Chief of Police and a legend in Memphis law enforcement, was with them.
They assembled in McThune’s office, and Trimble, in fluent coptalk, got right to the point. “Subject was transported from the detention center by ambulance to St. Peter’s around ten-thirty- last night. Subject was signed in by the paramedics at St. Peter’s ER, at which time the paramedics left. Subject was not accompanied by Memphis police or jail personnel. Paramedics are certain a nurse, one Gloria Watts, female
•white, signed subject in, but no paperwork can be found. Ms. Watts has stated she had subject in ER intake room, and was called out of room for an undetermined reason. She was absent for no more than ten minutes, and upon her return, subject was gone. The paperwork was gone too, and Ms. Watts assumed subject had been taken to ER for examination and treatment.” Trimble slowed a bit and cleared his throat as if this were somehow unpleasant. “At approximately five this morning, Ms. Watts was evidently preparing to leave her shift, and she checked the intake records. She thought of the subject, and began asking questions. Subject could not be found in ER, and Admissions had no record of his arrival. Hospital Security was called, then the Memphis PD. At this time, a thorough search of the hospital is under way.”
“Six hours,” McThune said in disbelief.
“I beg your pardon,” Trimble said.
“It took six hours to realize the kid was missing.”
“Yes sir, but we don’t run the hospital, you see.”
“Why was the kid transported to the hospital
•without security?”
“I can’t answer that. An investigation will be undertaken. It looks like an oversight.”
“Why was the kid taken to the hospital?”
Trimble took a file from a briefcase, and handed McThune a copy of Telda’s report. He read it carefully. “Says he went into shock after the U.S. marshals left. What the hell were the marshals doing there?”
Trimble opened the file again, and handed McThune the subpoena. He read it carefully, then handed it to George Ord.
“Anything else, Chief?” he said to Trimble, who
had never taken a seat and had never stopped pacing slightly. He was eager to leave.
“No sir. We’ll complete the search, and call you immediately if we find anything. We’ve got about four dozen men there right now, and we’ve been checking for a little over an hour.”
“Have you talked to the kid’s mother?”
“No sir. Not yet. She’s still asleep. We’re watching the room in case he tries to get to her.”
“I’ll talk to her first, Chief. I’ll be over in about an hour. Make sure no one sees her before I do.”
“No problem.”
“Thank you, Chief.” Trimble clicked his heels together, and for an instant looked as though he wanted to salute. He was gone, along with his officers.
McThune looked at Brenner and Latchee. “You guys call every available agent. Get them here right now. Immediately.” They bolted from the room.
“What about the subpoena?” he asked Ord, who was still holding it.
“I can’t believe it. Foltrigg’s lost his mind.”
“You knew nothing about it?”
“Of course not. This kid is under the jurisdiction of the Juvenile Court. I wouldn’t think of trying to reach him. Would you want to piss off Harry Roosevelt?”
“I don’t think so. We need to call him. I’ll do it, and you call Reggie Love. I’d rather not talk to her.”
Ord left the room to find a phone. “Call the U.S. marshal,” McThune snapped at Durston. “Get the scoop on this subpoena. I want to know everything about it.”
Durston left, and suddenly McThune was alone. He raced through a phone book until he found the
Roosevelts. But there was no Harry. It tie nad a. number, it was unlisted, and that was perfectly understandable with no less than fifty thousand single mothers trying to collect unpaid child support. McThune made three quick calls to lawyers he knew, and the third one said that Harry lived on Kensington Street. He would send an agent when he could spare one.
Ord returned shaking his head. “I talked to Reggie Love’s mother, but she asked more questions than I did. I don’t think she’s there.”
“I’ll send two men as soon as possible. I guess you’d better call Foltrigg, the dumbass.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Ord turned and left the office again.
AT EIGHT, MCTHUNE LEFT THE ELEVATOR ON THE NINTH
floor of St. Peter’s with Brenner and Durston following close behind. Three more agents, decked out in a splendid variety of hospital garb, met him at the elevator and walked with him to Room 943. Three