“Don’t be lifting this off now to take a look,” she warned.
As soon as the nurse cleared the doorway Maggie lifted the towel and took a look. There was enough blood on the towel that it looked as if someone had wiped up puddles of it. She fingered the same wounds the nurse had just cleaned. The one on her neck would require sutures. The others were minor scrapes. Scalp wounds bled a lot. Didn’t mean much. None of it was worth a trip to the ER. The guy sitting next to her in the waiting area had had his lip hanging down on his chin. Now, he needed to be here.
In the waiting area Maggie had spent the time watching the others, checking for burns, especially on the hands. Sometimes criminals made mistakes, got hurt, and didn’t think twice before going to an ER. Gunshot or knife wounds would require a police report, but burns were easily explained away. It wouldn’t be the first time an arsonist sat in an ER waiting room while a blaze he’d started still burned.
Now Maggie considered getting up and leaving the exam room to continue looking at the other patients. At least she’d be doing something. Would anyone notice if she left? The place was crazy busy. The fact that she was law enforcement moved her up the list. However, she had insisted they treat the man with half his lip ripped off before they took her.
She had scooted to the edge of the table, ready to hop down, when the door opened.
“I am Dr. Dabu. You are O’Dell, Margaret?”
The man was short, had an Indian accent, and looked too young to be a resident, let alone a doctor.
“Yes. It’s Maggie actually.”
He looked at her over the computer tablet, then back at the screen as if checking to make sure the name hadn’t changed.
“Explosion, yes?” He sounded eager, like a contestant on a game show.
“Right.”
“We need sutures, yes?”
We need our head examined, was what she wanted to tell him, but she simply nodded.
Regret suddenly became a lump in her stomach. She realized she wouldn’t be able to put off Kunze’s psychological evaluation now. She wasn’t sure which was worse—listening to her career regurgitated in psychobabble or seeing that scared concern on R. J. Tully’s face.
She paid little attention when Dr. Dabu pulled open a suture tray. She could feel the needle poke into the back of her neck. The nurse had returned to assist and Maggie tuned out their bits of communication. Neither asked about her blurred vision or the jackhammer at her temple. Had she mentioned either to the paramedic who had shined the tiny laser-beamed flashlight into each of her eyes? He had asked her a series of questions. She couldn’t remember any of them or her answers.
All she remembered was that look on Tully’s face and the panic in his voice when he said, “I don’t think you’re okay either.”
It was the fire, the flames and the heat. All of it too much like a gunshot. She closed her eyes. She’d be okay. It would just take time. She never had patience. Hated feeling vulnerable, out of control. But not to have control over her body …
No one needed to know how disoriented she really had been at the fire site. She didn’t have to tell anyone about the blurred vision or the scent that permeated the lining of her memory, that smell of scorched flesh from the bullet scraping her scalp.
The gunshot wound had happened four months ago. The fire’s blast had simply been a reminder. It threw her off her game. That’s all. But this little slip-up would be enough to trigger Kunze. It’d be enough for him to justify his psychological tests.
So let him. Bring it on.
There’d be nothing to report. Maggie had a degree in psychology. She knew exactly what they’d be looking for and she simply wouldn’t give it to them.
Just then she realized she could still feel the needle as the doctor pulled it through her skin. The local anesthesia hadn’t been enough to numb the area. Her jaw clenched and her eyes stayed closed. This pain—this prick of the needle sliding through, the tug of the suture thread following—this was nothing. She wanted all of it to be over. To get back to the crime scene. This was just a distraction.
When they were finished the doctor quietly left. The nurse told Maggie she had some papers to get for a signature and she left. She hadn’t been gone long when the examination room door opened again.
Benjamin Platt wore his military dress uniform, had his hat tucked under his arm, and his stance was that of a soldier delivering dreadful news. The look on his face wasn’t much better. Worry creased an indent between his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked in almost a whisper.
“I can’t believe Tully called you.”
“It wasn’t Tully.”
“Racine?”
“I wish it had been you.”
CHAPTER 14