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“Yes, yes. It’s the most unusual thing I’ve ever seen. Come. I’ll show you.” He gestured toward the double doors then leveled a frown at the rest of us as we moved to follow her.
“I’m Angel Crawford. Coroner’s Office.” I pointed to the logo on my work shirt. “I’m partnering with Dr. Charish in this medical mystery investigation.”
Kristi shot me an exasperated look at my self-promotion from assistant to partner, but she could hardly correct me in front of Dr. Ingram.
“Yes,” she said through her teeth. “Quite the partnership.”
“And Mr. Griffin is my assistant,” I said cheerfully with a tilt of my head toward him.
Kyle said smoothly, “It’s good to see you, Dr. Ingram.”
Dr. Ingram shook his hand. “It’s been a while.”
While Kyle impressed me yet again, Kristi rolled her eyes behind Dr. Ingram’s back. “I believe you were going to take me . . . and my partners . . . to the patient?” She gestured to include Fritz in the partnership.
“Oh, yes. Right this way!” He bustled off toward the elevators, Kristi’s heels tick-ticking behind him. Up one floor and down the first corridor, a hospital security guard stood beside the door to room 202. A computer-printed sign proclaimed Authorized Personnel Only.
Dr. Ingram distributed face masks from an equipment cart near the door then led our little troupe of authorized personnel into the room. Harsh fluorescent light from the fixture above the headboard brightened the bed, but left the corners of the room in shadows.
Dreadlocks Man growled and jerked against his wrist restraints as we entered. He was lying on his back which struck me as odd, since his worst wound was there. Kyle and Fritz took up positions on either side of the door, while Kristi, Dr. Ingram, and I eased closer to the bed.
“What’s been done about his injury?” I asked.
Dr. Ingram shrugged helplessly. “Very little, to be honest. We’ve been unable to perform surgery due to the, er, violent nature of the patient and the utter ineffectiveness of sedation.”
“So he’s just lying there with a gunshot wound?” I asked, aghast.
His shoulders hunched. “Both entry and exit wounds have been treated and bandaged, but we can’t even scan him to assess the extent of the damage.”
Kristi nodded toward the mobile computer workstation near the foot of the bed. “I need to see his records, please.”
Dr. Ingram typed in his passcode, waited, then did it again. “Sorry, the system has been glitchy since a crash day before yesterday.”
“The day Beckett Connor was here,” I said. “Tuesday, right?”
“Yes yes, he was the first LZ-1 case.” He peered at the screen. “Quite a mess. Ah, I mean the computer system. Not the unfortunate Deputy Connor.”
Kristi raised an eyebrow. “I’ve always found ReliaFile EMR to be extremely dependable.”
“It is. I mean, it has been. This was the first major issue since it was installed years ago.” Dr. Ingram clicked the mouse a few times. “Ah, here we are.” He pulled up a set of records with the name “August Lejeune” at the top. The “Gussie” the girl at the bowling alley had referred to.
Kristi took over the computer, face intense as she scanned the info. “His blood counts are normal. No coagulopathy. Blood gases, urine. Normal.”
“That’s correct. It’s . . . completely unprecedented. He has an epigastric entry wound and an exit wound at the level of T7. The bullet went right through his liver. He should be bleeding out internally, but there’s no sign of it.”
“He’s not dying,” Kristi breathed, eyes alight.
“Yes, he is,” I pointed out with a scowl. “Maybe not from the gunshot wound, but this infection is killing people, and it will kill him.”
Kristi closed the file. “I’m aware of that. However, you must admit this is a fortuitous development for the patient. Otherwise, he would likely be dead before a cure could be developed.”
“I suppose, yeah.” Her logic did little to counter the mercenary glee behind the words.
Lejeune let out a hair-raising growl that trailed off into “Hunnnnnnngrrryyyyyy.”
Dr. Ingram sucked in a breath. “That’s the first time he’s spoken since he came in!” He started to lean close, but I grabbed his collar and hauled him back—right as Lejeune lunged to the limit of his restraints, teeth snapping.
“Hunnnnnnngrrryyyyyy,” Lejeune snarled.
