12

Luke got off the elevator on the fifth floor at the same time Nurse Agatha Catania was running down the hall. The two bumped into one another.

“Oh, my God, I am sorry.” Nurse Agatha Catania was in her own world, deep in thought, and on a mission to get to the ICU as quickly as she could. It took a second before she realized it was Luke she had run into.

“What’s your hurry?” Gillespie asked. “You almost took me off my feet.”

“Walk with me to the ICU. I have something for you to do this morning,” she teased. “We have a new patient on the way up from emerg.”

“Another bleeder?” Gillespie asked.

“Yes, but not like the others. This one will throw you for a loop.”

“Why? What’s so different about this one?” Gillespie’s curiosity was getting the better of him. “Not another archbishop?”

“Nope. A female! This time the bleeder is a female.” Agatha used her building access pass to get into the ICU. The buzzer sounded, and she opened the door to let herself and Luke in.

“When did this one come in?” Luke asked, flipping through the patient’s files on the ICU’s desk.

Agatha updated him. “Late last night. Emergency couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, and they were aware we had two patients with the same symptoms. They are sending her up. She should be here any second now.”

“I have to call Sgt. Myra this morning, too,” Luke said. He looked at his watch and hoped to get it done soon, because he wanted to discuss the pedophile theory more.

“Sgt. Myra is in the room with the child psychiatrist,” the nurse behind the counter informed him.

“Let me check on that patient.” Agatha was becoming smitten with the police sergeant. “I loves me some Sgt. Myra first thing in the morning.”

“Really?” Luke was surprised. “You’re into older cops?”

“Have you seen the size of his hands? I love a man with big hands. The moustache is kind of hot, too. Find out if he’s married,” she said with a flirty smile.

“I will not,” Luke replied.

“He does have those rugged movie-star looks,” the nurse behind the counter joined in.

“Is that how he gets into ICU all the time? Because you all think he is a hot cop?” Luke asked.

“Why, yes! We don’t let the ugly cops in at all.”

Agatha picked up the patient’s file and went to the room to meet with Sgt. Myra. At the same time, the two doors to the ICU flung open, and two attendants quickly pushed a gurney through with a woman lying on it.

“Your new patient is here,” the gurney operator said. “Which room is she going in?”

“This one over here,” said a nurse. She hurried from behind the counter and pointed to an empty room next to the archbishop’s. The attendants followed, and Luke could hear them in the room transferring the new patient to the hospital bed that awaited her. Luke took the file from one of the attendants and started to read through it.

Sixty-one-year-old female, school principal, lived in coastal Labrador for thirty-five years, recently retired, started having severe nosebleeds about a year ago. Luke read through all the same symptoms that the other patients had shown.

Nick Myra and Agatha exited the other patient’s room, smiling at each other. “Luke,” Myra asked with a grin, “do you have time to chat now?”

“I did until this new patient came in.” Gillespie pointed at the room. “This one doesn’t fit your profile. The new patient is female.”

“Why? Do you think women can’t be pedophiles?” Myra was surprised.

“I suppose. I’ve never thought about it, really. Either way, I must go take her vitals. Give me an hour, and I will meet you in the cafeteria for a coffee. By the way, why were you in the psychiatrist’s room?”

“He was coherent this morning, and I had some questions to ask him.” Sgt. Myra put the black notebook he was carrying in the inside pocket of his blazer. “He was actually quite forthcoming today.”

“He asked to put his lawyer on the visitors list,” Agatha informed them both.

“That’s his choice. Now I must go see my new patient and prove your theory wrong.” Gillespie picked up the file and went to see his new patient.

She was groggy but awake. Luke thought she looked like a typical schoolmarm. Her grey hair was tightly pulled back in a bun on the top of her head, and the crease was neatly combed down the middle. A small, pink, childlike bow pinned the bun to her head. Even a night in the emerg hadn’t caused a hair to go astray. She wore tiny circular glasses with gold rims, and her scrawny, birdlike hands had the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her chart said she was five foot six and 130 pounds. Gillespie decided she looked more like a nun than Sister Pius. There was no next of kin noted on her chart.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Power?” Dr. Gillespie asked.

“Oh, I’m all right, Doctor,” she said, giving him a coy look. “I have an awful nosebleed and a lot of pain sometimes.”

“I know, and I am trying to get to the bottom of that for you. Can I ask you a few questions before I order some tests to see what’s going on?”

She nodded yes, and Gillespie opened her file again. “It says here you’re a retired school principal. Where did you teach?”

“I taught up through coastal Labrador for thirty-five years.” She pointed a bony finger toward the ceiling. “All Aboriginal communities. Hard children they were to teach, too. You know what they’re like.” The new patient pursed her lips and shook her head, like she was disgusted with something. She put one hand over the other and cracked her knuckles, making a godawful sound.

Gillespie was taken aback by her racist undertones. He had seen stories in the media about children in Labrador’s indigenous communities who sniffed gas and had to be removed from their homes and school, but he had also worked with a native doctor when he was an intern who turned out to be one of the best mentors he’d ever had.

“Is it all right if I listen to your chest?” Gillespie took the stethoscope that hung around his neck and put it in his ears. Mrs. Power let go of one corner of the blanket, and he tugged it out of her other hand, then pulled the coverlet down to her chest. She was still wearing a hospital gown, and she had it tied tightly in the back. “I am going to have to untie the gown to examine you.”

She turned her head to the left and rolled onto her side. Gillespie could tell she was terribly uncomfortable with this. He untied the string at the neck and slid the stethoscope down to her chest. Her breathing was laboured but clear. There was no sign of fluid on her lungs. He moved the stethoscope and she jumped a little, like she had been startled. Gillespie decided this must be the closest she had ever been to a man.

“Your chest sounds fine right now, Mrs. Power. Can you tell me how long you’ve had those dark spots on your back and chest?”

“Ms. Power,” she corrected him. “I have never been married. Those spots showed up about a year ago. I believe they are age spots, but they are awful big for age spots, don’t you think? I also have diarrhea almost every day. I have lost so much weight over the past year.”

“Okay, I will let the nurses know, and they will take care of you, Ms. Power.” Gillespie was careful to use Ms. instead of Mrs. “I will check the spots for you. You don’t have any next of kin noted on your chart. Can you give me the name of someone I can put there in case of emergency?”

“No. I don’t have any family.” She leered at him. “I was married to my job. Devoted to the children I taught.”

“Yes, of course, but is there a friend, a neighbour, maybe an old student, anyone we can call to let them know you’re in hospital?”

“No. I kept to myself, really. I live alone. I like it that way. I don’t want anyone in my business. I am tired now. Go away.” She pulled the blankets back up to her chin, then closed her eyes.

Who’s taking care of your fifty cats? Dr. Gillespie wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. He walked out of her room and headed toward the cafeteria to meet up with Sgt. Myra.