Could have been Connecticut, but she couldn’t be sure.
Jamie pulled up a chair and leaned closer to him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
His movements became more agitated. “D.”
When her hospice patients had been sedated, they’d rambled, too, but Jonathan seemed
more distressed than any patient she’d taken care of. His fingers moved, almost as
if he were typing. Her presence seemed to be aggravating him, so she pushed back the
chair and stood.
“You rest now, you hear? Get well soon.” Stomach churning, Jamie rushed out.
* * *
After watching Jamie head off to Jonathan’s, or rather Vic Hart’s, room, Max took
the elevator to the bottom floor. Dr. Randy Carstead had been the admitting physician
on duty when the paramedics had brought in Jonathan Rambler. Max wanted to understand
why a fairly healthy, trained FBI agent hadn’t run from the fire. Something or someone
must have stopped him. Also, if Max’s assumption about the wall collapsing was wrong,
he needed to know. It might affect his other conclusions.
He waited a good ten minutes for Randy to finish up with a patient. When the doctor
made eye contact, he came toward Max, flipped off his gloves, and tossed them in a
nearby receptacle.
“Long time, no see.” Randy had been at Stone Benson’s wedding a few days ago. “What
brings you here?”
“Jonathan Rambler was brought in yesterday with burns to his chest and neck. I’m trying
to reenact the warehouse fire on First Street. My data tells me a board fell on him.
Does that line up with what you found?”
His eyes widened. “I’m impressed with your accuracy. The burn marks are consistent
with a rectangular surface, but that’s not all that happened to him.”
Randy had his interest. “What do you mean?”
“From the size and shape, I’d say the butt of a gun did some damage to the back of
his skull.”
“So he was beaten?” Maybe that was why the agent didn’t smell the smoke and get the
hell out of there.
“Looks like it. With that kind of blow, he’d have been unconscious almost immediately.
His knuckles were bruised, too, implying he’d put up a fight.”
Fuck. Jonathan had grunted and thrashed about when Donner Pearson had placed him on
the gurney, but all the jostling could have woken him up for a few seconds. “Thanks.”
Randy held up a hand. “One more thing. I called the station this morning. Had I known
you were in charge, I would have contacted you, too.”
“That’s okay. What did you find?” It was probably the information Dan had told him.
“The man was covered in stage make-up, a wig, and extra padding. Strangest damn thing.”
From Randy’s raised brows, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, but it wasn’t
Max’s place to explain. “Interesting. Appreciate the help.”
“Anytime.” A nurse rushed over to the doctor and informed Randy that an ambulance
had just delivered a car crash victim. “Gotta go. Don’t be a stranger.”
“You bet.” Max hadn’t socialized as much as he’d have liked in the last few months.
While he’d played a game or two of darts and shared a couple of drinks with Randy,
Max had been too busy finishing his fire science degree to do more.
He should probably go back upstairs and question Jamie about Mr. FBI Man, but she’d
be less likely to talk about her friend with him in the room. Max decided to speak
with her tomorrow.
He stepped outside. Crap. The air temp had dropped at least ten degrees. He’d hoped
the cold front heading this way would hold off until after the weekend, but it didn’t
appear it would.
As he made his way to his SUV, he heard curses coming from the far end of the lot.
Max stopped, looked around, and then spotted a raised car hood. He wove his way over
to see if he could help.
When he neared the actual car, he stopped. Oh, no. Jamie had her head under the hood.
That sucked. Poor girl had just
Jamie pulled up a chair and leaned closer to him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
His movements became more agitated. “D.”
When her hospice patients had been sedated, they’d rambled, too, but Jonathan seemed
more distressed than any patient she’d taken care of. His fingers moved, almost as
if he were typing. Her presence seemed to be aggravating him, so she pushed back the
chair and stood.
“You rest now, you hear? Get well soon.” Stomach churning, Jamie rushed out.
* * *
After watching Jamie head off to Jonathan’s, or rather Vic Hart’s, room, Max took
the elevator to the bottom floor. Dr. Randy Carstead had been the admitting physician
on duty when the paramedics had brought in Jonathan Rambler. Max wanted to understand
why a fairly healthy, trained FBI agent hadn’t run from the fire. Something or someone
must have stopped him. Also, if Max’s assumption about the wall collapsing was wrong,
he needed to know. It might affect his other conclusions.
He waited a good ten minutes for Randy to finish up with a patient. When the doctor
made eye contact, he came toward Max, flipped off his gloves, and tossed them in a
nearby receptacle.
“Long time, no see.” Randy had been at Stone Benson’s wedding a few days ago. “What
brings you here?”
“Jonathan Rambler was brought in yesterday with burns to his chest and neck. I’m trying
to reenact the warehouse fire on First Street. My data tells me a board fell on him.
Does that line up with what you found?”
His eyes widened. “I’m impressed with your accuracy. The burn marks are consistent
with a rectangular surface, but that’s not all that happened to him.”
Randy had his interest. “What do you mean?”
“From the size and shape, I’d say the butt of a gun did some damage to the back of
his skull.”
“So he was beaten?” Maybe that was why the agent didn’t smell the smoke and get the
hell out of there.
“Looks like it. With that kind of blow, he’d have been unconscious almost immediately.
His knuckles were bruised, too, implying he’d put up a fight.”
Fuck. Jonathan had grunted and thrashed about when Donner Pearson had placed him on
the gurney, but all the jostling could have woken him up for a few seconds. “Thanks.”
Randy held up a hand. “One more thing. I called the station this morning. Had I known
you were in charge, I would have contacted you, too.”
“That’s okay. What did you find?” It was probably the information Dan had told him.
“The man was covered in stage make-up, a wig, and extra padding. Strangest damn thing.”
From Randy’s raised brows, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, but it wasn’t
Max’s place to explain. “Interesting. Appreciate the help.”
“Anytime.” A nurse rushed over to the doctor and informed Randy that an ambulance
had just delivered a car crash victim. “Gotta go. Don’t be a stranger.”
“You bet.” Max hadn’t socialized as much as he’d have liked in the last few months.
While he’d played a game or two of darts and shared a couple of drinks with Randy,
Max had been too busy finishing his fire science degree to do more.
He should probably go back upstairs and question Jamie about Mr. FBI Man, but she’d
be less likely to talk about her friend with him in the room. Max decided to speak
with her tomorrow.
He stepped outside. Crap. The air temp had dropped at least ten degrees. He’d hoped
the cold front heading this way would hold off until after the weekend, but it didn’t
appear it would.
As he made his way to his SUV, he heard curses coming from the far end of the lot.
Max stopped, looked around, and then spotted a raised car hood. He wove his way over
to see if he could help.
When he neared the actual car, he stopped. Oh, no. Jamie had her head under the hood.
That sucked. Poor girl had just
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