Dr. Bruno threw a loud, exasperated sigh.
“Okay, you know the drill, Conklin. Stand back. Turn off your phone. Don’t get in anyone’s way.”
Conklin said, “Understood.”
He stood about eight feet back from the table as the nurses cut off Mackie’s blue cop uniform while she was still strapped to the board, checked her airway, her breathing, examined her head.
Conklin saw the great purple bruises on her torso, the angry abrasions on her arms and chest, a seat-belt bruise from shoulder to waist.
Dr. Bruno flashed a light into one of Mackie’s eyes and said, “Concussion,” but the rest of her words were lost as Morales batted the doctor’s hand away and opened her eyes on her own.
“What happened?” she said.
“You were in a car accident,” Bruno said. “Do you remember it?”
Conklin saw the memory light up Mackie’s eyes. And then the impact of the thought came to her in a rush. She heaved upward and tried to sit up, totally impossible to do, strapped as she was to the board.
“Where’s my baby?” she screamed.
Conklin went to her and said, “Mackie, Ben’s okay. I saw him. He’s going to be fine.”
Did she recognize him?
“Mackie, it’s Richie. It’s me.”
“Oh, fuck,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter 105
CONKLIN TRIED TO keep the shock off his face. Mackie looked feral. She’d been severely traumatized. Maybe she actually didn’t know him.
He said it again. “Mackie, it’s me. Richie. Conklin.”
“Where’s Randy?”
Where’s Randy? The sexual predator? The homicidal maniac? That Randy?
Morales was highly agitated, trying to release herself from her restraints even as the nurses tried to soothe her, listen to her heart, hook her up to air and fluids.
“Oh, God,” she screamed out. “Everything hurts. Give me something for the pain.”
Dr. Bruno was shouting, “I need CTs, stat,” when Conklin interrupted, said, “Emily, before you take her anywhere, give her anything, I need two minutes.”
“What are you asking me, Conklin? We’re not wasting the golden hour.”
“I’m asking for two minutes. This woman filled up your ER tonight. We’ve got bodies in the morgue. I need to talk to her while I can.”
Dr. Bruno said, “I’m walking out of the room to call radiology. When I come back, you’re done.”
Conklin returned to Morales, who was crying, her voice guttural, unrecognizable. “Oh, my God, oh, my God. Put me out, please, give me something.”
“Mackie,” Conklin said. “Talk to me.”
“You’re kidding,” she shouted. “I hurt like a son of a bitch. Tell them to put me out.”
“Why were you driving that car?”
“Why? Because I was breaking Randy out. Don’t you get that, you moron? We were running off with Ben. It was finally our time.”