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husband, where the bullets hit, and their effect on his condition.”
The chief surgeon looked at Isaac Bell.
Bell said, “Answer her.”
“All right. He was struck three times. One creased his skull and almost certainly produced a concussion. Two more passed through him. One pierced his upper arm, fortunately missed the bone, but severed the artery. The other punctured his chest. They were small bore rounds with a hard covering to take the grooves in the rifled barrel, which increased their penetrating power, so neither lodged in his body . . . Shall I go on?”
“How did he survive a severed artery?”
“The petty officer on the Coast Guard cutter arrested the hemorrhage by tourniquet.”
“And the bullet through his chest?”
The surgeon shook his head. “We did what we could. To some extent, the bullet pushed blood vessels, tendons, and ligaments aside. Immersion in salt water reduces the probability of septic infection. And the petty officer poured iodine over and around the wounds. We are of the impression that the cold seawater had the effect of slowing his heartbeat and lowering his blood pressure at that critical moment, which might possibly explain the miracle that he is alive.”
“Thank you, Doctor. May I see him now?”
“You may sit with him. I doubt he’ll speak yet. If he does, don’t tax him.”
Dorothy went into the room. A disapproving nurse moved from the chair beside the bed to a chair in the corner.
Bell and Novicki waited outside.
“Doctor?” Bell called as the surgeon was leaving. “You mentioned he was in the water. Any idea how he got out?”
“They said a Coast Guardsman dived in after him.”
Captain Novicki watched the surgeon shamble away. “There’s a man who needs a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep. Did you have any luck?”
“Caught up with one of the crew from the rum boat they were chasing. He died.”
“Good.”
Not at all good, thought Bell. The dead man could shed no light on his gang. He said, “We found the boat shot up. That’s about it. I’ll try to interview the Coast Guard people in the morning.”
“Get some sleep, Isaac. I’ll stay here.”
“In a while.”
• • •
“ISAAC! HE’S AWAKE. He’s asking for you.”
Bell stepped silently into the room. Van Dorn lay flat on his back, his eyes closed, his cheeks oddly slack, and it took Bell a moment to realize they had shaved his beard and whiskers. His head was bandaged from crown to eyebrows. The biceps of his left arm wore another bandage, as did the crook of his right elbow where the tubing for blood transfusions had been inserted into his vein. Just visible below the hospital bedsheet was the top of an enormous dressing that encircled his chest. His eyes were closed. His lips were moving.
“Put your ear to him,” Dorothy whispered. “He’s trying to speak to you.”
Bell leaned close to do as she asked.
“Isaac.”
“I’m here, sir.”
“Listen.”
“Right here.”
“You must . . .”
