Vanish (3 page)

Maura glanced at the hanging clipboard, where the day’s deliveries were recorded, and saw that

a Jane Doe had arrived at the morgue around noon.
Eight hours ago. Eight hours zipped in a

shroud. What if she’d ended up on my table? What if I had sliced into her chest?
Rummaging

through the receiving in-basket, she found the envelope containing the woman’s paperwork.

“Weymouth Fire and Rescue brought her in,” she said. “An apparent drowning . . .”

“Whoa, Nelly!” The EMT had just stabbed an IV needle into a vein and the patient suddenly

jerked to life, her torso bucking on the gurney. The IV site magically puffed blue as the

punctured vein hemorrhaged into the skin.

“Shit, lost the site. Help me hold her down!”

“Man, this gal’s gonna get up and walk away.”

“She’s really fighting now. I can’t get the IV started.”

“Then let’s just get her on the stretcher and move her.”

“Where are you taking her?” Maura said.

“Right across the street. The ER. If you have any paperwork they’ll want a copy.”

She nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”

A long line of patients stood waiting to register at the ER window, and the triage nurse behind

the desk refused to meet Maura’s attempts to catch her eye. On this busy night, it would take a

severed limb and spurting blood to justify cutting to the front of the line, but Maura ignored the

nasty looks of other patients and pushed straight to the window. She rapped on the glass.

“You’ll have to wait your turn,” the triage nurse said.

“I’m Dr. Isles. I have a patient’s transfer papers. The doctor will want them.”

“Which patient?”

“The woman they just brought in from across the street.”

“You mean that lady from the morgue?”

Maura paused, suddenly aware that the other patients in line could hear every word. “Yes,”

was all she said.

“Come on through, then. They want to talk to you. They’re having trouble with her.”

The door lock buzzed open, and Maura pushed through, into the treatment area. She saw

immediately what the triage nurse had meant by
trouble.
Jane Doe had not yet been moved into

a treatment room, but was still lying in the hallway, her body now draped with a heating

blanket. The two EMTs and a nurse struggled to control her.

“Tighten that strap!”

“Shit—her hand’s out again—”

“Forget the oxygen mask. She doesn’t need it.”

“Watch that IV! We’re going to lose it!”

Maura lunged toward the stretcher and grabbed the patient’s wrist before she could pull out the

intravenous catheter. Long black hair lashed Maura’s face as the woman tried to twist free.

Only twenty minutes ago, this had been a blue-lipped corpse in a body bag. Now they could

barely restrain her as life came roaring back into her limbs.

“Hold on. Hold on to that arm!”

The sound started deep in the woman’s throat. It was the moan of a wounded animal. Then her

head tilted back and her cry rose to an unearthly shriek. Not human, thought Maura, as the

hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
My god, what have I brought back from the dead?

“Listen to me.
Listen!
” Maura commanded. She grasped the woman’s head in her hands and

stared down at a face contorted in panic. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. You

have to let us help you.”

At the sound of Maura’s voice, the woman went still. Blue eyes stared back, the pupils dilated

to huge black pools.

One of the nurses quietly began to loop a restraint around the woman’s hand.

No, thought Maura. Don’t do that.

As the strap brushed the patient’s wrist, she jerked as though scalded. Her arm flew and Maura

stumbled backward, her cheek stinging from the blow.

“Assistance!” the nurse yelled. “Can we get Dr. Cutler out here?”

Maura backed away, face throbbing, as a doctor and another nurse emerged from one of the

treatment rooms. The commotion had drawn the attention of patients in the waiting room.

Maura saw them eagerly peering through the glass partition, watching a scene that was better

than any TV episode of
ER.

“We know if she has any allergies?” the doctor asked.

“No medical history,” said the nurse.

“What’s going on here? Why is she out of control?”

“We have no idea.”

“Okay. Okay, let’s try five milligrams of Haldol IV.”

“IV’s out!”

“Then give it IM. Just do it! And let’s get some Valium in her, too, before she hurts herself.”

The woman gave another shriek as the needle pierced her skin.

“Do we know anything about this woman? Who is she?” The doctor suddenly noticed Maura

standing a few feet away. “Are you a relative?”

“I called the ambulance. I’m Dr. Isles.”

“Her physician?”

Before Maura could answer, one of the EMTs said: “She’s the medical examiner. This is the

patient who woke up in the morgue.”

The doctor stared at Maura. “You’re kidding.”

“I found her moving in the cold room,” said Maura.

The doctor gave a disbelieving laugh. “Who pronounced her dead?”

“Weymouth Fire and Rescue brought her in.”

He looked at the patient. “Well, she’s definitely alive now.”

“Dr. Cutler, room two’s now empty,” a nurse called out. “We can move her in there.”

Maura followed as they wheeled the stretcher down the hallway and into a treatment room. The

woman’s struggles had weakened, her strength giving way to the effects of Haldol and Valium.

The nurses drew blood, reconnected EKG wires. The cardiac rhythm ticked across the monitor.

“Okay, Dr. Isles,” said the ER physician as he shone a penlight into the woman’s eyes. “Tell

me more.”

Maura opened the envelope containing the photocopied paperwork that had accompanied the

body. “Let me just tell you what’s in the transfer papers,” she said. “At eight A.M., Weymouth

Fire and Rescue responded to a call from the Sunrise Yacht Club, where boaters found the

subject floating in Hingham Bay. When she was pulled from the water, she had no pulse or

respirations. And no ID. A state police investigator was called to the scene, and he thought it

was most likely accidental. She was transferred to our office at noon.”

“And no one at the ME’s noticed that she was alive?”

“She arrived while we were swamped with other cases. There was that accident on I-95. And

we were still backlogged from last night.”

“It’s now nearly nine. And no one checked this woman?”

“The dead don’t have emergencies.”

“So you just leave them in the refrigerator?”

“Until we can get to them.”

“What if you hadn’t heard her moving tonight?” He turned to look at her. “You mean she might

have been left there until tomorrow morning?”

Maura felt her cheeks flush. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Dr. Cutler, ICU has a bed available,” a nurse said. “Is that where you want her?”

He nodded. “We have no idea what drugs she might have taken, so I want her on a monitor.”

He looked down at the patient, whose eyes were now closed. Her lips continued to move, as

though in silent prayer. “This poor woman’s already died once. Let’s not have it happen again.”

Maura could hear the phone ringing inside her house as she fumbled with her keys, trying to

unlock the door. By the time she made it into the living room, the ringing had stopped.

Whoever had called had not left a message. She cycled through the most recent numbers on

caller ID, but did not recognize the last caller’s name: ZOE FOSSEY. A wrong number?

I refuse to worry about it, she thought, and started toward the kitchen.

Now her cell phone was ringing. She dug it out of her purse, and saw from the digital display

that the caller was her colleague, Dr. Abe Bristol.

“Hello, Abe?”

“Maura, you want to fill me in about what happened at the ER tonight?”

“You know about it?”

“I’ve gotten three calls already. The
Globe,
the
Herald.
And some local TV station.”

“What are these reporters saying?”

“They’re all asking about the corpse who woke up. Said she just got admitted to the medical

center. I had no idea what they were talking about.”

“Oh, Jesus. How did the press find out so soon?”

“So it’s true?”

“I was going to call you—” She stopped. The phone was ringing in the living room. “I’ve got

another call coming in. Can I get back to you, Abe?”

“As long as you promise to fill me in.”

She ran into the living room and picked up the receiver. “Dr. Isles.”

“This is Zoe Fossey, Channel Six News. Would you care to comment on—”

“It’s almost ten o’clock,” cut in Maura. “This is my home telephone. If you want to talk to me,

you’re going to have to call my office during business hours.”

“We understand that a woman woke up in the morgue tonight.”

“I’m not going to comment.”

“Sources tell us that both a state police investigator and a fire crew in Weymouth pronounced

her dead. Did someone in your office make the same determination?”

“The ME’s office was not involved in that determination.”

“But the woman was in your custody, right?”

“No one in our office made any pronouncement of death.”

“You’re saying this was the fault of the Weymouth Fire Department and the state police? How

can anyone make this kind of mistake? Isn’t it pretty obvious when someone is still alive?”

Maura hung up.

Almost immediately the phone rang. A different number appeared on the caller ID screen.

She picked up the receiver. “Dr. Isles.”

“This is Dave Rosen, Associated Press. I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re following up on a

report about a young woman who was taken to the medical examiner’s office and woke up in a

body bag. Is this true?”

“How did you people find out about this? This is the second call I’ve gotten.”

“I suspect you’re going to be getting a lot more calls.”

“And what have you been told about it?”

“That she was brought to the morgue this afternoon, by Weymouth Fire and Rescue. That you

were the one who found her alive and called the ambulance. I’ve already spoken to the hospital,

and they list her condition as serious but stable. All correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“Was she actually
in
the body bag when you found her? Was she zipped in there?”

“You’re making it far too sensationalistic.”

“Does anyone in your office routinely check the bodies when they first come in? Just to be sure

they’re dead?”

“I’ll have a statement for you in the morning. Good night.” She hung up. Before the phone

could ring again, she unplugged it. It was the only way she’d get any sleep tonight. Staring

down at the now-silent phone, she wondered: How the hell did the news get out so fast?

Then she thought of all the witnesses in the ER—the clerks, the nurses, the orderlies. The

patients in the waiting room, watching through the glass partition. Any one of them could have

picked up the phone. A single call, and the word would be out. Nothing spreads faster than

macabre gossip. Tomorrow, she thought, is going to be an ordeal and I’d better be ready for it.

She used her cell phone to call Abe. “We have a problem,” she said.

“I figured.”

“Don’t talk to the press. I’ll come up with a statement. I’ve unplugged my home phone for the

night. If you need to reach me, I’m on cell.”

“Are you prepared to deal with all this?”

“Who else is going to do it? I’m the one who found her.”

“You know this is going to be national news, Maura.”

“AP’s already called me.”

“Oh, Christ. Have you talked to the Office of Public Safety? They’ll be in charge of the

investigation.”

“I guess they’re next on my list to call.”

“Do you need any help preparing the statement?”

“I’ll need some time to work on it. I’ll be late coming in tomorrow. Just hold them off until I

get into the office.”

“There’s probably going to be a lawsuit.”

“We’re blameless, Abe. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter. Get ready for it.”

“Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give to the court in the case now in

hearing shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” said Jane Rizzoli.

“Thank you. You may be seated.”

Jane felt all eyes in the courtroom watching her as she settled heavily into the witness-stand

chair. They had stared at her from the moment she’d waddled into the courtroom, her ankles

swollen, her belly bulging beneath the voluminous maternity dress. Now she shifted in the seat,

trying to get comfortable, trying to project some semblance of authority, but the room was

warm, and she could already feel perspiration beading on her forehead. A sweating, fidgeting,

pregnant cop. Yes, quite an authority figure.

Gary Spurlock, the assistant DA for Suffolk County, rose to conduct the direct exam. Jane

knew him to be a calm and methodical prosecutor, and she had no anxiety about this first round

of questions. She kept her gaze on Spurlock, avoiding even a glance at the defendant, Billy

Wayne Rollo, who slouched beside his female attorney and stared at Jane. She knew Rollo was

trying to intimidate her with the evil eye. Rattle the cop, throw her off balance. He was like too

many other assholes she’d known, and his stare was nothing new. Just the last resort of a

loser.

“Could you tell the court your name and spell the last name, please?” Spurlock said.