The Pain Nurse - страница 55

“It’s seven-thiry. I just wanted to check on you. How are you feeling?”

Will could already feel a monumental soreness, running from his right shoulder down into his thigh. He pushed the button to raise the head of his bed. It complied slowly with a hum and cranking sound. The movement helped set off the burning ache in his left side. It was the wages of being dumped out of his wheelchair and onto the floor, then getting into a fight with a knife-wielding scumbag. Just another day at the office.

“I can feel yesterday, believe me.”

She bit her lip and looked down. “Could I talk to you sometime today?”

“How about now?” Of course, she could talk to him. He was grateful for the company. But as he came more awake, all the events of the previous day filled his head like a flood of foul water. They needed to talk. He asked her to give him a minute to get dressed and they could get out of the stifling room.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” Will said, feeling that shyness. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Want me to call one of your nurses?”

“No, they have enough to do.”

She walked out, closing the curtain around his bed. Fifteen minutes later he had gone through the morning agony, made more difficult by his body’s memory of the physical exertion of yesterday. He knew he was sweating and looking grim when he wheeled the chair out the door. They moved silently through the busy hallway. He stopped at the nurses’ station to get a cup of new pills. Then he felt her pushing him up the ramp into the main hospital. He sat back and let her do it. His Quickie moved easily and they didn’t talk.

They found a deserted spot in the huge cafeteria near a heavily decorated Christmas tree. It was a reminder that he would likely spend Christmas in neuro-rehab, in this hospital prison. For the moment, he could keep those feelings in check. He watched as Cheryl Beth brought them both bagels. She walked fast and lithely. The bagels were a relief from the daily routine of a cup of scrambled eggs, a slice of bacon, and toast. Will knew that his breakfast tray was sitting inside the big cart back in the ward, an aide wondering where he was. His orderly mind worried about it for fifteen seconds, no more.

“Detective Dodds implied that Lennie didn’t kill Dr. Lustig,” Cheryl Beth began, putting the bagel on its plate after taking a single bite. “It’s hard to get anything straight out of him. He’s so eager to arrest me…” She stopped and ran her fingers through her hair, which fell back like strands of light-brown silk against her shoulders. When she spoke again, some of her previous intensity had dialed down. “I’m sorry. I haven’t slept much, and I should leave you alone to get better. I just don’t know where else to turn.”

He watched her face redden as she spoke. “That means the murderer is still out there.” Her voice was drained of its music. “Somehow I knew it. I knew there was more to this than Crazy Lennie.”

“How did you know it?”

“My gut. I’m very intuitive.” She gave a slight smile. “My mother saw ghosts. I’m not that intuitive.”

“Lennie didn’t do it. We have other evidence.” He watched her carefully. She was pulled into herself, as if expecting a blow. He went on, “Why were you down in the basement that night?”

“She left a message at the nurses’ station, up at Seven-North, saying she was in her office and I should stop by.”

“This was when?”

“I don’t exactly recall. I’ve tried to put a timeline together, though, with the supervising nurse on that floor. I had been called in for a consult. The message came in while I was with the patient. So I went down probably around twelve-thirty.”

“Why would you do that?”

Cheryl Beth pulled back and sighed. Will knew he had made a misstep. He spoke gently.

“I’m just curious. I mean, it’s the middle of the night. That’s a very deserted part of the hospital.”

“Oh, I feel like I’ve told this story so many times. Sorry, it’s not you. I’m here at all hours, especially after dark. That’s when people hurt. It isn’t unusual to see docs here, either, especially surgeons checking on their patients.” That much was true. Will’s surgeon might routinely cruise through at one or two in the morning. It seemed like cops’ hours, with better pay.