A white Ford Interceptor nosed around the corner and mounted the curb with two wheels and stopped toe to toe with the Ambulance. The paramedics went quiet, waiting to hand over the scene.
An older man in a suit approached with a younger female partner. “Good morning. Who’s the treating paramedic today?”
“I am,” she said. “Virginia Beaumont’s my name.”
Without preamble, the detective asked, “What have you got?”
“Fifty-five-year-old, Mr. Arthur Perry. Looks pretty clear he had a massive coronary while eating breakfast… or dinner, perhaps? But the medical examiner will work that one out for you. His wallet and phone are here. There’s a heap of cash still in his wallet and no sign of a struggle or physical trauma. The man was found clutching his chest.”
The detective looked at her. Undistracted by her good-looks, he said, “That’s something, at least. Should be a pretty much open and shut case. Just the way we like them first thing in the day.”
“You want anything else from us?” she asked.
“Nah. You’ve probably got more important things to do to help the living than wait around here while we work out what to do with the dead. We’ve got your number if we need you.”
“All right. Have a good shift.”
“Yeah, you too.”
The detective placed his cold hands in his pockets and gave the body a cursory glance. It was practiced and professional, without any real interest, as though after thirty years dealing with homicides, it was beneath him to look after someone who’d abused his body until he dropped dead of a heart attack.
A moment later, the detective swore.
Virginia turned around out of curiosity. “What is it?”
“That pin above his right breast pocket.”
She glanced at it. “Yeah, I noticed that too. Any idea what it means? It looks like an Alumni pin or something to an Ivy League University to me, but I wouldn’t have a clue which one. I couldn’t afford any of them, so I wouldn’t know.”
The detective sighed. “That’s a senatorial pin. Which means we no longer have a dead guy here — we have a dead senator. And senators don’t get to die without a serious investigation, which means my day has just been thoroughly fucked.”
She smiled, politely. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Not your fault. But I’m going to need to ask you some more questions, now.”
“Sure. I understand.”
Over the course of the next two hours, Virginia went through everything she’d done in the twenty-five minutes since arriving on the scene with the Senator. It went right down to the nitty-gritty of what she touched, where she touched it, why she determined the guy met their well-defined resuscitation protocol for reasons to withhold resuscitation attempts. Who she’d advised of that decision, and who she’d spoken to since.
When she’d finally finished, the detective asked, “Anything else?”
“Yeah, the wife called.”
“Oh, yeah?” He sighed. “That’s important. What’s her name?”
“Oh, Christ! I didn’t get it. I’m sorry.”
“What about her number. Maybe we can ring her back.”
“The Senator’s cell showed her number as private.”
“Really?” The detective raised an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”
Virginia felt her heart race. It wasn’t like her to neglect obvious things. A career as a paramedic had taught her to be specific — refer only to the facts — it was a unique combination of fatigue and an ongoing problem with her father’s ill health that had caused her to start making mistakes. She sighed, and pressed on. “Why’s that interesting?”
The detective shrugged. “Well, if she’s his wife, you’d think her number would be in his cell phone, wouldn’t you?’
“Good point.”
“Did she say she was his wife?”
“No. It was sort of implied. At the time I didn’t give it another thought. I assumed the guy had obviously had a medical event, and there wouldn’t be much to this case.”
The detective restrained a slight grimace, like he could already imagine where this sort of case was going to lead him. “All right. Not your fault. You told her he was dead?”
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
Virginia tensed and then swallowed hard as she recalled the woman’s words that all of a sudden now seemed so important. She checked the handwritten note she’d made for her own paperwork, just to make certain she got it right.
She then met the detective’s accusatory eyes, and said, “Thank God it’s finally over.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was well after dark when they cleared the hospital for the last time that day. The twelve-hour shift had turned into fourteen, when right before finish time, a severe asthma case dropped in which took them every bit of energy they could muster — and nearly two hours to complete. They saved the girl, but now Virginia and Anton were bone-tired weary.
Virginia was crumpled in the passenger seat, enjoying the chill from the glass with her head resting against the window as the skyline blurred past. Neither one of them talked for several minutes, and they were being overtaken by about half the traffic which pulsed around them with far more urgency than either could summon, both hovering in the familiar state of near total exhaustion. Images from the day drifted through Virginia’s mind as she tucked her knees up against the dash and tried to melt into the unforgiving vinyl seat. Anton stared at the road ahead, but noticing his partner looking over he gave a convincing half smile.
“How’s it going with your Dad?” Anton asked.
Her lips curled into a thin-lipped smile that took effort. “It’s definitely spread into his spinal cord, so yeah not great.”
“Man, that sucks. Did you hear back from the Swiss drug trial people?”
“Yeah, they said they have a clinic in Palm Springs, California. Better still, he’s a great candidate and they’ve had 100 % success rates so far in the trial with patients with the same kind of cancer.”
“That’s great news. How do you get him on the trial?”
"Four hundred grand.”
“Wow. You have to pay? I thought they were still in the trial stage, shouldn’t they pay him to be their Guinea pig?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Apparently, the issue is in the costing. They say the procedure’s expensive and the trial simply wouldn’t have the funding to go ahead without participant’s fee.”
“Of four hundred grand.”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Any ideas?” Anton asked, his tone intimating he knew the answer full well, but eager to allow Virginia the opportunity to vent her frustration. He was a good partner and knew what was required of him.
“Anton, I could sell my house, my car and cash in all of my 401 retirement plan, and I still wouldn’t have that sort of money.”
“Did you tell them you’re a veteran and a NYFD paramedic?”
“I wrote to them.”
“And?”
“They said at this time they’re fiscally unable to fund unsupported positions in the trial.”
“So basically, the rich get the cure for cancer and the rest of us get to die?” Anton snarled.
“That seems to be the gist of it.”
“Yeah well that sucks.”
“Yeah, it sure does.”
Anton drove into the fire house and they cleaned up the ambulance, restocking it and preparing it for the next day. Virginia was just locking up the van when Anton pulled across the plant room in his three-year-old Mustang GT and reached out for the roller door button on the wall.
“Did you hang your keys up, Anton?”
“Yep, already done. No reason to stay a minute longer than you have to at this place.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be out the door right behind you.” Virginia smiled. She had once felt the same way. But now, with her father the way he was, she preferred being at work than seeing him the way he’d become.