Day 16 – Saturday noon, Christmas Eve
Forbes residence
Ginny stared at the image. The TPN bag was clearly visible, as was the profile of the woman making adjustments to the pump. It was one of the Hillcrest Medical ICU nurses. It was not Marjorie Hawkins.
Grace was still in the running, of course. If she was the murderer, she might have set the various drips in the room to an ICU version of autopilot, to make sure no one went looking for Phyllis too soon. That would mean the TPN, plain fluid (for hydration), sedatives, and analgesics. But none of the IV pumps could be trusted completely. Grace would have to check on them at some point.
Ginny searched for evidence that Grace had returned to that patient’s room, and found nothing. She had seen Marge Hawkins doing the four o’clock meds and Dee come in to suction the patient and check the ventilator, but that was all. No one else came or went.
She then followed Grace from Phyllis’ patient’s room to her own and watched for any sign that Grace was concerned about that TPN. Nothing. She seemed to have forgotten it.
It was possible, of course, that Grace had said something to someone else (out of range of the cameras), and that the someone else had ignored the question of Phyllis’ absence.
That meant Marge Hawkins, the acting Charge Nurse for the shift. It would be her job to handle any problems and make sure the proper procedure was followed. Which, apparently, hadn’t happened. Because no one had gone looking for Phyllis, and someone should have.
Ginny sat back in her chair and stared out the window. The winter sky was overcast, the clouds shifting shades of gray and white, billowing in the breeze. She watched the light grow as the clouds parted and a single shaft of sun poured through the gap, slid across the treetops, then faded as the clouds closed ranks again.
Illumination. That’s what she needed. Her eyes drifted back to her computer. Information. Everyone was online these days.
It wasn’t Ginny’s habit to pry into the private lives of those she worked with, but maybe it was time she looked at a few of them. Marjorie Hawkins first.
The Head Nurse had a social media presence filled with images of her hobby, SCUBA diving in exotic locations. There were underwater images and topside images and after party images and in all of them she looked as if she was having a very good time. She also appeared on the Hillcrest Medical Center pages and at a variety of conferences. There were no images that looked like church affiliations, no candid shots taken at home, no picnics, no zoo, no concerts. Nor did she have pet pictures, unless you counted the tropical fish. There may have been pages hiding behind passwords, but nothing stuck out, and Ginny did not have hacking skills. She moved on.
Lisa next. Half an hour’s searching added nothing to what Ginny already knew about Lisa.
The third search was more interesting. Grace, as it turned out, had something to say.
Ginny scrolled through the index of video clips, more like a video diary, really, since there were so many of them. They covered the last two years and all said very much the same thing. Grace thought the U.S. government was criminally liable for its treatment of illegal aliens fleeing war-torn countries, and that included Mexicans fleeing the drug cartels.
The U.S., in its arrogance and sloth, had forced the poor illegals to break U.S. laws just to survive. It was necessary that kind-hearted Americans also ignore the law and do the right thing instead. There was a lot more on the subject of following your conscience and not letting a piece of paper get between you and doing good deeds.
Ginny had heard it all before and knew that, far from ignoring the problem, there were more than a hundred agencies in the DFW area set up to deal with it.
Lisa had said Grace fought with Phyllis over this issue, Phyllis urging Grace to take her illegal charges to the free clinics and Grace arguing the illegals couldn’t trust the charities.
Grace was a citizen and could not be deported, but she could be jailed. She had taken an oath when she got her nursing license. She was bound by law and, if she chose to break it, she could not complain about consequences. So was she being wise or foolish? Noble or wicked?
Ginny put the computer away and went off to find her mother. This was not the first time she’d had questions about the relative merits of good and evil. Sinia Forbes, with her vast knowledge of the history of man, understood human motivation, and could be counted on to provide examples of the consequences that followed following one’s conscience. It was usually a sobering lesson.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, Christmas Eve
Hillcrest ER
Dr. Devlin Jones made his way to Exam Room Three, paused long enough to take a deep breath, then knocked.
“Come in.”
He closed the door behind him and stood just inside the room eyeing the federal agent. The man rose and stood facing him, silent, waiting for him to begin the conversation. DJ looked around the room. There were boxes, and evidence of electrical work in progress.
“You’re leaving us?”
Agent DeSoto nodded. “We appreciate your hospitality, but we no longer need a base of operations in this building.” There was a brief silence, then, “Is there something I can do for you?”
DJ frowned, his eyes roving the room. It was hard to know where to begin. “Thank you, for what you did for Corey.”
“You’re welcome.”
Another silence.
DJ licked his lips, then swallowed, then stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “You heard my son and Phyllis are—were cousins?”
DeSoto nodded.
“Phyllis was a good child. Always. Her whole life she was always being good, doing good. She was annoying.”
DeSoto’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
“Normal children get into trouble. They fight and whine and tattle on one another.” He shook his head. “It was as if she skipped childhood and went straight to being an adult. She was the oldest, and there never was a more reliable babysitter. Her mother used to worry that she didn’t seem to have friends her own age. I knew better. She had a gang.”
DeSoto’s brow rose. “A street gang?”
DJ nodded. “You know what those damned children did? They picked up trash. They passed out water to construction workers. They cut the grass for the handful of geriatrics that lived in the neighborhood. And she played nurse. Patched up elbows and preached healthy living. I don’t know where she got it. The media, maybe, or the library.” He fell silent.
“And?”
“When she got older, she went underground. None of us ever saw her doing anything she shouldn’t, going any place dangerous. But she did. The other children were less discreet.” DJ shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “She made contacts among the drug culture. Maybe through her volunteer work, homeless shelters, that sort of thing.”
He took a deep breath. “Corey had gotten in with a bad crowd. She went in, more than once, and hauled his sorry ass home. Saved his life at least once. He’d bought some tainted crack and came very close to dying.” DJ shook his head. “I loved my niece, but I didn’t like her. None of us could live up to her example and that pissed me off.” He looked up and met DeSoto’s eyes. “But I didn’t kill her.”
The DEA agent nodded. “We know.”
DJ nodded in return, then took another deep breath, pulled his hands out of his pockets, and crossed his arms on his chest. “I went to visit Corey’s supplier, to settle the debt. He’s out of the business, so I was dealing with a stranger. He said he appreciated my position and that Corey was welcome anytime, as long I remembered to pay the bill.”
DeSoto’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I asked him how they knew where to find Corey the night of the Christmas party and he laughed. ‘Technology is a wonderful thing,’ he said. ‘You can track anyone anywhere anytime, as long as they’re stupid enough to use their own phone.’” DJ found his eyes wandering the room, avoiding the agent’s. “Corey told me what he told you. It’s probably true. I don’t really know what I said. I was so mad.” He blinked hard, then looked back at the agent. “I didn’t kill my niece, even if I threatened to. I’m sorry she’s dead. The world needs more people like her. And I want a promise from you. I want that slimy bastard dealing drugs under the bridge to disappear. I would prefer dead, but life in prison will do.”
Agent DeSoto nodded. “That’s my intention.” He came over. “I’m sorry for your loss. Can I count on your help?”
DJ swallowed hard, then nodded. “You’ve got it. Anything I can do.”
Agent DeSoto smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *