3

 

 

 

Al Bannon and Angie Strickland were the detectives working the Rose Barlow case. Bannon was divorced, no kids. His ex had moved up to Williams Lake after their divorce and he bought her share of their house in Aberdeen. Strickland was single and had lived the last few years in an apartment in downtown Kamloops, on St. Paul Street.

They both got the late night call that Rose Barlow had been found on the New Directions Mine road and was being taken to Royal Inland Hospital. Strickland called Bannon, who was just about to step into the shower. She told him she would advise Rose’s parents that she’d been found and was being taken to the hospital. It wasn’t yet two in the morning and she doubted they’d be asleep. As soon as she was dressed and ready, she would walk the short distance to the hospital which was only a few blocks from her apartment. They decided to meet at the entrance to Emergency. He promised to stop for coffees for both of them.

Strickland had been at the hospital for half an hour when Bannon arrived with take-out coffees.

“Are the parents here yet?”

“Not yet. They shouldn’t be much longer. They were awake when I called.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” said Bannon.

The detectives found a couple of chairs in the waiting area and settled in to drink their coffees.

 

 

Judge Mitchell Barlow and his wife, Marilyn, lived in Juniper Ridge, one of the more upscale neighbourhoods in Kamloops. Both were in their mid-fifties, and Rose was their only daughter. She was at the top of her class in high school and kept up the high marks right through a degree in political science and then law school. Her dad’s family were lawyers, back three generations. Her mom’s family were ranchers. Newer money but respectable enough. Her parents expected great things from their daughter, and she had never failed to deliver. She was, in all things, their bright and shining star.

As Strickland had suspected, they were awake when she called. She gave them the good news first—that Rose was alive, then the bad news—that she had a serious concussion and was being brought by ambulance to Royal Inland Hospital. She wouldn’t be arriving for well over an hour. Before Strickland could say anything else, the judge told her they’d speak with her at the hospital and abruptly hung up.

 

 

Juniper Ridge was close to an hour by car from the hospital. When the judge and his wife arrived, Rose’s ambulance had not yet arrived. They were directed to the waiting room opposite the entrance. Bannon spotted the judge and his wife and the detectives went over and introduced themselves. The Judge spoke first.

“What information do you have?”

“Only what I gave you on the phone earlier,” said Strickland. We’re waiting on the ambulance and the officers who were at the scene.”

“Fine,” he said. “Come back when you have something more to report.”

Dismissed, the detectives returned to their chairs by the window and waited. Not long after, an ambulance arrived and a young woman was brought in.

Norm Nilsen, a nurse at Royal Inland, was working the night shift. He was at Bed 1, closest to the entrance, treating a man who’d been in a bar fight downtown. He was stitching up a sizeable gash on his forehead when the ambulance attendants came through the door with Rose Barlow.

“The patient’s name is Rose Barlow; she’s the woman who was found at the New Directions Mine site,” one of them announced.

Nilsen thought he must have misheard them. His friend, Max King had a girlfriend named Rose Barlow. He would be finished with the barroom brawler in a few minutes and he’d have time to find out then.

“Take her to Bed 6,” said Helen, the head nurse, to the attendants. Dr. Aznar, who was standing beside her, joined the attendants. Helen turned to a nurse at the desk behind her. “Margaret, you’re with Dr. Aznar.”

An unconscious Rose was wheeled to Bed 6, while the attendant brought Dr. Aznar up to speed.

“She identified herself to 911 as Rose Barlow,” continued the attendant. “She suffered a severe blow to the head; suspected concussion; pupil size is unequal; bleeding is under control; blood pressure is 130 over 80; heart rate is 70.

The four of them transferred Rose to the waiting bed. Margaret hooked up an IV drip and Dr. Aznar began his assessment. No sooner had the doctor begun when Rose’s parents appeared at the entrance to the cubicle.

“My poor Rose! Malcolm! She’s been hurt! Look at her clothes! They’re covered in blood! What on earth happened to her?”

Marilyn Barlow was halfway to the side of the bed when Nurse Margaret headed her off.

“Mrs. Barlow?” she said.

She nodded. “We’re her parents.” Her face was bleak with alarm.

“Please ma’am. Let us treat your daughter. If you could just stand over there,” she said, pointing to the area at the foot of the bed.

“Marilyn, we need to let them do their jobs,” said the Judge. He was staring at Rose, his face ashen. He moved to his wife’s side, took her arm and together, they took up a spot at the cubicle entrance.

“But Malcolm, she’s unconscious!”

“I suspect a concussion,” said Dr. Aznar. “I’ve booked an MRI. You can sign for that at the nurses’ station.”

“Of course,” said the judge.

“In the meantime,” said Dr. Aznar, “I understand your concern but it’s probably best if you remain in the waiting room. Staff will be coming and going in here a lot for the next while and there isn’t much room as it is. I will be admitting your daughter for observation, at least for the next twenty-four hours. She’ll be in a room then and you can stay with her, of course.”

“Malcolm?”

“Let’s do as the doctor asks,” said the judge. “We’ll be close by.”

“I will keep you informed,” the doctor assured them.

The judge gently coaxed his wife out of the cubicle and down the hall to the nurses’ station, where he signed the necessary forms. By the time the couple returned to the waiting area, Bannon and Strickland were on their feet at the window, waiting for the officers involved in the rescue. They didn’t have to wait long.

A second ambulance pulled into the unloading zone. This time, a man was pulled from the back of the van and wheeled inside.

 

 

Ambulance attendants came through the Emergency entrance with Max King, just as Norm Nilsen was crossing the floor to the nurses’ station.

“The patient, Max King was found at New Directions Mine site. He was treated with naloxone for a drug overdose approximately seventy minutes ago and again, approximately thirty minutes ago. He responded well to both doses.”

“Take him to Bed 3,” said Helen, to the Attendants. “Norm, are you clear?”

“Yes,” said Norm who was right behind the attendants.

“Okay, you’re with them.”

Nilsen followed the attendants to the Bed 3 cubicle, but his mind raced and it was a struggle to hide the shock he felt. The man on the stretcher was Max King, a close friend. They were joined moments later by Dr. Aznar.

On Dr. Aznar’s count, the four of them moved a semi-conscious Max King to the bed as one of the attendants quickly filled the doctor in.

Once the attendants left the room, Norm moved to Max’s side, just as he started to experience trouble breathing.

“We’re losing him!” yelled Norm.

“Get the naloxone,” said Dr. Aznar, but Norm was already on his way out the door.

Norm’s mind was spinning. Max was a well-respected lawyer. He most certainly was not an addict. He was found at the New Directions Mine site? What the hell was going on? He quickly returned with a naloxone kit, tore it open, prepped it and injected Max with the drug under Aznar’s watchful eye. Norm moved Max onto his side, in the recovery position.

“Dr. Aznar, this man is a friend of mine,” said Norm. “His name is Max King. I will attest to the fact that he is not an addict. He is a respected lawyer here in Kamloops. If this is a drug overdose, it was not his doing, I can assure you.”

Norm Nilsen had been working at Royal Inland for three years. There were Emergency doctors who insisted that a drug panel be done on any Indigenous patient who walked through the door, before they would treat them. Dr. Aznar was not one of those.

“Rose Barlow is the patient in Bed 6,” said Dr. Aznar. “She was also found at the New Directions Mine site. Is there some connection?”

“She’s Max’s girlfriend!”

“Rose,” mumbled Max King, who was coming around for the third time. “Where is Rose?”

“Rose is here, Max,” said Norm, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’re treating her.”

“I need to see Rose.”

“When you’re feeling a little better,” said Norm, glancing at Dr. Aznar, who shook his head slightly.

“Sir,” said Dr. Aznar, leaning over Max. “I mean no disrespect, but I’d like to do a tox screen, so that we know what drugs we’re dealing with.”

“Of course,” said Max softly.

“You have a mean looking bruise on your cheek,” said the doctor, touching it gently.

Max pulled away involuntarily.

“How did that happen?”

“One of them punched me.”

“Okay.”

“Is Rose okay? Can I see her?” asked Max.

“Not just yet. I’ve requested an MRI. She’ll be going up for it in a few minutes.”

Max closed his eyes.

“Norm, you’re with the patient. I’ll arrange for the tox screen.”

Dr. Aznar left the room.

“MRI,” said Max, softly. “Why does she need one? What happened to her. I need to see her.”

He tried weakly to push himself up in an effort to get out of bed, but Norm blocked him.

“Max, listen to me. You need to rest. You can see Rose when you’re feeling a little stronger.”

Max was too weak and groggy to argue and he collapsed onto the pillow.

“But is she okay, Norm?”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

Max was silent for a minute.

“Don’t call my mother yet. This will upset her.”

“Is she your Emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’ve already called her.”

“So it’s too late… Okay… But you should call Mel.”

“I’m texting Mel now,” said Norm quietly. “I can’t call her till I’m off shift. And I intend to stay here with you until I get someone to relieve me.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do, Max! Someone tried to kill you.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” said Max quietly. “Tell her that we go ahead as planned this Friday. And let Ari know what happened.”

“I’ll take care of everything, Max. You rest.”