“Give him a minute,” she said.
It wasn’t long before he wore himself out. His arms fell to his side. His chest heaved, a high-pitched wheeze sounding with each breath. He fumbled for his cannula. Trent looked at Anita and she nodded. He bent and put the cannula back onto Knox’s face. He lifted the man, and Inez stepped forward to help. They managed to get Knox, his oxygen tank, and all the stuff from the benefit they’d dropped in the parking lot inside in a few minutes.
The smell of vomit and booze clung to Knox, hanging like a cloud in the conference room, in spite of both Anita and Inez’s attempts to clean him up. He mumbled apologies, threw up in the trash can, and finally settled into some semblance of alertness after Anita gave him two cups of coffee. Jocelyn set one of the blow-ups of Sydney—her graduation photo—in the chair across the table from him. He blinked several times, the photo seeming to sober him more than the caffeine.
He licked his lips, his eyes finding Jocelyn’s. “How did it go?”
She stood across the table from him, one hand on her hip. “How did you get here?”
“The bus.”
“I told you to call me if you needed a ride. You butt-dialed me earlier. Was that you trying to get in touch with me for a ride?”
He looked puzzled. “Butt-dialed you?”
“Accidentally dialed me without meaning to, like when your phone is in your back pocket, and you sit down, and buttons get pressed. Pocket-dialing, butt-dialing. It’s an expression.”
Knox laughed. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t calling. I’m sure you would have loved me throwing up in your car again.”
Jocelyn smiled tightly. “Yeah, that would have been a blast.”
Knox repeated. “How did it go?”
“I’d say pretty damn good,” Inez interjected, sailing into the room, her hands full of creamers, sugar packets, and wooden stirrers. Behind her were Anita and Trent, both carrying ceramic mugs filled with steaming coffee. They took a moment to settle into seats and fix their coffees. Jocelyn glanced at the clock on the wall. Coffee after midnight. She felt like she was back on the job. She had even missed the window of time to call Olivia at Martina’s house and wish her a goodnight. She felt part guilt and part exhilaration.
She recapped the night for Knox, up to the part where Cash flipped out and dragged his wife outside.
“So the wife didn’t see the photo?” Knox asked. His trembling fingers fidgeted with the dials on his oxygen tank.
“Not on the way out,” Anita put in. “He kept her back to it and got out of there like his ass was on fire.”
“But she went back in,” Jocelyn said.
“Oh, she definitely saw it on the way back in,” Inez said.
Trent sipped from his cup and nodded. “Spent quite a few minutes studying it.”
“Yeah, and when she came back outside, she was different,” Jocelyn said. “Angry, upset. They high-tailed it out of there.”
Knox nodded. “How about Cash?”
Jocelyn recapped the conversation at his car.
Trent stroked the goatee on his chin. “Well, you definitely got his panties in a bunch.”
“You think he was going to confess?” Anita asked Jocelyn.
She stifled a yawn. “I think he was definitely about to tell me about the affair. The murder? I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I’d love another crack at him though.”
Nods all around. “So how do we do that?” Anita asked.
Jocelyn’s cell phone rang. “I don’t know yet,” she said as she pulled the phone from her pocket and answered it.
“Rush,” Kevin said. “I’m at Einstein. I think you might want to get down here. Your boy, Cash Rigo, just brought his wife into the ER.”
Chapter 19
November 12, 2014
Jocelyn hadn’t been to Einstein Medical Center in over a year—not since she was attacked in her home. Although Einstein wasn’t the closest hospital to her home, it was the closest with a trauma team. She had hoped to never set foot in the place again.
But here she was.
She stood just inside the ER, the sliding glass doors behind her whooshing open and closed as people flowed in and out—more in than out. As always, it was a full house, the waiting area standing room only. Children cried. Grown men moaned in pain. There were a few drunks with police escorts—likely DUI arrests waiting to get blood tests. As usual, the security guards ignored her.
Jocelyn’s body felt as though it was made of stone. She couldn’t move. She told herself to reach into her pocket and get her phone. At least call Kevin and let him know she was there but that she was losing her mind. But her arms wouldn’t move either.
A nurse in navy blue scrubs, who had bustled past her about three times already, stopped in front of her and peered into her face. “Hey, lady, you okay?”
Jocelyn’s eyes shifted to the woman. She appeared to be in her fifties, her face lined and leathery, her thin brown hair curled and teased out into a kind of helmet. She wore a gold chain around her neck with a cross on it. “Hon,” the nurse said, more loudly this time as if Jocelyn was hard of hearing. “You okay?”
Jocelyn opened her mouth to speak, wishing her legs would move when she felt a warm hand curl around her tricep, squeezing. “I’ve got this one,” Nurse Kim Bottinger said, dismissing the other woman.
Jocelyn looked over. Kim smiled reassuringly. “Tough being back,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question. Kim’s dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail. Wisps had escaped and floated around her head. Backlit by the light from the waiting area, she looked like an angel. Jocelyn felt her own body relax—almost too much. Her legs felt like Jell-O. Kim linked her arm with Jocelyn’s, holding her up. “Breathe,” Kim reminded her. “It’s not you this time.”
Jocelyn and Kevin had met Kim in this very ER a year ago. Kevin had been happily dating the woman ever since. Jocelyn had to admit, of all the women Kevin had ever dated or married, she liked Kim the best. Kim patted her arm. “Come on, then. I’ll take you to Kevin.”
“Thanks,” Jocelyn said weakly.
As they weaved through the crowded ER, Jocelyn tried to regain her composure. The bad things were over, she reminded herself. She and everyone she loved were okay.
Kevin leaned against a wall opposite several curtained areas, one foot folded behind him, flat against the wall. He held his phone in one hand, using his other index finger to scroll down the screen. He looked up as they approached, a huge smile breaking across his face. He didn’t have a cane, Jocelyn noted.
“Look who I found,” Kim said.
“Rush,” he said, dropping his phone into his jacket pocket. “That was quick.”
He exchanged a meaningful look with Kim, who squeezed Jocelyn’s arm before going back to work.
The sight of Kevin seemed to ground her. She began to feel solid again, in control. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice strong and firm.
“I wouldn’t normally get a call on this,” he said, lowering his voice. “But Kim called. Said a guy brought his pregnant wife in, saying she fell. When Kim asked her the domestic questions, she didn’t answer.”
The domestic violence questions. Jocelyn knew them. Hospital staff were required to ask you: Do you feel safe in your home? Is anyone abusing you? If your significant other refused to leave the room, the nurse would discreetly point to it while asking you to sign the consent for treatment forms and indicate for you to circle yes or no.