By the time he arrived back at the hospital-after an unremitting and seemingly interminable struggle between pain and weariness-it was almost five-thirty in the morning. As he drove into the still virtually deserted parking lot he realized that; to some extent, at least; they had cancelled each other out-the pain preventing him from succumbing to his weariness, and the weariness dulling the edge of the pain. If either had prevailed he possibly would not have been able to make it back.
Parking as close as possible to the emergency entrance he eased himself gingerly out of the car. It had stopped raining and the fog and mist had gradually dissipated during the drive back. The air was still raw and damp but a faint tinge of pink behind the overhanging gray clouds along the eastern horizon hinted at clearer, warmer weather for the coming day. He pushed open the door to the hospital and walked unsteadily down the hall to the entrance to the emergency section. As he turned the corner, he saw Dave coming toward him from the opposite direction. The young intern smiled as he recognized him.
“Well! I didn’t expect you back this early. How did you.” The smile faded abruptly, replaced with a look of consternation. “My God! What happened? Were you in an accident?”
He leaned wearily against the doorjamb. “It was no accident. I just had a difference of opinion with Deputy Flynn.”
Dave looked at him disbelievingly. “It must have been an irreconcilable difference.”
“It was. He wanted to kill me and I wasn’t ready to die.”
“Good God Almighty!” he muttered awestruck. “I assume, since you’re here, that you managed to convince him he was wrong-but, I’m afraid to ask how.”
“The only way I could,” he told him succinctly.
Dave blinked. “You can tell me what you did to him later. Let’s take a look at what he did to you.” He moved to put an arm around him for support, but he stepped aside to avoid his grasp.
“I think there’s one or two ribs broken, among other things,” he said, wincing from the sudden movement.
Dave took him by the arm, leading him toward one of the examining rooms. “Come in here and lay down,” he said, helping him up onto a paper-covered, leather-cushioned table.
The intern assisted him in removing the heavy jacket and rolled his turtle-neck sweater up around his chest and over his head. Easing him down onto the cool surface, he probed delicately at his side. “Feels like only one but we’ll take some pictures to be sure. Have you been spitting up blood?”
“No. But I think I might have sweated some.”
Dave smiled. “As far as I know, there’s only one man who ever actually did-and you don’t look anything like him. But, at least it doesn’t seem as if the lung is punctured.”
Moving to his head, he said, “Let’s see what else is wrong with you,” and proceeded to peer into his eyes, wash the blood off the wound behind his ear, gently manipulate his jaw and examined the inside of his mouth. A nurse-young, with good features, but devoid of makeup and with her blond hair severely drawn back in a tightly-rolled bun at the nape of her neck-entered while he was in the midst of his ministrations and silently lent her assistance.
“It’s not as bad as it probably feels,” Dave told him as he finished his examination. “You’ve got a slight concussion, but a day or two in bed will.”
He held up his hand to interrupt him. “Uh,uh. No bed. Not yet. I’ve got a couple of things to take care of first.”
Dave frowned impatiently. “You need the rest, Mark. You’re in no condition to.”
He cut him off again. “I appreciate your concern, Dave-and you’re probably right. But, all I need is a few hours more and then I’ll be happy to follow your advice.”
The intern shrugged. “All right. I’m not going to try to tie you down. But, I hope it’s important enough to justify the punishment you’ll be inflicting on yourself.”
“It is, Dave. Believe me,” he assured him. “How’s Wanda?”
“Wanda’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Were you able to make the arrangements we talked about last night?”
“At those prices, it was almost a stampede.”
“Will there be somebody available to watch her for the next few hours or so?”
“All day if necessary. But I should tell the administrator what’s going on, and why.”
“Do you think he’ll go along?”
He pursed his lips speculatively. “I don’t see why not, as long as it’s not interfering with hospital routine or causing anybody to neglect their duties.”
“Is it?”
“No.”
“Then, by all means tell him. I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your position with the hospital.” He remembered the end of Flynn’s phone conversation with the sheriff. “Oh! And incidentally, pass the word to the others to be on the lookout for a busty redhead. Her name is Sally and she works for the sheriff. But whether she’s in uniform, or out of it, you can’t miss her.” He glanced at the nurse who had been listening to their conversation in wide-eyed wonderment. He recalled Wanda’s description of Sally’s chest. “Her breasts stick out like twin torpedoes.”
“She sounds intriguing, to say the least,” Dave mused.
“As intriguing as a cobra-and probably just as dangerous. I have reason to believe the sheriff is going to send her around some time this morning to see Wanda. She may even have some kind of warrant to remove her from the hospital. Don’t let her do it-don’t even let her in to see her, if you can help it.”
“All right. I’ll pass the word. But, how much longer are you going to wait before you call the FBI?”
“They’ll be here before noon, Dave. I’ve got a couple of people to see this morning and it will be all over.” He wanted to confront Stanhope with what he now knew about him and to get the pictures from Phil, before stepping aside. Then he could take up the problem of tryingto locate Marie-if she was still missing-and start planning his life with Elise.
Dave nodded. “Well, I’ve got to start making my rounds. Miss Jones will take you to x-ray. I should be back in about an hour. Try to get some rest in the meantime.”
He left with a wave of his hand. The obviously confused and mystified Miss Jones continued to stand transfixed at the foot of the table, hoping for some enlightenment about the incomprehensible discussion she had been made privy to. But, it was much too long a story-and he was much too weary to tell it-to relieve her mind.
“Shall we go get those x-rays now?” he asked her.
She jumped as if he had pinched her. “Oh! Yes. Of course.”
She left the room and almost immediately returned with a wheel chair. Helping him to sit up, she draped a hospital robe over his shoulders and held the chair as he gently lowered himself into it. Wheeling him from the room, she paused to tell another nurse where they were going. As they proceeded along the corridors to the x-ray room, he noticed that the hospital was rapidly coming to life even though it was only a little after six. It made him wonder why they found it necessary to wake up their guests so early when the vast majority of them had no place to go, and all day to get there.
By six-thirty, she had wheeled him back to the same examining room and helped him back onto the table. Covering him with a light blanket she said, “The x-rays show that you have one rib broken and another cracked, so try to lay still. Dr. Blumenstein will tape you up when he gets back. Do you want anything else before I leave? A cup of coffee maybe?”
He wondered how she thought he could lay still and drink a cup of coffee at the same time. “No. Thank you, nurse.” She turned to go. “Just be sure to wake me as soon the doctor returns.” She looked at him over her shoulder, nodded, and turning out the light, closed the door softly behind her.
He closed his eyes. A few hours more and he could wash his hands of the whole affair. Elise had been right. He should not have insisted on going ahead on his own. He had very nearly lost everything, including the life that he hoped to share with her. But, it was almost over now and, except for a few bruises and a couple of damaged ribs, he had survived and had accomplished what he had set out to do. With what he now knew, Wanda’s testimony, the evidence in the lodge and the pictures, the smuggling/hijacking operation would be ended and Bentley, Bucheck, Stanhope and Grossman would all be convicted of complicity in the murders of Haggerty and Closter. Closter. He would have to remember to ask Dan and Hollander to play down Closter’s part. He had probably been coerced into it anyway and, now that he was dead, his role was no longer significant except from an academic standpoint.
But Stanhope-he was something else. He still did not seem to fit the mental image he had formed of Mr. In-Between but, there was no one else who fit it any better. It was easy to believe he was capable of almost anything, knowing what he had done to Wanda. The only other possibility was Bentley-but he was certain that Bentley had not known who Closter was before he told him. No. It had to be Stanhope, and he would make him admit it when he went to see him later. He still had his gun-he had taken it off and locked it in the glove compartment of his car before starting back-and, if he had to, he would use it to force the truth out of him.
But now the weariness gained ascendancy over the remaining aches and pains still emanating from his head and side. He tried to put everything and everyone out of his mind and summon up the face and memory of Elise. But other faces and other memories kept intruding
- superimposing themselves on his consciousness. He could not see her clearly or reach her through the clinging cobwebs of their ghostly shapes. He could glimpse her-her arms outstretched to him invitingly-as if through the swirls and eddies of a thick, clammy fog, composed of the images and sights and sounds of the people and events that had filled the past few days. He tried to move toward her, but the ground beneath his feet was soft and mushy. With each step he was sucked deeper into a blood-red mire, until he could no longer do anything but struggle helplessly in it’s grasp as it rose slowly, inexorably to his waist and his chest and up to his armpits.
Then, it changed, and he was clinging to the edge of a bottomless black hole-and the hole was in the center of the chest of a monstrously bloated Flynn! And, around the edge of the hole, Bentley and Bucheck, Stanhope and Grossman, all danced and laughed at his predicament, taking turns stamping on his fingers. He could not hold on. His hands lost their grip, and he began falling slowly, softly, and above him, instead of the four men, the four faces of Elise, Marie, Wanda and Cassandra peered down at him-growing smaller until he could no longer distinguish one from another-but all calling in unison, “Don’t leave me-I need you
- I need you.” Their voices grew fainter as he fell ever deeper into the pit, until there was nothing but blackness and silence, and he slept.
Almost immediately, it seemed, he was being awakened again. Opening his eyes reluctantly, the mists of sleep gradually dissolved into the hirsute head and face of the young intern.
“I would’ve let you sleep-God knows you need it,” he was saying, “but Miss Jones told me that you wanted to be waked up as soon I got back.”
“Thanks, Dave. What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Almost seven-thirty. Are you hungry? I’ll have the nurse get you some breakfast while I’m taping you up.”
He realized that, indeed, he was hungry. “Sounds good,” he told him.
Dave called Miss Jones into the room and he ordered some juice, scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and coffee. She left to get it and, by the time Dave finished applying the tape around his injured rib cage, she was back with a tray. She set it down on a small desk in the corner of the room and left again, followed by Dave. The sight of the food made him almost ravenous and he quickly consumed everything edible. She had brought a small pot of coffee and as he poured himself a second cup he felt almost whole again-until he started to stretch and received a sharp reminder from his ribs that he was not.
Dave reentered. “I’m going off duty now. Is there anything else I can do for you before I do?”
“No. Thanks. You’ve done more than enough already.”
“Are you sure whatever it is you think you have to do couldn’t be handled by somebody else?” His concern was apparent in his eyes-and genuine. It was oddly touching. “You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard,” he added.
“I’m sure, Dave. But, the worst is over now. By noon, everything will be settled, one way or the other.”
He finished his coffee and stood up to retrieve his jacket from the clothestree behind the door. Dave held it for him while he eased himself into it and they walked out together. The emergency room was now a scene of bustling activity. Nurses, patients and doctors were moving in and out of the various cubicles. Dave walked ahead of him, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if hoping no one would recognize him and call him back. In the corridor, they shook hands and parted wordlessly. He turned toward the emergency exit through which he had entered, stopping at the phone booth just inside the door to check Stanhope’s home address in the tattered book hanging on a chain under the counter. He looked at the phone wondering whether he should call the house to see if Marie had returned-or call Elise to let her know that he had-and decided to call neither one. If Marie was back, he did not want to waste time talking to her now and, if she was not, there was nothing he could do about it yet anyhow. And, if he called Elise, she would naturally want to know where he was and what had happened-and would be only more worried and unhappy to know he still was not quite ready to give it up. No. It would be better to just go ahead and have it out with Stanhope and then go home and get the pictures from Phil. Then he could call Dan, tell him the whole story and turn his attention to the problem of how best to achieve a happy resolution for all their lives.