Code Triage (26 page)

Leigh held her breath, feeling all at once like they’d traded places and she was about to be shot in the gut. She told herself not to ask, that it didn’t matter.
Things I never would . . .
“Like what?”

Sam opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. Her pale face lit. “Oh, there you are. Come here, both of you!”

Leigh turned.

Nick stood in the doorway holding a blonde toddler, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

+++

Ten minutes later, Sam blew a kiss as a volunteer carried Elisa off to find a coloring book. She felt a twinge of guilt.
I needed you here, baby girl. Because we need him.

“I don’t think it was a good idea to let her see you yet,” Nick said. “She seemed scared by all this.” His dark eyes swept the equipment crowding her bed. “And you look . . . beat.”

“Thanks,” she said, still trying to forget the look on his face when he’d seen Leigh. “You know just what to say to a girl.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I did. I do,” she said, her heart warming at the concern in his eyes. Almost worth a bullet. “I always know what you mean. We think alike.”
Except you haven’t realized that you love me, yet.

Nick glanced down at his hands. “Tina said she’d be here around five, give or take with traffic. She’ll stop by and see you, then pick Elisa up at the babysitter’s. She said she’s happy to keep her for as long as you need.” He shifted in the chair, and Sam caught a whiff of shampoo—he’d showered, changed into khakis and a blue striped dress shirt.

“She’s a good aunt. A good person,” Sam added. “Even though her marriage to Toby didn’t last, she’s happy now. It all worked out.”

Nick looked up, his expression saying she’d laid it on too thick. She knew it and she hated feeling like she had to. Like she was scrambling against time to get her world upright again, helpless as a turtle flipped over on its back.

“Why was Leigh here?”

Sam thought about lying but was too tired. “She wanted to know why I called her Sunday night.”

Nick’s eyes were maddeningly unreadable. “And what did you tell her?”

She sighed, grateful she hadn’t denied it.
He knows.
“I said I was curious if you’d gone to see her. If she was the person who’d called your cell at my house.”

He was quiet for several seconds. “Her number isn’t listed.”

She told herself he wasn’t defending Leigh, reminded herself that he’d just shot someone in defense of her. And decided there wasn’t enough time for anything but the truth. Why had she fallen in love with a cop? Their minds were too incisive and suspicious. “I found it in those old phone records from back in November. When you were staying with me and tried to reach her.”
And she wouldn’t call you back. Remember? She wasn’t there for you—I was.

He looked back down at his hands, and she could hear the beeping of her heart monitor pick up speed.

“I drank too much wine,” she admitted. “I hated it that she called and you jumped, and—”

“Our neighbors had an emergency,” he interrupted.

“That’s what she said.”

“It’s the truth.” His eyes were intense. Almost as if he were instructing a gunman to lay down a lethal weapon. “Leigh doesn’t lie.”

+++

Leigh climbed the last flight of stairs to the second floor, feeling her pulse throb in her neck and her breath quicken. She wasn’t surprised; it had been days since she’d been able to exercise. Days since she’d had more than a few hours’ sleep. And months since she’d slept well . . . since Nick. No wonder the events of the last few days had knocked her off-kilter, why today seemed so surreal.

She grasped the doorknob and stepped out onto the pediatrics floor. She was met by eerie silence. And a police officer.

“Ma’am.” The officer—young, with a barely sprouting mustache—glanced at her scrubs and white coat. “Doctor . . . ?”

“Stathos,” she said and saw immediate recognition of the name. She glanced down the corridor, empty except for a pair of investigators in police coveralls.

“We’re still on lockdown, Dr. Stathos. I’ll have to see your identification.”

“I’ve been treating the victims,” she said, handing him her badge, “and I wondered if I could have a look. Get a feel of it, because . . .” Her words trailed off as she realized that she wasn’t sure why she’d come to this evacuated floor. It made no more sense than showing up in Sam Gordon’s room.

“No problem,” he said, returning her badge. “We’re almost finished. I can walk you down there, but I’ll have to ask you not to touch anything or go beyond any of the perimeter tape.”

“Of course,” she said, noticing that she’d dropped her voice to a near whisper. Her mouth had gone dry.

They walked past the shut-down elevators to the nurses’ desk, littered with charts and abandoned coffee mugs; past rooms with open doors and empty cribs, a cafeteria cart still loaded with breakfast trays, the children’s playroom with its mural of Seuss creatures, and—

“Oh!” Leigh jumped sideways, heart hammering in her chest.

“Sorry,” the officer said, snatching at the string of the bobbing happy face balloon. “I’ve been trying to get it; the air ducts keep sailing it around the ceiling.” He glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

She pulled her hand away from her chest and sucked in a breath. “Sure. It surprised me, that’s all. I’m a little tired, I guess.” She smiled weakly. “Long day.”

He continued down the corridor and she followed, aware of the unnatural echo of their footsteps and of the distant sound of a patient’s TV left on during the haste of evacuation.

“Golden Gate Mercy Hospital remains on lockdown after a shooting spree that ended when two Mission District police officers . . .”

“Here,” the officer said, stopping to point at the floor, “is where the security guard was shot, and there—” he pointed to a second stain nearby—“is where the Child Crisis investigator fell. And you can see . . .”

How Sam struggled. Oh, dear God . . .
Leigh held her breath, eyes moving over the side-by-side pools of blood, dark purple, larger than seemed possible. One with smeared palm prints, like some macabre finger painting. Her knees weakened.

“And down here,” he continued, walking a few more steps, “is the Johnson baby’s room, where it all started.”

Leigh inched forward, then stopped, her gaze moving past the yellow crime scene tape into the room beyond: crib, an IV pump, diaper bag, and an overturned vase of flowers. White lilies, at least a dozen, strewn all over the floor. And next to them, Abby Johnson’s stuffed pony. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’ve seen enough,” she said, turning away. “I can get back by myself, thank you.”

She jogged down the empty corridor, eyes on the stairwell door. She passed the room with the TV and tried not to listen.

“. . . according to hospital sources, remains in critical condition. Per department policy, the two SFPD officers will remain on administrative leave pending investigation. . . .”

She yanked open the door to the stairs, lurched through to the landing, and leaned back against the cold wall, fighting a vicious wave of nausea. She’d been a fool to come up here; she was a doctor, not a forensic scientist. She dealt with living beings, did what she could to save them. She performed the skills she’d been taught, made diagnoses, wielded instruments, applied joules of electricity to dying hearts, did everything she’d spent years learning to do. And then walked away. That was how it was supposed to go. But this . . . this aftermath was horrible. Too much like standing there with Cappy’s widow, listening to prayers, when all Leigh wanted to do was get away. Distance herself—leave the pain of it behind.

She retched, closed her eyes, and inhaled slowly through her nostrils, pushing down the images of drying blood she could do nothing about. She’d nearly panicked over a helium balloon. A balloon. She raised her hand to her mouth. How awful had it been for Cappy? Sam? . . . And Nick, out there in the parking lot? Risking his life for all of them.

She took another deep breath, then pushed away from the wall. There were a few patients to finish with in the ER, but no new ones because of the lockdown. Her cell phone buzzed in the pocket of her lab coat.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, Dr. Stathos,” the charge nurse said, “but looks like we have one more victim from the incident. One of the peds nurses is here. Apparently he was kicked in the chest.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Leigh hustled downstairs, telling herself she was hurrying toward what she was trained to do, not running away from things she didn’t have the stomach to face.

+++

“What’s the first thing I thought of?” Nick looked over the rim of his coffee cup at the police chaplain sitting behind his cluttered desk. The man’s ever-present electrical fan whirred over the distant sounds of afternoon traffic and fluttered the sheet of paper in his hands.

Buzz smiled. “It’s a question straight off my critical incident stress algorithm.” He tapped the paper. “Actually, it suggests we ask, ‘What was the first thing that you thought of once you stopped functioning on automatic?’” He set the paper aside.

“I know. The department psychologist already asked me.” Nick studied Buzz’s face for a moment. “You want the same answer?”

“I’m here for whatever you need to say.”

Nick forced a laugh. “Why is this easier over a slice of cold pizza on your lumpy couch?” He sighed and met his roommate’s gaze. “Not official?”

“And completely confidential. You know that.”

Nick scraped his thumbnail across the SFPD logo on his cup. “When we got the call for a 417 at Golden Gate with shots fired, the first thing I thought of was Leigh. That someone had hurt her. We were wedged into traffic just two lousy blocks away, and I couldn’t get clear. I thought my head would explode. I almost jumped out of the car and started running for that hospital.” He stared into Buzz’s eyes. “Truth? Looking down the barrels of Denton’s guns was nothing compared to thinking that I could lose Leigh. That I’d never have the chance to make things right between us.”

Buzz was quiet for moment. “And now you know it was Sam Gordon who was shot.”

“Right.”

The chaplain leaned forward slightly. “So how are you doing with that?”

“How much time do you have?”

+++

“It’s not that bad, is it?” the male nurse asked, looking at Riley. He flinched as Leigh’s fingers palpated the bruised area over his lower chest.

Riley noticed that the middle-aged and bearded man wore a surgical cap printed with Care Bears.

He tried to chuckle and flinched again. “I mean when a guy’s on an ER gurney and sees the chaplain show up, it makes him wonder if he’s going to need last rites.” His smile faded, and sadness flooded his eyes. He swallowed.

Riley watched as Leigh pressed her stethoscope against the man’s chest and asked him to breathe in and out. She repeated it on his uninjured side and then asked him to lie flat on the gurney.

“I didn’t want to come down here. The kids are still pretty shook up, and there’s no playroom on the third floor, where we moved them.” He inhaled deeply at the doctor’s request and grimaced very slightly as she palpated his abdominal wall below the bruised ribs. He looked at Riley, his pupils widening. “I didn’t think he kicked me that hard. All I could think was I had to stop him from hurting those kids. My wife and I can’t have any children of our own. She’s a volunteer up there on weekends. I guess sometimes we think of those little guys as . . .” He glanced away. “I’m glad they caught him.”

Leigh checked the display of vital signs, then stepped away from the gurney. “I’m ordering a chest X-ray with rib detail,” she said, draping her stethoscope around her neck. “And a blood count and urinalysis—just to be safe. You’re not tender over your spleen or your kidney, but that’s a bad bruise. And I won’t be surprised if you have a rib fracture. Or two.”

The nurse was silent for a few seconds. “We all know how hard you worked to save Cappy. And I hope you’ll tell your husband that I’m grateful he stopped that guy before more people were hurt.”

“Thank you.” Leigh looked away. “Now let me order your X-ray. Get you all set up.”

Riley followed as Leigh strode out, then caught up with her at the doorway to her office.

“Leigh?”

She turned, and there was no mistaking the fatigue etched on her face.

“I have fresh coffee in the chapel and some of that nut bread from the cafeteria.”
And I’ll listen, my friend.

“Chapel?” Leigh shook her head. “I’ll give you credit, you don’t give up. But no thanks, I’ll pass. As soon as I see our big Care Bear’s films, I’m out of here. I’m going to sleep until noon tomorrow, then spend my day off someplace even God can’t track me down.”

Chapter Twenty

Sam jerked awake, confused for a moment, then caught sight of the date on the room’s message board below the wall clock: Wednesday, October 1—5 p.m. She’d slept the day away. She groaned at the familiar wave of pain spreading across her lower abdomen. Dr. Bartle’s “fortunately less serious than we’d feared” description of her injury belied the vicious reality: it felt like someone had detonated explosives in her navel. She reached for the cord to the pain-med pump and squinted at her IVs. No more blood transfusions, but such an endless nightmare. Still, none of it, not the pain or indignity or sense of helplessness, was as bad as . . .