NOW
Sydney abandoned her plans for a run and called her mother.
“Windy’s in the hospital,” she explained. “I don’t know anything more than that right now. Horst is with her.”
“Horst? The police are involved?” Nancy asked. “Does this have anything to do with why she didn’t show up for work last night?”
“I don’t know. I’m going down there.”
“Of course you are. Don’t worry about anything here.”
Sydney hung up, took a quick shower, and grabbed a granola bar on her way out the door. Traffic was light as she drove her Mustang convertible out of her condominium’s garage and headed toward the hospital. She found a parking spot on the fourth floor of the parking structure and followed the sidewalks winding around the gigantic institution. As she walked in the bright June sunshine, the memory of another visit to the same emergency room came to her. Years ago. A few weeks before her sixteenth birthday. Dark, starless night. August heat, like a heavy, rusty-zippered parka, weighing down every step. She and her mother. Holding hands. Rushing into the lobby. A cluster of uniformed police officers standing by the doors. Their faces telegraphing the answer to an unasked question. Horst, his shirt soaked with Joe Richardson’s blood, stepping toward them with grieving eyes and open arms.
Sydney bit her lower lip and pushed away the painful recollection. She focused her attention on the people walking around her. Doctors, nurses, students…so many individuals dedicating their lives to saving others.
But no one could save Joe Richardson that August night nineteen years ago. She sent a silent wish to the universe that fate would bring Windy Fields’s ER visit a happier ending.
The waiting room held fewer than a dozen people. They sat in three distinct clusters, each pod of worried faces there to support one particular patient behind the double doors leading to the treatment area. A woman called out to her from the check-in desk. She was large, with upper arms straining the fabric of her neon-pink scrubs and a fleshy neck that seemed to have eaten her chin.
“Can I help you?” The woman’s hair was bright yellow and her lips were electric red. Sea-green earrings dangled above her hefty shoulders. A purple fabric lily was secured to her shirt by an oversize golden pin, the kind that might be used to hold a kilt closed. Sydney thought she looked like a box of crayons.
“I’m here to see someone. Windy Fields.” Sydney spelled the last name even though the woman didn’t ask.
“Do you have a medical emergency of your own?”
“No. No, I’m Windy’s employer. I understand she’s here.”
The colorful woman said nothing.
“Wanda. Wanda Fields. I’m sorry, I gave you her nickname. I’m here to see Wanda Fields.”
“Can’t help you.”
“Has she been released?” Sydney did a fast calculation. It couldn’t have been more than forty-five minutes since she hung up from Horst. “I was told she was with the doctor.”
“Who told you that?”
“Horst Welke. He’s the detective who’s with her.”
The woman’s wide face betrayed no emotion. “Can’t help you.”
Frustration yanked on Sydney’s nerves. “Is Windy all right?” She glanced down at the name tag hanging from the woman’s rainbow lanyard. “Please, Camille…can you let Windy know I’m out here?”
“Lady, I can’t tell you up from down. Don’t matter who told you what about who.” Camille looked past her. “Please step aside so I can take care of the people behind you.”
Sydney turned to see a worried woman standing with her hands on the shoulders of a boy who looked to be around ten years old. He wore a grass-stained soccer uniform. His cheeks were streaked with tears and he held his left arm close to his chest. She gave them both an encouraging smile.
“Sydney!” A woman’s voice pulled her attention to the opposite side of the room. Sydney recognized her as one of the people Horst had introduced the night before. The woman was coming from the treatment area and waved her over.
“Jillian Kohler,” she reminded. “I work with Horst.”
Sydney shook Jillian’s hand. “Are you here with him? With Windy? Excuse me, with Wanda?”
Jillian pointed to a bank of empty chairs. When they were seated, the detective pulled out a notebook. “How do you know Windy?”
“She works for me. Is she okay? She didn’t show up for work last night. Or again this morning. I called her cell and Horst answered. What’s going on? Is it Gabby?”
“Gabby’s fine. Cute little thing. She’s staying with a neighbor while we figure out what’s doing with Windy.”
“What do you mean ‘figure out’? Is she hurt?”
“What is it that Windy does for you? At work, I mean.”
“She’s a server. Prep, too.” Sydney watched Jillian write in her notebook. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Has Windy been hurt? Raped?”
“She’s with the doctors now. It looks like she’s fine. Couple of stitches on her head is all.”
“If you and Horst are involved, it’s more than a bump on the head.”
“How long has Windy worked for you?”
“About six weeks or so.”
Jillian smiled. “I love the Ten-Ten. You’ll probably be seeing me there more than you’d like. What time was Windy due to work yesterday?”
“Four o’clock. We do a run-through of the menu and wine list before opening the doors. She wasn’t there.”
“That like her?”
“No. I figured something might have come up with Gabby. But when she didn’t show this morning, I got worried.”
“Worried? Has Windy done things in the past that would lead you to worry about her behavior?”
“No, but you are. What’s going on?”
“Are you and Windy close?”
“Not really. I know she’s a single mom. No family to speak of. I may not know her well, but I like her.”
“Based on?”
Sydney hesitated at Jillian’s question. She’d known Windy less than two months. Certainly she’d been impressed with her work ethic and eagerness to learn, but what was it that had Sydney thinking she liked her?
“There’s a gentleness about her. The way she interacts with others. The way she speaks. I like that.”
“Gentle. Interesting word. You ever see her get angry? Ever hear of her having a rough temper or anything like that?”
“You’re suspecting her of something. You and Horst aren’t here because something was done to Windy. You’re thinking she’s done something.”
“Just getting a feel for her is all. You know anything about who she dates?”
“I get the impression she doesn’t have a social life. She works two jobs and she raises her kid. I think life’s pretty small for Windy right now.”
“She talk to you about her other job?”
“She cleans houses. Is one of her clients telling you she did something?”
“Would you be surprised if someone had?”
Sydney saw Jillian’s pen poised above her notepad. “I’d be stunned.”
“And what do you base that on?”
Sydney stood. “Look, if you aren’t going to tell me what’s going on, I’m not going to answer any more of your cryptic questions. I came down here to see if Windy’s all right. No one seems willing or able to tell me that, so I’m going to leave. I’d appreciate it if you’d tell Windy I was here and that she can call me if she needs anything.”
Sydney turned and ran straight into Horst Welke.
“Kitz!” He pulled her into a quick, welcoming hug. “You and Jillian having a chat?”
“I don’t know if you’d call it that.” Sydney laid her hand on Horst’s arm. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Nurse Camille isn’t talking and, no offense, Jillian could medal if evading direct questions ever becomes an Olympic sport.”
Horst grinned. “We train ’em that way. Dogs after bones. That’s how we like ’em.” He urged Sydney to sit, but she told him she preferred to stand.
“Look,” Horst continued. “Windy’s fine. She needed a few stitches. But the docs have given her a thorough going-over, and other than a knot on the head, she looks to be dandy. One last exam and she should be ready to get out of here. She’s with the doctor now.”
“How’d she get the head injury?”
Horst shrugged. “Says she can’t remember.”
“Is she in shock?”
“She’s in something.” Horst nodded toward Jillian, who still sat with her notebook at the ready. “Sydney able to provide you with any information on Windy’s relationship with the mayor?”
“The mayor?!” Sydney looked back over the room when she heard the volume of her own voice. She forced herself into a near whisper. “The dead mayor? That mayor?”
“City’s only got one, Kitz.”
“Oh my God! Poor Windy. What? Did she find his body or something? Was it a heart attack?”
“No, Sydney. It wasn’t a heart attack. The press is going to get this in about an hour, so I’ll ask you to keep it quiet until somebody makes an official statement.” He lowered his voice. “The mayor was murdered. Shot. And Windy’s sitting back there covered in his blood.”