19
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
MONDAY NIGHT
Kara Moody had no more tears, not even anger toward the people who’d let that woman steal Alex. It hadn’t helped trying to fan her rage at the hospital, against fate, against God, against anyone she could think to blame. She found herself floating in a kind of blackness, with nothing to hold on to. Every few minutes a nurse came in to sit with her, repeating endlessly how the FBI would bring Alex back, and she pretended to listen, nodding her head occasionally. But deep down, she wondered if she would slowly dissolve into that blackness and let it carry her away. She stared across her room at the empty bassinet, Alex’s bassinet. Dr. Janice had been there, sitting with her, staying close, saying little. Of course everyone knew Alex had been kidnapped, because of the Amber Alert, and Dr. Janice had fielded calls for her.
It was late, but she couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to sleep really, so finally she got out of bed, pulled on the ancient pink robe Dr. Janice had brought her from home, slid her feet into her old tatty rabbit slippers, and slipped out of her room. The hallway was empty, the nurses’ station thirty feet away. She saw a maternity ward guard, not the same one who’d let them take Alex, but another, younger man who looked bored. She waited until he went to the break room and slipped down the stairs to the third floor.
When she stepped onto the floor, she realized she didn’t know what room John Doe was in. Then she saw a policeman down the hall, his seat tilted back against the wall, a magazine in his hand. She watched him awhile, decided he wasn’t going to go relieve himself anytime soon, and walked up to him. He saw her coming from the corner of his eye and became immediately alert, his hand going to the gun at his waist.
“Officer, I’m Kara Moody. I’m the woman the man in there tried to save.” I’m also the new mother whose baby was stolen. She couldn’t say those words aloud, couldn’t get them to even form in her mouth. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know his name.”
Officer Ted Rickman, night shift, said, “No one does. They’re calling him John Doe.” He eyed her up and down. “What are you doing here, Ms. Moody? It’s after midnight.”
“I know he’s unconscious, but I need to see him. However crazy he seemed, he believed he was saving me and my baby from something. May I see him?”
Rickman saw the empty shock in her eyes. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she was feeling. He knew there was no husband in the picture, knew this young woman was alone and here she’d had her baby stolen right out of the hospital. Rickman slowly rose and walked through the door. He nodded, pointed to the unmoving man on the narrow hospital bed. A dim light shone from a single lamp. Kara stared at him, whispered, “He’s not moving.”
“No, he’s not. He’s in a coma.” Officer Rickman thought of his own two small children, remembered the joy at their births, couldn’t imagine what he’d do if something had happened to them. Rickman’s cell rang. “Excuse me.”
Kara walked slowly to the bed and stared down at John Doe, the man she’d believed was crazy, who wanted to take her away to protect her. But from what? From whom? Whoever it was, he’d cared enough about her and her baby to risk his life for them. She saw Officer Rickman still on his cell, standing in the doorway, watching her as he listened. Did he think she’d lost it? She didn’t care. She pulled up a chair, sat down beside John Doe and studied his young face. There was still a bandage around his head, and his beard scruff had grown. Odd, but he looked somehow familiar to her now, but how could that be? He was breathing normally, evenly, looking peacefully asleep. When he’d forced his way into her house and tied her to the chair, she’d seen only a terrifying monster, not this motionless, slight young man who couldn’t be more than twenty-five.
Kara lightly touched her fingers to his cheek. His skin was warm through the stubble. She couldn’t remember the color of his eyes. Blue, maybe?
She stroked his hand and said quietly, “I’ve heard that people in a coma can hear people talking to them. Do you hear me? Do you know who I am? I wish I could remember exactly what you said, but so much of it didn’t make sense to me, and I was so scared.”
She sat silently, stroking his hand, studying his face, a handsome face, really. She let it come pouring out of her, how she’d been in labor even at the house and about her beautiful boy she’d named Alex, after her father. She told him about her father, what he’d been like and how much she missed him. Kara felt tears running down her cheeks, hadn’t even realized it until she tasted salt. She swiped the tears away with her fist. “I’m sorry about crying, but Alex is gone. Someone stole him. He’s just gone. Was it the people you were trying to protect me from? You’ve got to wake up and help me. I don’t know what to do. I wish I knew your name at least. Won’t you wake up and tell me?”
There was no movement, no sound except his slow, even breathing. She swiped her eyes again and began to lightly rub her fingers over his cheek. She talked about music, her art, how she’d painted a field of wild flowers during a rainstorm, about what she was planning when she and Alex were together again. She talked until finally, she laid her head against his shoulder and fell asleep.
She was standing in the middle of the field she’d painted, the rain cascading down over her, the only sound that of the raindrops splattering against her and hitting the earth. Then there was a sound rain wouldn’t make, but there it was—something niggled at her consciousness, something that wasn’t quite right. She blinked away sleep and slowly raised her head toward the door. It was closed. Nice of Officer Rickman to give her so much privacy. She heard footsteps and then the door slowly opened. He was coming to check on them. She relaxed, laid her face back down on John Doe’s shoulder.
Officer Rickman didn’t say anything, so she slitted her eyes open and saw a man she didn’t recognize, slim and military fit, easing his way into the room. He was wearing surgical scrubs and a mask over his face. At the sound of his footsteps, Kara realized he was wearing loafers, not the soft-soled shoes the nurses wore. He held a syringe in his hand.
This man wasn’t here to help her; he was the enemy.
He was looking at her, frowning, and she quickly closed her eyes, heart pounding, readying herself. She heard him walking toward the bed, slitted her eyes again, and saw him raise his hand to inject something into the IV tubing tethered to John Doe’s wrist.
Kara jumped straight up, grabbed the pitcher off the bedside table and hurled it across the bed at him, yelling at the top of her lungs. An arc of water splashed on the man, and the pitcher hit him square in the chest. He leaped back, cursing, but came at her. She reared back and smashed her fist into his chest, sending him reeling off-balance, and the syringe went flying. She grabbed a chair and kept yelling, screaming, until finally he cursed and ran from the room.
When Savich and Sherlock burst into John Doe’s room fifteen minutes later, Kara was still holding him pressed against her. Two nurses, an orderly, and two security guards were trying to reassure her the danger was over, that she could let him go, but she was refusing, repeating over and over he wasn’t safe, until she saw Sherlock.
Sherlock made her way through the crowd, held out her hand to Kara, and gently pulled her away. She held her close, whispered, “It’s all right now, it’s over.” She eased her back. “Tell me what happened, Kara.”
Kara drew a steadying breath. “A man came into the room dressed like a doctor or a nurse. Sherlock, he was holding a syringe in his hand and he was going to inject something in his IV line. I knew he was going to kill him. Officer Rickman never came. Where was he?”
An excellent question. Sherlock cupped Kara’s shocked white face between her hands, kept her voice calm, matter-of-fact. “But you stopped him, Kara. You saved him, all by yourself. You are very brave. When John Doe wakes up, I’ll tell him all about how you saved his life.”
Sherlock saw Dillon on the phone and looked around for the Metro night guard, Rickman. She asked the night nursing supervisor checking John Doe’s vitals, “Have you seen the police officer assigned to guard John Doe?”
Nurse Ellerby cocked her head. “I don’t understand. You didn’t know? He got a phone call an hour ago, said he was told to go home, that he was off duty because John Doe was an FBI case now. He stopped by the desk to tell us Ms. Moody was with John Doe.”
Savich came over to Sherlock and Nurse Ellerby. He knew who had called off the guard. He felt such rage at Mayer it was a good thing for Mayer that he wasn’t there. He’d bet Mayer had been watching baseball, drinking a beer, when he’d decided this was how he’d get back at Savich, not a thought in his head about John Doe’s safety.
Of course Mayer hadn’t called Savich, but he had to know he could be in real trouble if he didn’t make any effort to contact him. Savich scrolled quickly through his emails. Sure enough, there was a late email to him from the CAU secretary, Shirley, informing him Detective Mayer from Metro had awakened her, told her she needed to let Savich know that since John Doe was an FBI case now, he was pulling the Metro officer off guard duty.
Savich was still so angry, his hand was shaking as he punched in Jimmy Maitland’s number. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Maitland answered on the third ring, sounding like a bear pulled out of hibernation. “What’s the matter?”
Savich told him what Mayer had pulled, and what had happened, which brought Maitland straight out of bed. Maitland’s anger was legendary, and Savich found it calmed him knowing his boss would see Mayer got what he deserved. Should he suggest that a firing squad sounded good? If not a firing squad, then a solid street fight, nothing off-limits. Maitland asked for more details, then said, “I’ll have two agents guarding John Doe around the clock, beginning now.”
He looked up to see Kara and Sherlock standing over John Doe, Kara holding his limp hand. He heard her say, “He’s so very quiet.” She looked over at Savich. “When that man came in I saw he wasn’t wearing rubber-soled shoes and knew something was very wrong. And that the police officer was gone.”
Sherlock hugged Kara to her side. “Believe me, that won’t happen again.”
Sherlock saw Dillon slowly nod. She saw the pulse pounding in his throat, knew something bad had happened that had made him really angry. It had to do with the missing guard.