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“No, my neck is fine.”
The doctor poked and prodded his neck and moved his head around. “I think your neck is okay.”
Dalton wanted to yell no shit, but he held his tongue. That wouldn’t help.
“You should go to the hospital for some tests,” the doctor said then turned to the nurse. “Call another ambulance. They can take him.”
“Do not call anyone.” Dalton had had enough. He swung his knees over the side of the bed, letting out a curse as the room swam a bit but then righted itself. “I’m fine. Give me a couple of aspirin, and I’ll be fine.”
The doctor threw up his hands. “Race drivers.” He mumbled some choice words under his breath. “You need to sign some forms. Stay here until they are ready.”
He left and the metal pulley on the curtain rattled as he pulled it closed. Then it sounded like he walked across the hallway. Another scratching of curtains along the rail.
“How are you feeling?” he asked the patient over there.
“Fine. A little shaken up is all.” Greer’s voice floated over to him. “I had a softer landing.”
Dalton leaned back on the bed and listened intently, breathing evenly to calm the pain in his head.
“Her blood pressure is one-twenty over eighty and her heart rate is seventy-two,” the nurse said.
“Good,” the doctor replied.
There were a few moments of silence, then Greer said, “I’m actually an insurance investigator and I’m here in regards to Mr. Moore’s death. The polizei indicated Moore died of a heart attack. Can I ask what made you think he died of a heart attack when you saw him? I mean, he’d just been in a car crash and the car had been on fire.”
Dalton grinned. Go, Greer. This was great. She had a thin veneer of authority, and he was going to get to hear the answers. He shifted on the bed to get closer and quickly winced. Note to self: don’t get too excited.
There was a pause. “I would need to see some identification,” the doctor said.
“Of course. Oh, shoot. My bag is back in the garage. If you would like I will give you my office phone number and you can call and ask to speak to my boss. It’s almost closing time, but he typically works late, so he should still be there. He will confirm my identity.” She said the name and the number. The sound of hurried footsteps met Dalton’s ears and then a low voice. A minute or so later, the hurried footsteps came back.
“It is confirmed,” the nurse said.
“Okay, then,” the doctor said, “the fire was put out fairly quickly so there was no smoke inhalation. He was wearing his helmet and full gear. I checked, but there was no issue with his neck or his head. No bumps, lumps, or lacerations. He had no outward signs of physical harm. He was a man in his later years who was overweight. Heart attack seemed like the most logical choice.”
“I see. There was nothing irregular about Mr. Moore’s body?” she persisted.
“No. Nothing. He died of a heart attack.” The doctor must have moved Greer because she let out a gasp. Dalton was immediately on alert. Was Greer hurt worse than he thought? Maybe he should check on her. He started to get up off the bed when the doctor said, “You have pain when I press?”
“Um, a little bit, yes,” Greer acknowledged.
“Slightly bruised ribs. You will be fine in a few days.”
Dalton relaxed a bit. Bruised ribs would suck with her every movement, but her injuries weren’t fatal.
Greer asked, “Is there any way to tell when Moore had the heart attack?”
“The exact moment? No. Presumably when he lost control of the car.”
“Right,” she said. “Thanks, Doctor.”
“The nurse will get you some pain medication for the ribs, and then you may be on your way. Take it easy for the next few days.”
“Thanks,” Greer said again.
The sound of footsteps approaching gave Dalton scant warning before the nurse pulled the curtain back. She offered him some paperwork on a clipboard. He signed it.
“You are free to go,” she said. “But if any of your symptoms get worse, please go to the hospital.”
