you—”
“Take it off and sit up on the bed or I’m getting in my car and going home.”
“Maybe that’s best.”
She asked, “Are you sure there isn’t something broken?” His ribs and chest carried crimson blotches and eerie blue bruises. She gently touched one or two and Boldt winced with the contact.
“Not exactly positive,” he said. The ear had been patched up with a Band-Aid used as a butterfly.
“Turn around,” she instructed.
“I just love it when you boss me around,” he teased.
“Now!”
He obeyed. “I’m amazed you can breathe. And this one, this one’s right on the kidney. Have you peed yet?”
“What?!”
“Are you peeing blood, Lou?”
“No.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“At which point I’ll have to report a mugging. At which point I’ll have twenty reporters camped on my front lawn and ringing my phone off the hook. No, thanks.”
“You really need to see a doctor,” she repeated.
“No.”
“What about Dixie?”
“His patients are all dead,” Boldt replied. Dr. Ronald Dixon, chief medical examiner for King County, was one of Boldt’s closest friends.
“Lie back,” she advised. “I’m going to pour you a hot bath, feed you some aspirin, make some tea and call Dixie. When you’re out of the bath, I’m driving you down to the ME’s and he’s going to look you over. They have X-ray there, access to the hospital. Fair enough?”
“It’s not fair at all.”
“Or I walk out now and leave you to patch yourself up.”
“Sounds fair to me.” He lay back, every bone, every muscle complaining. He wasn’t sure he could sit up again without some help. “That’s extortion, you know?”
“Do you want bubbles?” she asked, heading into the bathroom.
“Ha, ha!” he replied.
“Is that a yes or no?”
“Yes, please,” he confessed. “The eucalyptus.”
“That’s just so the bubbles hide you when I deliver the tea. Mr. Modest.”
“Damn right. That is, unless you’re going to get in the bath with me and scrub my wounds?”
Mocking him, she said, “In your dreams!” She started the water running. He could only hear it out his left ear.
Boldt was thinking: Sometimes you are, yes.
The Medical Examiner’s office, in the basement of the Harborview Medical Center, was eerily quiet when empty of Doc Dixon’s staff.
Dixie pronounced Boldt “reasonably intact and still alive.” He added editorially, “If you had come in as a cadaver, I’d have guessed you had jumped from a moving train, or fallen from a very high ladder.”
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” Boldt said softly, finding it too painful to speak. The pain grew inside him, like roots of a tree trying to find water.
“I could write you a couple of prescriptions. Pain. Sleep.”
“No, thanks.”
Daphne said, “Maybe just write them anyway.”
It hurt too much to object. “Listen to the little lady,” Dixie said.
“How’s Liz anyway?” Dixie asked, his back to them as he wrote out the prescriptions. Was there innuendo in that question? Boldt wondered.
“Healing rapidly. She doesn’t like to discuss it.”
“When do you tell her about this?”
“Not yet,” Boldt answered.
Daphne mocked, “He doesn’t want to go through the paperwork.”
“Uh-huh,” Dixie said.
“Who needs another case to investigate?” Boldt reasoned.
“That was a baseball bat,” Daphne said, as Dixon once again studied the ear.
Boldt mumbled, “K-9.”
“What’s that?” Dixon asked, still probing the damaged ear.
“Since when does a mugger call a dog a K-9?”
“Uh-oh,” Daphne said. “I smell a conspiracy theory coming.”
Boldt asked, “Okay, so it’s a mugging. So why not take off once they had my stuff? Why stay to punish me with the baseball bat?”
“I thought that since the Flu, assaults like this are up,” Dixie said.
“Dozens,” Daphne answered.
“True enough,” Boldt agreed.
“Blood in the urine?”
“No.” Boldt felt
“Take it off and sit up on the bed or I’m getting in my car and going home.”
“Maybe that’s best.”
She asked, “Are you sure there isn’t something broken?” His ribs and chest carried crimson blotches and eerie blue bruises. She gently touched one or two and Boldt winced with the contact.
“Not exactly positive,” he said. The ear had been patched up with a Band-Aid used as a butterfly.
“Turn around,” she instructed.
“I just love it when you boss me around,” he teased.
“Now!”
He obeyed. “I’m amazed you can breathe. And this one, this one’s right on the kidney. Have you peed yet?”
“What?!”
“Are you peeing blood, Lou?”
“No.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“At which point I’ll have to report a mugging. At which point I’ll have twenty reporters camped on my front lawn and ringing my phone off the hook. No, thanks.”
“You really need to see a doctor,” she repeated.
“No.”
“What about Dixie?”
“His patients are all dead,” Boldt replied. Dr. Ronald Dixon, chief medical examiner for King County, was one of Boldt’s closest friends.
“Lie back,” she advised. “I’m going to pour you a hot bath, feed you some aspirin, make some tea and call Dixie. When you’re out of the bath, I’m driving you down to the ME’s and he’s going to look you over. They have X-ray there, access to the hospital. Fair enough?”
“It’s not fair at all.”
“Or I walk out now and leave you to patch yourself up.”
“Sounds fair to me.” He lay back, every bone, every muscle complaining. He wasn’t sure he could sit up again without some help. “That’s extortion, you know?”
“Do you want bubbles?” she asked, heading into the bathroom.
“Ha, ha!” he replied.
“Is that a yes or no?”
“Yes, please,” he confessed. “The eucalyptus.”
“That’s just so the bubbles hide you when I deliver the tea. Mr. Modest.”
“Damn right. That is, unless you’re going to get in the bath with me and scrub my wounds?”
Mocking him, she said, “In your dreams!” She started the water running. He could only hear it out his left ear.
Boldt was thinking: Sometimes you are, yes.
The Medical Examiner’s office, in the basement of the Harborview Medical Center, was eerily quiet when empty of Doc Dixon’s staff.
Dixie pronounced Boldt “reasonably intact and still alive.” He added editorially, “If you had come in as a cadaver, I’d have guessed you had jumped from a moving train, or fallen from a very high ladder.”
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” Boldt said softly, finding it too painful to speak. The pain grew inside him, like roots of a tree trying to find water.
“I could write you a couple of prescriptions. Pain. Sleep.”
“No, thanks.”
Daphne said, “Maybe just write them anyway.”
It hurt too much to object. “Listen to the little lady,” Dixie said.
“How’s Liz anyway?” Dixie asked, his back to them as he wrote out the prescriptions. Was there innuendo in that question? Boldt wondered.
“Healing rapidly. She doesn’t like to discuss it.”
“When do you tell her about this?”
“Not yet,” Boldt answered.
Daphne mocked, “He doesn’t want to go through the paperwork.”
“Uh-huh,” Dixie said.
“Who needs another case to investigate?” Boldt reasoned.
“That was a baseball bat,” Daphne said, as Dixon once again studied the ear.
Boldt mumbled, “K-9.”
“What’s that?” Dixon asked, still probing the damaged ear.
“Since when does a mugger call a dog a K-9?”
“Uh-oh,” Daphne said. “I smell a conspiracy theory coming.”
Boldt asked, “Okay, so it’s a mugging. So why not take off once they had my stuff? Why stay to punish me with the baseball bat?”
“I thought that since the Flu, assaults like this are up,” Dixie said.
“Dozens,” Daphne answered.
“True enough,” Boldt agreed.
“Blood in the urine?”
“No.” Boldt felt
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