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I keep waiting for Stroud to come striding in, cuffs in hand, a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.
He never shows.
This surprises me.
Something else that surprises me is that I am the only person waiting to hear of Sylvia’s condition. No friends, no family.
I called Billy on the cell phone he’d given me. Asked him to keep me up to date if and when the gossips learn about Sylvia’s rescue.
Around one in the afternoon the doctor enters the waiting room, and motions me into the same room where Young questioned me.
We stand, facing each other, awkwardly close in the small room. He’s a large man, a few inches taller than myself, with a head of gray—gray hair, gray beard, gray eyes, and bushy gray eyebrows. His skin even has a grayish tint, suggesting he is long overworked.
“Mr. Cohen, I’m Dr. Mansfield.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” We shake hands.
“Miss Stone is stable, resting now.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s got a few cuts and bruises but is otherwise healthy. The lacerations around her wrists didn’t need stitches. We cleaned and bandaged them up; they should be fully healed in a week or so.” He frowns. “Her legs, as I’m sure you saw, are riddled with infected bug bites.”
“Bug bites?” I frown. “They looked a lot more serious than that.”
“Yes…” A line creases his brow. “Under her toenails we found pieces of scabs and skin from where, it appears, she scratched the bites open with them.”
“With her own toenails?”
“Appears that way, yes. We took a sample of the skin for forensics—to confirm it doesn’t belong to whoever did this—but it appears that’s what happened. She scratched them open, cutting into her skin.”
We stare at each other for minute.
He clears his throat. “Anyway, we’ve cleaned each of them, bandaged them up as well. She’ll have a round of antibiotics to take and I’ve prescribed pain pills as well. Other than that she just needs lots of rest, food, water, and likely therapy when she gets around to it.”
“Did you run a toxicology scan on her?”
“Yes, her system is clean. Also, there appears to be no sign of penetration, forced or otherwise, in or around her anus or vagina. No contusions or anything to lead us to believe she was sexually abused. Or physically, even.”
“Not even physically?”
He scratches his head. “Right. No sign of struggle, from a medical perspective anyway, but that’s for the police to figure out.”
“How much water should I make sure she drinks?”
“Actually, according to the urine sample, she’s not dehydrated. But make sure she drinks and eats with these pills regardless.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Officer Young is speaking with her now. Let me see if she’s finished up, and then yes, she’s all yours. As long as her vitals hold up, we’ll release her in a few hours–before words gets out that she’s here.”
39
Rhett
I’m pouring my fourth cup of tepid waiting-room coffee when I hear—
“Rhett.”
