CHAPTER 5
Harrison drove into the parking lot of Ocean Park
Hospital with a sinking heart. The Channel Seven van was parked
outside, and Pauline Kirby and her gophers were already setting up
for a report on the escapee. He had remembered the psycho’s
name—Justice Turnbull—on the drive over and had double-checked with
Geena Cho to make sure he was right and she’d reluctantly
confirmed.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” she’d
said over the wireless connection, “but now you owe me
two.”
Bingo. Justice Turnbull was the lunatic
who had escaped.
The wind had kicked up and Pauline’s
perfectly coiffed hair was trying desperately to escape, but under
the security lights for the parking lot a hairstylist was spraying
something at her head that worked like industrial glue, as the dark
tresses were slicked to her scalp and stayed there.
Harrison had no interest in dealing
with Pauline. He wasn’t sure she would recognize him. He would have
been safe except for the brouhaha that had developed after he
accused Manny’s business partner of being involved in his death.
Then the news vultures had descended on one of their own. Him. And
Pauline had been in the forefront. Microphones had been thrust at
him, and he could recall the way her lips pulled back from her
perfectly capped snow-white teeth and the sneer that seemed a brush
away from the smile.
Did anyone like her? he wondered as he
got out of the Chevy. Maybe you didn’t have to be liked as long as
you got ratings. She sure as hell was anywhere there was any kind
of story, and she usurped the competition by virtue of being
overbearing, in his biased opinion.
The warmth he’d felt earlier at the
café table had disappeared completely. He hadn’t bothered with a
coat, a mistake at the coast, and now he shivered as he walked,
head bent, eyes on the asphalt in front of him as he skirted her
entourage.
Her bright eyes spotted him. He could
feel it rather than see it. He hoped he looked like a visitor to
the hospital, but it was getting later by the minute. Visiting
hours were long over.
“Hey,” she called.
Harrison picked up his pace. If he
could get inside, he could escape. She didn’t want him for this
assignment, anyway. He wasn’t part of it.
But she had a nose for a story, and she
was sniffing at him. He might not be part of the Justice Turnbull
saga yet, but Pauline wasn’t one to let anything get by
her.
She actually took a couple of steps his
way as he passed; he could see her in his peripheral vision. But
then he was walking through the opening sliding glass doors that
led into Ocean Park’s reception area and continuing blindly
straight ahead as if he knew where he was going. Normally he wasn’t
quite so seat of the pants, but he did not
want to deal with Pauline Kirby, who could splash his face across
the eleven o’clock news and destroy current and future
investigations. He was sick to the back teeth of his own
notoriety.
He found himself in a hospital hallway
like a thousand other hospital hallways: shining linoleum beneath
his feet, fluorescent lighting, a chemical scent that hinted at
procedures and pharmaceuticals that left a sense of disquiet in his
gut. He didn’t have a clue whom to talk with, who might be in
charge. Ocean Park wasn’t a huge hospital; it was only three
floors, though its size could be deceptive as it ambled over
several acres.
Harrison abruptly turned on his heel
and headed back the way he’d come as he realized he’d turned the
wrong direction from the ER, which was bound to be where the hub of
the action took place. He passed by reception once more, shot a
quick glance through the sliding doors just in time to see Pauline
moving to just outside, camera lights glaring as she started
talking into the mic.
In the ER he encountered a number of
people waiting for help: a whimpering child with a slack arm, tight
in his mother’s embrace; an older man who was almost tipping out of
his wheelchair; a stoic woman who was holding her bleeding right
hand in her left, a huge gash offering Harrison a quick glance down
to the sinews and muscle that appeared to be barely holding onto
her thumb.
He caught up with a nurse who, after
directing the woman with the thumb injury to another nurse, had
lifted her head to look around. He grabbed her attention. “I’m
Harrison Frost with the Seaside Breeze. Is
there someone I can talk to about the victims brought from Halo
Valley, Ms. Solano?” he asked, reading her name tag.
She was about to tell him to get lost;
he could tell. But then her dark eyes sized him up and down, and
she seemed less ready to blow him off. “You’re not with Channel
Seven?”
He shook his head. “Is that good or
bad?”
“Good.” She smiled thinly. “They’re a
pain in the gluteus maximus.”
“I even know what that
is.”
“We’re kinda busy here,” she said,
looking around.
“I won’t be in the way.”
“That’s probably a lie, but c’mon. And,
please, whatever you write, keep my name out of it,
okay?”
“Sure.” He followed after her as she
directed others in the waiting room to where they needed to go or,
conversely, assured them they would be seen by a doctor soon. Then
she crooked her finger toward Harrison as she moved to a spot just
inside the emergency room doors. From this angle they could see the
long drive the ambulances took from the highway to the
ER.
“What do you want to know? I can’t give
out much.”
“What time was it when the ambulance
from Halo Valley arrived?”
She hesitated.
“It’ll be on the logs; the nine-one-one
call.”
“Okay. It was around eight. Eight
thirty maybe?”
“And there were two victims, the van
driver and one of the doctors.”
“The van driver was actually one of our
security guards. He was assigned to go pick up a patient from Halo
Valley and drive him here in the van.”
“But he was attacked at Halo
Valley.”
“Yeah.” She seemed to consider that a
moment.
“What happened to the
van?”
“I don’t know. Probably still there.
Conrad sure wasn’t driving it.”
“Conrad?”
“I told you, I can’t give you names,”
she backtracked quickly, throwing him a pleading look.
“I imagine Pauline Kirby’s got most of
this already,” Harrison reminded. “Her team went to Halo Valley
first. She’s bound to have interviewed hospital staff and the
sheriff’s department.”
“I guess.”
“I just want to know some other details
for my story,” he admitted. “I’m not trying to get you in
trouble.”
She shot him a look from under her
lashes. “Okay . . .”
“I’ve been told the victims were
attacked by one of HV’s inmates. This is the same guy who went on a
rampage in this area a couple of years ago, killed some people,
some women, actually. Went after his own mother and—”
“Him?” Her face
lost all color.
“You remember him?”
“Who doesn’t? He terrorized everybody!”
Visibly shaken, she added, “And you newspeople said at the time
that he had a thing for the cult women!”
“The cult women,” Harrison repeated,
remembering. Yeah, there had been something about that. He needed
to get to a computer and log on to the Internet, refresh his mind
about what had happened a few years back.
“I know he killed some of ’em.” She
paused, frowning and biting the edge of her mouth as she
remembered. Now she didn’t seem so worried about speaking with him.
“Well, he killed a bunch of people, and they caught him at that
motel that’s still boarded up.”
“You recall the name of that
motel?”
“It’s . . . I don’t know. They took the
sign down. It’s the one that’s boarded up just outside Deception
Bay. On the cliff above the water. It was a wreck then, and it’s
been closed and boarded up ever since. Like the lighthouse. You
know, the one where that psycho lived!”
“Ahh, right. The lighthouse.” Harrison
nodded, some of the story coming back to him.
“It’s boarded up, too. Ever since they
caught him, it’s been totally off-limits, not that it wasn’t
before. But to think he escaped . . .” Fear shined in her eyes.
“He’s nuttier than a fruitcake, you know. A real scary
dude.”
That much Harrison did remember. “So,
how extensive are the injuries to the two men he
attacked?”
“Extensive enough. He beat Conrad’s
head in, and the doctor got stabbed in the throat with a
pen.”
“Was this his doctor? The one he
attacked?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are they in surgery now?”
“Recovery.” She moved away from the
wall. “Are you going to quote me?” she asked, torn between
excitement and trepidation. Fifteen minutes of fame or the loss of
her job. “Remember, I said I didn’t want you to use my
name.”
With a quick nod, Harrison said, “How
about if I just say ‘a source at the hospital’?”
“Yeah, fine—”
The other nurse came back, and spying
Nurse Solano, she beelined toward them with her mouth a grim line.
“Carlita,” she snapped.
With a last beseeching glance his way,
Nurse Solano shifted away.
The new nurse demanded, “Can I help
you?”
He read her name tag: Nurse Nina Perez.
“I’m Harrison Frost—”
“With Channel Seven?” she
interrupted.
“No.”
“I recognize you,” she snapped back, as
if he’d lied to her.
“Not from Channel Seven, you
don’t.”
“But I—”
Before she could go on any further, a
doctor strode from the ER in their direction. In scrubs, his hair
rumpled, as if he’d just ripped off his surgical cap, he was tall
and lanky, his expression sour. His authoritative manner stopped
Nina Perez in mid-syllable. She snapped her jaw shut and turned to
him carefully.
“Where’s Laura?” he demanded, running a
hand over his hair, trying to tame it.
Nurse Perez visibly bristled. “She
left. Her shift was over.”
“Well, get her back here. We’re under
siege from the damn media, and we’ve got another ambulance coming
in. My shift is over.”
“You’re leaving?”
He didn’t argue.
“Who’s on duty in the ER?” she asked,
alarmed.
“Somebody else.” He was weary and
self-important, as if he just didn’t give a damn. With an
I-don’t-have-to-answer-to-you look of superiority, he headed
through the doors.
“Jackass,” Perez breathed, her words
barely audible.
“A surgeon?” Harrison guessed idly
after the self-important asshole had gone.
He’d memorized his name: Dr. Byron
Adderley.
“Orthopedic,” she said, lips
flattening. Then, as if she understood she was saying more than she
intended, added, “He’s very good at what he does.”
And lets everyone know
it, Harrison silently added. “He’s heading toward the front,
where Pauline Kirby lies in wait.”
“I think he knows that,” she said
tartly, then turned away.
Harrison, deciding the story had just
moved, sauntered back toward the front doors to see what was about
to take place.
Laura had missed dinner, so she made
herself a sandwich. Sliced hard-boiled eggs, pickles, a dab of
mayonnaise on wheat bread. She had taken exactly two bites when her
cell phone rang. Frowning, she picked it up and saw it was Byron.
She didn’t want to answer, but he would just keep calling. The more
she ignored him, the more he kept after her. “Yes?” she answered
carefully.
“Get back here. What are you doing? All
hell’s broken out.”
“I’m eating dinner.”
“There are reporters here. I’m about to
talk to Pauline Kirby. Another ambulance is coming. Two-car head-on
collision.”
“If the hospital needs me, they’ll
call.”
“Damn it, Laura, check in with your
radar thing. Don’t wait!” He hung up.
Laura’s “radar thing” was her uncanny
ability to have a sense of danger. It was really an internal alarm
that went off when someone was trying to hammer at her brain from
the inside. Sometimes it wasn’t him.
Sometimes it was another person’s panic that somehow breached her
defenses for a millisecond.
She hesitated for a moment, then
climbed to her feet, wrapped up her sandwich in plastic wrap, and
headed to her car. The hospital called as she turned onto Highway
101.
Dr. Byron Adderley was holding court
with Pauline Kirby outside the front doors of Ocean Park Hospital,
and it was love/hate at first sight. Harrison went from mild
interest to out-and-out enjoyment as Adderley’s responses to
Pauline’s questions grew shorter and shorter. He stayed just inside
the hospital reception area and watched through the glass front
doors.
“We’ve learned that the patient who
escaped Halo Valley Security Hospital is Justice Turnbull, from
right around these parts.” Pauline moved her handheld mic in an arc
to include the area as she looked into the camera, even though she
was speaking to Adderley. “Halo Valley Security Hospital,” she repeated. “How do you think that
happened?”
“I’m an orthopedic surgeon at Ocean
Park Hospital,” Adderley said tightly.
“But surely you have some thoughts on
that—as a doctor yourself, who treats the public at large. It must
be disconcerting to see how easily one can be ‘taken in’ by someone
like Mr. Turnbull.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I understand that Justice Turnbull was
supposed to be on his way here to see one of your internists, but
he attacked one of your drivers and stole the Ocean Park van, which
has still not been recovered at this time. That victim, the driver,
underwent surgery earlier this evening, as did one of Halo Valley’s
most prominent doctors, who was Justice Turnbull’s primary
physician at Halo Valley, correct?”
“I can’t speak for Halo Valley.”
Adderley’s lips were practically turned in on themselves. However
he’d thought the interview with Piranha Pauline would go, he wasn’t
prepared for reality.
“Can you speak for Ocean Park?” Her
smile was meant to appear benign, but nothing about the woman was
safe.
“I’ve been with the hospital a little
more than a year. It’s an excellent institution.”
“Meaning?”
“That . . . the care here is first
rate,” he stumbled.
“Dr. Adderley, the truth is, if Justice
Turnbull had made it to your hospital earlier today, it doesn’t
matter whether the hospital’s first rate or not. You would have
ended up with a determined killer inside your walls.” She turned
from him and regarded the camera lens with a serious expression.
“That’s what we’re all wondering here. Are we safe? Can we be safe? It wasn’t that long ago that Justice
Turnbull went on a killing rampage in this area of our fair state,
and the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department chose to keep silent
about it until it was over. And now, forewarned, what can we do to
prevent the same terrifying situation from arising? How can we keep
ourselves safe?” She turned back to Adderley, who was trying to
sidle away. “Will the hospital be taking extra precautions
tonight?”
“I can’t speak for the
administration.”
With a quick movement of her hand under
camera range, she cut the taping. “Didn’t you just tell me you
could speak for Ocean Park?” she demanded, glaring at
Adderley.
“How was I to know you would make this
a circus sideshow?” he spit back. “You call this reporting? It’s
inflammatory and pointless!”
“Why do I get the feeling you wanted to
see your pretty mug on camera until the tough questions started,
Doctor?”
Adderley marched away, and Harrison
strolled outside and past Pauline’s decamping group. She saw him
again and frowned. This time, he let her get a good
look.
“You’re the scourge of the Portland Ledger,” she said with a snap of her fingers.
“Frost.”
“Kirby,” he responded.
“What are you doing here? Sniffing for
another story? You could just make one up again.”
“You’re doing fine on your own in that
regard,” he said with a half smile.
“Yeah. Well.” She shrugged. “The real
story was at Halo Valley. We’re just following up, and that asshole
acted like he was the boss. What I’d really like is someone with a
soul who might look good on camera, and who could offer up some
real information, or at the very least, an opinion.”
Pauline’s cameraman suddenly stepped
forward and leaned toward her ear. “Wanna grab her?” he
suggested.
Harrison turned, and they both noticed
the slim, dark-haired woman in the uniform who had just locked her
vehicle and was heading toward them through the pools of radiance
from the sodium-vapor lights, her steps slowing as she saw the TV
crew. She seemed undecided.
“She’s gonna boge out and go toward the
ER,” the cameraman said.
“Not if I can help it!” Pauline was
already on the hunt again, her mic held in front of her like an
AK-47. “Turn your goddamn camera back on, Darrell!”