was, however.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” I said, trying to marshal my thoughts. What I wanted was a chance to clean up. I was still in uniform and acutely aware of how scruffy I must have looked.
“I wish I could be of more help,” Sprague continued quietly. “Apparently the young officer saw Mr. Fernandez with someone just before the incident. On the sidewalk near the town houses.” He shook his head ruefully. “Had I only looked outside. But, at that hour…” He shrugged.
“I never had much of a chance to talk with Hewitt,” I said. “We’re anxious to do that.”
“How long has he been in surgery now?”
I looked long and hard at my watch, numbed by the passage of time. “God. Would you believe almost six hours?”
Sprague grimaced. “And almost that long down in Posadas?” I nodded. “Well,” the doctor said, “if they finish up right now, it’ll still be a number of hours before there’s any chance of coherent consciousness. I would guess that it’s wishful thinking to expect anything before late this evening. Better tomorrow, even.”
“I’ll wait,” I said. Hell, it was getting to be a habit, waiting. Easier that than anything else. No news was good news, goes the clichÉ. Sprague nodded in sympathy and glanced at the tape recorder that I had with me.
“Why don’t I go find out what’s happening for you?” he asked. “I suspect I’ll have an easier time of it than you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Harlan Sprague was gone for perhaps twenty minutes, and when he returned he smiled some reassurance. “You can relax a little. The officer has been out of surgery for nearly twenty minutes. I’m sure they would have told you, but there’s been no opportunity. Apparently a messy traffic accident. Anyway, the officer is in ICU recovery. The nurse there says it will be at least six hours before they’ll even think of letting you in the room.”
“Six hours?”
Sprague nodded. “And the chance of him being awake and coherent is just about nil, I can tell you that.”
“But he’s doing all right?”
“The nurse said the surgery went ‘fair’. That was her term. There are always so many complications in this sort of thing that that’s about the best you can hope for.” He stepped up closer to me and frowned. “Now listen. I know a man who’s dead on his feet when I see one. And I also know a mild coronary when I see it…or at least an acute warning of one. And that’s what you had in the park down in Posadas. Sheriff Gastner, you’re a basket case. Go get some rest before you end up in ICU yourself. You’re not doing yourself, or anyone else, any favors.” He looked down at the table. “And for God’s sakes, stop smoking those damn cigarettes.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
He wasn’t amused. “I need to go. If you’re still alive tomorrow—at four P. M., I’ll be flying back to Posadas. Unless you’ve already made arrangements, I’d appreciate the company.”
“I’ll have to see what happens. But thanks again.”
He tipped his head and looked at me for a long moment, then slowly shook his head and sighed. “Leave a message for me at the desk at the Hilton. I’ll check there just before I leave for the airport.”
I watched him walk off down the hall, slightly stooped, briefcase swinging rhythmically. I went to the restroom and tried to freshen up. The grizzled face that stared at me from the mirror wouldn’t freshen much. Neither would the rumpled clothes. I tossed the paper towel in the bin. “Who the hell cares what you look like,” I muttered to myself. I turned to leave. The swinging door almost caught me in the head as Chief White walked in.
“Christ, you look awful,” he said.
“I think the next person who tells me that is going to get punched,” I said. I pushed past his bulk and patted him on the arm at the same time. “Hewitt’s out of surgery. The nurse says it will be at least six hours before we can see
“We appreciate your cooperation,” I said, trying to marshal my thoughts. What I wanted was a chance to clean up. I was still in uniform and acutely aware of how scruffy I must have looked.
“I wish I could be of more help,” Sprague continued quietly. “Apparently the young officer saw Mr. Fernandez with someone just before the incident. On the sidewalk near the town houses.” He shook his head ruefully. “Had I only looked outside. But, at that hour…” He shrugged.
“I never had much of a chance to talk with Hewitt,” I said. “We’re anxious to do that.”
“How long has he been in surgery now?”
I looked long and hard at my watch, numbed by the passage of time. “God. Would you believe almost six hours?”
Sprague grimaced. “And almost that long down in Posadas?” I nodded. “Well,” the doctor said, “if they finish up right now, it’ll still be a number of hours before there’s any chance of coherent consciousness. I would guess that it’s wishful thinking to expect anything before late this evening. Better tomorrow, even.”
“I’ll wait,” I said. Hell, it was getting to be a habit, waiting. Easier that than anything else. No news was good news, goes the clichÉ. Sprague nodded in sympathy and glanced at the tape recorder that I had with me.
“Why don’t I go find out what’s happening for you?” he asked. “I suspect I’ll have an easier time of it than you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Harlan Sprague was gone for perhaps twenty minutes, and when he returned he smiled some reassurance. “You can relax a little. The officer has been out of surgery for nearly twenty minutes. I’m sure they would have told you, but there’s been no opportunity. Apparently a messy traffic accident. Anyway, the officer is in ICU recovery. The nurse there says it will be at least six hours before they’ll even think of letting you in the room.”
“Six hours?”
Sprague nodded. “And the chance of him being awake and coherent is just about nil, I can tell you that.”
“But he’s doing all right?”
“The nurse said the surgery went ‘fair’. That was her term. There are always so many complications in this sort of thing that that’s about the best you can hope for.” He stepped up closer to me and frowned. “Now listen. I know a man who’s dead on his feet when I see one. And I also know a mild coronary when I see it…or at least an acute warning of one. And that’s what you had in the park down in Posadas. Sheriff Gastner, you’re a basket case. Go get some rest before you end up in ICU yourself. You’re not doing yourself, or anyone else, any favors.” He looked down at the table. “And for God’s sakes, stop smoking those damn cigarettes.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
He wasn’t amused. “I need to go. If you’re still alive tomorrow—at four P. M., I’ll be flying back to Posadas. Unless you’ve already made arrangements, I’d appreciate the company.”
“I’ll have to see what happens. But thanks again.”
He tipped his head and looked at me for a long moment, then slowly shook his head and sighed. “Leave a message for me at the desk at the Hilton. I’ll check there just before I leave for the airport.”
I watched him walk off down the hall, slightly stooped, briefcase swinging rhythmically. I went to the restroom and tried to freshen up. The grizzled face that stared at me from the mirror wouldn’t freshen much. Neither would the rumpled clothes. I tossed the paper towel in the bin. “Who the hell cares what you look like,” I muttered to myself. I turned to leave. The swinging door almost caught me in the head as Chief White walked in.
“Christ, you look awful,” he said.
“I think the next person who tells me that is going to get punched,” I said. I pushed past his bulk and patted him on the arm at the same time. “Hewitt’s out of surgery. The nurse says it will be at least six hours before we can see
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