Read Online New Tricks by David Rosenfelt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Rosenfelt
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courthouse. There is little traffic, but it
feels as if the trip takes three weeks. They finally pull up to the emergency room entrance, and I rush to jump out, only
to find that the car door is locked.
“Open the door!” I yell. “Open the damn door!”
I hear a popping noise and this time when I pull on the handle the door opens. I get out and run into the emergency room.
Kevin is there waiting, and the stricken, anguished look on his face tells me that Laurie is gone.
But she’s not.
“She’s in surgery, Andy. She went in half an hour ago.”
I am having trouble processing words. “She’s alive? Is that what you’re saying? She’s still alive?”
“Yes. That’s what they told me.”
My feet suddenly feel unable to support my weight, and I move over to some metal chairs. Kevin sits down next to me. “Please
tell me everything you know,” I say. “Everything.”
It turns out that Kevin doesn’t know much. Laurie was in the front yard of my house throwing a tennis ball with Tara and Waggy
when she was shot. She took the bullet in the upper thigh, which became horribly serious because it happened to sever the
carotid artery, causing massive blood loss. Only the quick actions of my neighbor, who called 911 and then rushed over to
put pressure on the wound, kept her alive.
For now.
I’m about to hit Kevin with a barrage of questions, when I look up and see Pete Stanton standing over me.
“Pete, tell me…”
“All I know is that she’s in surgery, and she’s getting massive transfusions. It’s touch and go, Andy.”
It flashes through my mind that this sounds like the same injury that killed Sean Taylor of the Washington Redskins. Pete
must know that, but he has the good sense not to mention it. Kevin would likely never even have heard of the Washington Redskins.
“Who did this?” I ask.
Pete shakes his head. “Don’t know. According to the neighbor, it was a drive-by. But he got a model, color, and partial plate,
so we’ve got a shot at it.”
“Where can I wait for the doctor?” I ask.
“There’s an empty room on the floor; he’s going to come there when he’s finished. By the way, I told them you were the husband.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Gives you access; if you’re not family you have no rights.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Pete, Kevin, and I go up to the seventh floor, which is the surgery ward. We go to an empty room, with a bed, small bathroom,
and two chairs. I suppose this is going to be Laurie’s room if she needs one. Please let her need one.
We wait for almost three hours, during which it feels like my head is going to explode from the pressure. The waiting is simply
horrible, yet I am clearheaded enough to know that it must mean Laurie is still alive. Otherwise the surgery would be over.
During all the time we’re there, I don’t think five words are spoken, except for Pete getting an occasional cell phone call
updating him on progress in the investigation. There doesn’t seem to be much, but it’s early, and I’m not focused on that
right now.
I finally realize that Tara and Waggy are alone and unattended, and I mention this to Kevin.
He shakes his head. “I had Willie pick them up. I hope that’s okay.”
As my partner in the Tara Foundation, Willie is as big a dog lunatic as I am, so it’s more than okay. “Thanks, Kevin. That’s
perfect.”
Finally, the door opens and a doctor comes in. He’s surprisingly, almost annoyingly, young, certainly under forty. If he isn’t
bringing good news, he’s never going to get any older, because I’m going to strangle him with his stethoscope.
I stand as he walks over. I can’t read his expression, which bothers me. I wish he were smiling, or laughing, or doing cartwheels.
But he’s not, and I’m scared shitless. The combined pressure of waiting for every verdict I’ve ever waited for pales next
to this.
“Mr. Carpenter, I’m Dr. Norville.”
I don’t say a
feels as if the trip takes three weeks. They finally pull up to the emergency room entrance, and I rush to jump out, only
to find that the car door is locked.
“Open the door!” I yell. “Open the damn door!”
I hear a popping noise and this time when I pull on the handle the door opens. I get out and run into the emergency room.
Kevin is there waiting, and the stricken, anguished look on his face tells me that Laurie is gone.
But she’s not.
“She’s in surgery, Andy. She went in half an hour ago.”
I am having trouble processing words. “She’s alive? Is that what you’re saying? She’s still alive?”
“Yes. That’s what they told me.”
My feet suddenly feel unable to support my weight, and I move over to some metal chairs. Kevin sits down next to me. “Please
tell me everything you know,” I say. “Everything.”
It turns out that Kevin doesn’t know much. Laurie was in the front yard of my house throwing a tennis ball with Tara and Waggy
when she was shot. She took the bullet in the upper thigh, which became horribly serious because it happened to sever the
carotid artery, causing massive blood loss. Only the quick actions of my neighbor, who called 911 and then rushed over to
put pressure on the wound, kept her alive.
For now.
I’m about to hit Kevin with a barrage of questions, when I look up and see Pete Stanton standing over me.
“Pete, tell me…”
“All I know is that she’s in surgery, and she’s getting massive transfusions. It’s touch and go, Andy.”
It flashes through my mind that this sounds like the same injury that killed Sean Taylor of the Washington Redskins. Pete
must know that, but he has the good sense not to mention it. Kevin would likely never even have heard of the Washington Redskins.
“Who did this?” I ask.
Pete shakes his head. “Don’t know. According to the neighbor, it was a drive-by. But he got a model, color, and partial plate,
so we’ve got a shot at it.”
“Where can I wait for the doctor?” I ask.
“There’s an empty room on the floor; he’s going to come there when he’s finished. By the way, I told them you were the husband.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Gives you access; if you’re not family you have no rights.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Pete, Kevin, and I go up to the seventh floor, which is the surgery ward. We go to an empty room, with a bed, small bathroom,
and two chairs. I suppose this is going to be Laurie’s room if she needs one. Please let her need one.
We wait for almost three hours, during which it feels like my head is going to explode from the pressure. The waiting is simply
horrible, yet I am clearheaded enough to know that it must mean Laurie is still alive. Otherwise the surgery would be over.
During all the time we’re there, I don’t think five words are spoken, except for Pete getting an occasional cell phone call
updating him on progress in the investigation. There doesn’t seem to be much, but it’s early, and I’m not focused on that
right now.
I finally realize that Tara and Waggy are alone and unattended, and I mention this to Kevin.
He shakes his head. “I had Willie pick them up. I hope that’s okay.”
As my partner in the Tara Foundation, Willie is as big a dog lunatic as I am, so it’s more than okay. “Thanks, Kevin. That’s
perfect.”
Finally, the door opens and a doctor comes in. He’s surprisingly, almost annoyingly, young, certainly under forty. If he isn’t
bringing good news, he’s never going to get any older, because I’m going to strangle him with his stethoscope.
I stand as he walks over. I can’t read his expression, which bothers me. I wish he were smiling, or laughing, or doing cartwheels.
But he’s not, and I’m scared shitless. The combined pressure of waiting for every verdict I’ve ever waited for pales next
to this.
“Mr. Carpenter, I’m Dr. Norville.”
I don’t say a
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