reception station ahead and on the right.
Smells like gunpowder in here, can’t be, must be a transient memory. Something triggered by past visits to the ER. Both waiting rooms were empty.
He knew most of the receptionists. They were usually behind the glassed-in reception center, twenty-four seven, but this time, no one was there to greet him.
Funny, and what’s that smell?
And then he knew.
Blood.
Rich, coppery, the Godawful smell of blood and gunpowder.
Smokey touched the Glock at his side and walked to the counter and leaned over. There was a pool of blood on the floor beneath the chair, a dark red corona circling the short blonde hair, the blue scrub suit turning green where the unexpected red touched it. Her body looked as if it had been thrown down, an afterthought, a discard. Her eyes were open, fixed. He tried to remember her name.
Delores.
Several things registered at once. Smokey pulled his gun and looked around. The hallway was empty.
Gotta check her, can’t go on without being sure.
He looked through the waiting rooms, eyes going from left to right. Nobody here. He stepped around the side of the reception area to the door and entered, looked behind the desk and leaned over.
No pulse. Delores had no pulse and wouldn’t be going home at the end of her shift. He straightened up and peered around the door, down the hallway to the opening to the ER examining rooms. The double doors were standing open, looking neglected, as if they were accusing him, mocking him.
Why weren’t you here when we needed you at the hospital?
Smokey felt the hair stand up on his neck, his face tight.
What the hell is happening here?
And he knew with a certainty that this was about Jennifer, about the bodies up in the wilderness area.
What could she possibly know?
He stood in the doorway of the reception office and covered the hallway. He turned on his portable radio with his left hand and switched to the county frequency.
I need my cell phone.
He decided against putting out the call on the air, and reached over to the desk phone and dialed the county dispatch number.
“Dispatch.”
“This is three oh three, Lieutenant Kukup, Warm Springs.” He spoke softly, walked to the door and leaned out again, looking down the hallway, the phone cord trailing.
“Go ahead, sir.”
“I’m at the hospital in Madras, the receptionist has been shot, the hospital is quiet, I’m going to check the hallways, need some help.”
“Did you say shot? ”
“Yes, shot, is deceased, I’m in uniform, gonna check further. I’ll have my radio on, but very low.”
“I’ll call someone, people at home. All of my deputies and city officers are at a fatal accident, ten miles away. Get someone as soon as I can.”
“Do that.”
Smokey hung up, and had a wild thought.
The Indians are here, where the hell are the fucking cowboys when you need them? Gotta do this yourself, Little Brother.
He glanced out the door down toward the ER again and moved out, fast, toward the double doors. At the doors he paused, glanced inside, and then swung around the doorway and up against the wall inside. Doctor Evans lay sprawled on the floor on his side, his arms thrown over his head.
Won’t be needing that Mercedes anymore, Doc.
A foot peeked out from under the center curtain of the examining area, a white shoe.
The nurse was crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood. Looks as dead as the Doc.
He cleared the room, walking quickly, moving from left to right, and walked quietly back through the examining room. As he approached the double doors, he heard a scream coming from somewhere in the hospital, and then a single gunshot.
Jennifer!
Smokey moved quickly then, down the hallway, his Glock up in front of him, leading the way.
He came to the end of the hallway, and looked around the corner to his right. The nurses station was empty. He looked past the station, walked to the next hallway, and looked left around the corner. The nurses station
Smells like gunpowder in here, can’t be, must be a transient memory. Something triggered by past visits to the ER. Both waiting rooms were empty.
He knew most of the receptionists. They were usually behind the glassed-in reception center, twenty-four seven, but this time, no one was there to greet him.
Funny, and what’s that smell?
And then he knew.
Blood.
Rich, coppery, the Godawful smell of blood and gunpowder.
Smokey touched the Glock at his side and walked to the counter and leaned over. There was a pool of blood on the floor beneath the chair, a dark red corona circling the short blonde hair, the blue scrub suit turning green where the unexpected red touched it. Her body looked as if it had been thrown down, an afterthought, a discard. Her eyes were open, fixed. He tried to remember her name.
Delores.
Several things registered at once. Smokey pulled his gun and looked around. The hallway was empty.
Gotta check her, can’t go on without being sure.
He looked through the waiting rooms, eyes going from left to right. Nobody here. He stepped around the side of the reception area to the door and entered, looked behind the desk and leaned over.
No pulse. Delores had no pulse and wouldn’t be going home at the end of her shift. He straightened up and peered around the door, down the hallway to the opening to the ER examining rooms. The double doors were standing open, looking neglected, as if they were accusing him, mocking him.
Why weren’t you here when we needed you at the hospital?
Smokey felt the hair stand up on his neck, his face tight.
What the hell is happening here?
And he knew with a certainty that this was about Jennifer, about the bodies up in the wilderness area.
What could she possibly know?
He stood in the doorway of the reception office and covered the hallway. He turned on his portable radio with his left hand and switched to the county frequency.
I need my cell phone.
He decided against putting out the call on the air, and reached over to the desk phone and dialed the county dispatch number.
“Dispatch.”
“This is three oh three, Lieutenant Kukup, Warm Springs.” He spoke softly, walked to the door and leaned out again, looking down the hallway, the phone cord trailing.
“Go ahead, sir.”
“I’m at the hospital in Madras, the receptionist has been shot, the hospital is quiet, I’m going to check the hallways, need some help.”
“Did you say shot? ”
“Yes, shot, is deceased, I’m in uniform, gonna check further. I’ll have my radio on, but very low.”
“I’ll call someone, people at home. All of my deputies and city officers are at a fatal accident, ten miles away. Get someone as soon as I can.”
“Do that.”
Smokey hung up, and had a wild thought.
The Indians are here, where the hell are the fucking cowboys when you need them? Gotta do this yourself, Little Brother.
He glanced out the door down toward the ER again and moved out, fast, toward the double doors. At the doors he paused, glanced inside, and then swung around the doorway and up against the wall inside. Doctor Evans lay sprawled on the floor on his side, his arms thrown over his head.
Won’t be needing that Mercedes anymore, Doc.
A foot peeked out from under the center curtain of the examining area, a white shoe.
The nurse was crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood. Looks as dead as the Doc.
He cleared the room, walking quickly, moving from left to right, and walked quietly back through the examining room. As he approached the double doors, he heard a scream coming from somewhere in the hospital, and then a single gunshot.
Jennifer!
Smokey moved quickly then, down the hallway, his Glock up in front of him, leading the way.
He came to the end of the hallway, and looked around the corner to his right. The nurses station was empty. He looked past the station, walked to the next hallway, and looked left around the corner. The nurses station
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