A half hour later, Golding came into the room, closing the door behind him, and introduced himself to Betty Baker.
“Mrs. Baker, Vanessa is alive and breathing on her own, which is very good news, but she is not yet conscious. This may be attributed to when she struck her head on the bathtub, or there could be a drug involved.”
“My daughter didn’t take drugs,” Betty said.
Golding nodded. “Her X-rays showed no skull fracture, and that’s good. What we can do now is to wait for her toxicology screen to come back and make her as comfortable as possible. If you like, you may use this office to wait, but I can’t promise you that she will revive quickly, perhaps not even today. It might be best if you returned to your home, and I will contact you personally when I have something to report.”
“That might be best, Betty,” Stone said. “You’ll be more comfortable. Or, if you prefer, you may come to my house and wait there. I’m in Turtle Bay.”
Betty stood up. “I’ll go home,” she said. Stone followed her to the emergency entrance, where her car and his were waiting. “We’ll speak later,” she said, and got into her car and was driven away.
Stone went home and into his office.
Joan came in. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“What, you didn’t listen to my calls?”
“You know very well that I don’t do that, unless . . . unless there’s a very good reason to.”
“I had a woman here last night who, while getting dressed in the guest bathroom, fell, struck her head on the tub, and appeared to be dead. The EMTs came, and the ME pronounced her, and she was taken to the morgue. A little later she began to move around, scaring a morgue assistant half to death, and now she’s at Bellevue, breathing but still not awake. I await further news.”
“Holy shit,” Joan muttered. “Oh, sorry about that.” She went back to her office.
* * *
—
Ten minutes later she buzzed him. “Dino on one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Yeah?”
“Jesus, can’t you do anything right? You sent a living woman to the morgue?”
“Listen, pal, you were there, and you didn’t throw yourself across her body to stop it. She was pronounced, for God’s sake.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
“All of who?”
“People who don’t know how to take a pulse. I’ve had her mother on the phone, demanding to have you arrested.”
“On what charge?”
“She was a little incoherent about that.”
“I’m not surprised. I didn’t send her to the morgue. Officials of the City of New York did that, and in the presence of the police commissioner! If she sues, I’m in the clear. You, not so much.” Stone hung up, steaming.
38
Late in the afternoon, Stone called Dr. Golding at Bellevue.
“Yes, Mr. Barrington?”
“Any change?”
“Nothing startling. She’s had a little eyelid flutter, and when that happened, a small increase in her pulse.”
“It sounds like she could be trying to wake up,” Stone said.
“You could interpret it that way, or a doctor—we have a lot of them around here—could justifiably say it was just low-level brain activity. That’s my bet.”
“What kind of odds do you give her?”
“One chance in fifty, and that’s optimistic.”
“What did her EEG say?”
“Low-level brain activity.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Her mother called. She’s planning a welcome-home party.”
“Well, she’s a mother, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. If I were in Vanessa’s shape, my mother would be force-feeding me chicken soup.”
“Thank you, Doctor; I hope for better news.”
“Me, too. Though I so look forward to being sued.”
“What for? She had already been through the worst before you got her. I’d take your case in a heartbeat—so to speak.”
“Thanks, I feel so much better now. Bye.” He hung up.
Joan buzzed him. “Dino on one.”
“What?” Stone said.
“You sound terrible; did she die again?”
“Not yet, but Bellevue isn’t optimistic.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”
“Why? How is that different from all the other times you’ve yelled at me?”
“I’ll buy dinner—P.J. Clarke’s, at seven. That’ll cheer you up.”
* * *
—
Stone was walking out of the house when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Bill Golding, at Bellevue; there’s news.”
“What news?”
“I’ve got to get out of here before the media starts breaking my office door down. Can I buy you a drink?”
“I’m on my way to P.J. Clarke’s now; meet me there.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ve got to report this to the police.”
“You can take care of that at Clarke’s. I’m having dinner with the cop in charge.”
“See you in fifteen,” Golding said, then hung up.
Dino was already at the bar, as the bartender set down two drinks. Stone grabbed one and sniffed it. “This one’s yours,” he said, handing it to Dino and grabbing the other.
They both took a heavy swig.
Stone looked over his shoulder to see Golding entering the place. They shook hands, and Stone introduced him to Dino. The headwaiter was beckoning to them.
“What are you having?” Stone asked.
“A double Talisker, rocks.” The bartender overheard that and grabbed the bottle. “Send it to the table,” Stone said, then led Golding and Dino to the back room. “Another chair,” he said to the headwaiter.
Stone waited until everybody was seated and Golding’s drink had been delivered and he had had a sip. “What’s going on, Bill?”
“Is this guy your cop?”