call. If it takes a fuckin’ army I’ll be there for ya.”