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“Thank you. I have to go. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.” I added an “I love you,” to soften the stonewalling he was getting. Then I clicked off.
It took about fifteen minutes to get to the hospital. I illegally parked in a handicapped space. Candy and I hadn’t said much on the ride. I was afraid she’d change her mind if I asked too many questions.
“This car,” she said.
“What about it?” I thought she might tell me Stu Whatley was driving something like it. I was wrong.
“How does Ronnie tolerate it?”
“I usually drive a Jeep Wrangler that he helped pick out.”
“That makes more sense. So why are we in this heap?”
“If we could maybe not mention it to Ronnie.”
She thought about that a second, then said, “And people wonder why I never married.”
Inside the hospital, I walked up to the reception desk and told the older woman sitting there, “I’d like to see John Gallagher.”
“I’m sorry, the staff can’t stop what they’re doing to see friends.”
“No, I’m with someone who needs medical attention.”
“That’s still not how this works. You need to have your friend add their name to the list. They’ll be seen in triage, prioritized, and then called into the ER when space is available.”
I leaned over the counter and got uncomfortably close to her. “She’s been sexually attacked. She’s in a fragile state and likely to bolt at any moment.”
The woman looked at me deciding if I was a liar, and said, “Just a moment.” She picked up a phone, hit an intercom button and, though I couldn’t hear her, presumably asked for John. A minute or so later, he came out in bright blue scrubs with a smear of blood at the hip.
“What’s going on?”
“John, this Candy Van Dyke. She was attacked shortly after midnight.” I noticed her flinch when I said this.
“Come with me,” John said. He brought us to a room with the word TRIAGE on the door. We stood there, waiting. Obviously, someone was inside. John turned to Candy, and asked, “Are you in any pain at the moment?”
“Yes, of course. It’s mild though.”
“Have you spoken to the police yet?”
“No. I don’t really want to.”
“All right,” John said. “I will need to call them. I can put it off a bit, but it’s the law. When they get here just tell them you don’t want to make a statement. They may try to persuade you. Hold your ground. After a few tries they’ll give you their contact information, and if you decide to you can go into the station and give a statement at a later date. As we treat any injuries, we will be collecting evidence. That’s hospital policy. After an attack, a patient can be in shock—”
“Yes, I know. I may change my mind. That point has been made.”
The door to the triage room opened and an elderly Mexican woman came out with three younger family members. The nurse, a girl in her late twenties, came out after them.
“Shar, I’m going to need the triage room for a bit.”
She looked like she might object for a moment but then glanced at Candy, taking in the situation. She sighed heavily.
“Fine.”
“Could you bring me a gown and a kit. And then take a break or something.”
Shar rolled her eyes, and said, “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.”
