light out. A dull gray day. But you never knew with northern California weather. Things had a way of burning off. By noon it could be sunny and seventy.
“Beckler’s looking for you,” Julie said when he walked into the OR twenty minutes later, clean-shaven and showered.
“What does she want?”
“She didn’t say. Hey, Cogan, have you ever heard of a comb?”
“Is that a new surgical instrument?”
“The latest. Makes you look pretty, with no side effects.”
“Sounds promising. I’ll be back. I’m just going to check on the girl.”
He walked over to the recovery room, which was just across the hall from the OR. It had been a slow night. There were five patients in the room, including the fat woman, who was three times as big as Cogan’s patient. They were lying directly across from each other, in separate curtained-off spaces.
Both the fat lady and the girl were asleep. Cogan picked up the girl’s chart. He was mainly interested in her vitals. Her blood pressure was running 110 over 60. Her heart rate was in the 80s. And her urine output near 100cc per hour. Everything was good.
“Hey, Ted.”
“Morning, Josie.”
This was the recovery nurse, Josie Ling. Asian-American. Short and serious. Very dry sense of humor.
“They let you off pretty easy, huh? Only one vic.”
One victim too many, as far as he was concerned. “What are her post-op labs?” he asked.
“Post-op hemoglobin 13 and most recent 13.6.”
“Good.”
He reached down and gently pulled down the blanket that was covering the girl. It wasn’t gentle enough, however, because she stirred.
“Hi, Kristen,” he said quietly. “It’s Dr. Cogan again. How are you doing? Are you feeling any pain?”
She opened and closed her eyes. She was very groggy.
“You’re not in any pain, are you, Kristen?”
“Not really,” she said.
“Are you aware of what happened? Do you know where you are?”
“I was in a car accident,” she answered. “I’m in the hospital.”
“Do you remember the accident?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Someone turned in front of me.”
“Someone cut you off?”
She nodded. She was fully awake now. Drowsy but awake. He explained to her that she’d had an operation. She’d been bleeding internally, which was very dangerous. The impact of the accident had ruptured her spleen, so they had to take it out.
She wanted to know whether that was bad.
“Well, there are much worse things that could have happened to you,” he said. “But it’s still an operation, and we have to watch you very carefully for the next few days. That’s why my friend Josie is here. She’s here to monitor you for the next few hours before we send you to a room.”
The girl’s eyes took in the nurse briefly then fell back on Cogan.
“Your parents were here earlier,” he said. “They saw you right after the operation. But I suggested they go home because I knew you’d be sleeping for a while.”
“Were they mad?”
“No. Upset but not mad.”
She looked away, distraught. “They’ll never let me get a car now,” she murmured.
“I wouldn’t worry about that right now.”
“You don’t know my Dad.”
“I’m just going to check your dressing,” he said, trying to take her mind off the car. “Then I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“OK.”
He lowered the blanket a little more, so it was just below her waist, then lifted her pajamas until her bandage was exposed. The bandage was clean, dry, and intact. It seemed fine. Next, he felt her stomach, pressing lightly, making sure it wasn’t excessively firm. Then, covering her up, he said, “Everything looks good.”
“Is it going to be a big scar?”
“No, not too big. Just about this long.” He spread his fingers apart about four inches. “And very thin. You know Keanu Reeves?”
“Not personally.”
Cogan smiled. “You like him?”
“He’s OK.”
“Well, he was in a motorcycle accident and they had to remove his spleen. Same as you, and he looks pretty good in a bikini, right?”
“I guess.” She paused, closing her eyes. Then, opening them again, she said, “But he’s a movie star. He has an aura. He could have five scars and it wouldn’t matter.”
Cogan laughed.
“Well, maybe you have an aura, too, and you just don’t know it.”
“I better,” she said. “Because I’m not going to have a car.”
6/ A MOMENT OF FATAL IMPULSIVENESS
March 31, 2007—4:57 p.m.
They’d found the girl facing forward, a leather belt around her neck, suspended with her back to the wall of the shower stall. What struck Pastorini was how close her feet had been to touching the floor. They were no more than a couple of inches above the tiles. She’d worn a