waited until a harried female nurse turned to him. Her name tag read BARBARA FARNHAM.
“May I help you?”
Pike and his dress shirt held out the flowers.
“Ana Markovic.”
The nurse’s expression softened when she saw the daisies.
“I’m sorry. Are you a relative?”
“I know the family.”
“We limit our visitors in ICU, only one person at a time, and then only for a few minutes. Her sister’s here now, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
Pike nodded.
“Room twelve, but you can’t leave the flowers. If a patient has an allergic reaction, it could weaken their immune system.”
Pike had expected this, and handed over the flowers. The nurse admired them as she placed them on the counter.
“Pretty. I like daisies. You can pick them up when you leave or we can send them to another part of the hospital. We usually send them to Maternity.”
“Before I see her, I’d like to speak with her primary nurse. Is that possible?”
“Well, that’s all of us, really. We work as a team.”
“The police told me she wasn’t able to make a statement when they found her. I was wondering if she came around after surgery.”
“No, I’m sorry, she hasn’t.”
“I don’t mean a conversation. Maybe she mumbled a name. Said something that might help the police.”
The nurse looked sympathetic.
“You’ll understand when you see her. She’s unconscious and completely uncommunicative.”
“Would you ask the other nurses?”
“I’ll ask, but I’m sure she hasn’t spoken.”
A light mounted outside a nearby door came on, drawing the nurse’s attention.
“Room twelve. Only for a few minutes, all right?”
The nurse hurried away, so Pike went down the hall to room twelve. Like the other rooms, the door was open and the drape pulled back so the nurses could see the patient. Pike expected to find the sister, but room twelve was empty except for the bandaged figure in the bed.
Pike hesitated at the door, wondering how far he should take this, then went to the bed. The left side of Ana’s face and head were hidden beneath heavy bandages, but the right half of her face was visible. She seemed to be trying to open her eye. Her eyelid would lift, the eye beneath would drift and roll, then the eyelid would close.
Pike knew she had not spoken as soon as he saw her, and thought it unlikely she would regain consciousness. The shape of the bandage on her head suggested a bullet had entered beneath her left eye, angling away from the midline. The way the visible part of her face was swollen and discolored suggested bone fragments from the maxilla had exploded into her sinuses, mouth, and eye like shrapnel. The pain would have been excruciating. Pike lifted the sheet enough to see the incisions taped across her chest and abdomen, which were still orange from the Betadine solution used to clean the area. He lowered the sheet, and tucked it beneath her. The upper chest wound had done the most damage. The bullet had likely deflected off her ribs or clavicle, and punched down through the diaphragm into her abdomen. Between the time she was shot and the time she was wheeled into surgery, her left lung had collapsed, the chest cavity had filled with blood, and the blood had drained through the diaphragm into her abdomen. As she lost blood, her blood pressure dropped until it was so low her organs began shutting down, like a car engine without enough oil. A car engine without oil will run, but the engine will damage itself. Let it run long enough, you can replenish the oil all you want, but the damage will have been done, and the engine will die. Ana Markovic had bled out internally, and now she was dying.
Pike had seen men die this way before, and knew if this young woman was ever going to offer what she had seen, she would have to offer it soon.
Pike said, “Ana?”
Her visible eye flagged, rolled, drooped.
Pike touched her cheek.
“Ana, we need your help.”
The eye rolled, then drooped again, an autonomic move without conscious thought.
Pike took her hand. He stroked it, then pinched the soft flesh between her thumb and index finger.
“What did they look like?”
She did not respond.
“Who shot you?”
A rigid female voice cut him from behind.
“Move away from her.”
Pike calmly turned. A woman in her late twenties who was probably the sister stood framed in the door. Eyes like flint chips, black hair pulled tight, and a pronounced East European accent.
Pike said, “I was trying to wake her.”
“Leave go her hand, and move