can help, but when I ignore her, she leaves me alone. Soon I lie down on the bed, and before I know it, it’s four o’clock in the morning. For a brief moment on awakening I forget where I am or why I’m here, and the quick realization is like taking a punch in the gut.
I stagger down to the nurses’ station and ask if there’s any word on Laurie’s condition. The nurse smiles and says, “She’s resting comfortably.”
“She told you that?” I ask.
“Well, no… she…”
“She’s in a coma. How would you know if she’s comfortable?”
“Maybe I should call the head nurse.”
“Never mind,” I say, and head back to the room. I’ve accomplished nothing except attacking a young woman who was only trying to help and make me feel better.
Feeling better seems a ways off.
My cell phone starts ringing at seven o’clock and simply does not stop. Every friend that Laurie has, and that includes pretty much everyone she has ever met, is calling to find out how she is, and to offer whatever help they can provide.
Edna calls at seven thirty. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Edna say a word before nine o’clock, ever, but she has many to say now. It’s a mixture of outrage at the animal who could hurt Laurie, and pleading with me to let her help. She tells me that she is going to come to the hospital and sit in the lobby, so as to be there in case I need her. I tell her not to, but I’m actually touched by her reaction, and Laurie will be as well, I hope.
Kevin comes at eight o’clock, and Dr. Norville arrives half an hour later, as part of his rounds. He has nothing new to report, except to say that Laurie spent a comfortable night. I resist the urge to torture him as I did the nurse.
They let me see Laurie through a glass window into the intensive care unit. She looks better than I would have thought, very pale but peaceful and extraordinarily beautiful. I want to go to her, to touch her and hold her hand, but they won’t let me.
I go back to the room, where Kevin is waiting. I know he wants to talk to me about the Steven Timmerman case, but he doesn’t know how to bring it up.
I save him the trouble. “Kevin, I want to take a day or two to think about things. I may withdraw from the case, if I can’t give it the attention it deserves.”
He nods. “That’s very reasonable. Shall I tell Steven what’s going on?”
I nod. “He has a right to know.”
We hear noises out in the hallway, and Kevin goes to the door to see what has people so excited. He comes back a moment later.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You’re about to find out.”
After a few seconds, Marcus Clark walks in the door. Marcus is one of the quietest people I know, silent and invisible when he wants to be, but he creates instant commotion wherever he goes. Actually, “commotion” might not be the right word. It’s closer to panic, bordering on terror.
I’ve used Marcus as a private investigator on a number of occasions, more frequently since Laurie gave up that job and moved to Wisconsin. Marcus has also served as my personal bodyguard when cases have placed me in some physical jeopardy. He is uniquely qualified for both jobs, because he is the most frightening human being on the planet.
With Marcus walking down the corridor, the nurses must have reacted like the cinematic Japanese citizenry when they saw Godzilla wandering the streets of Tokyo. Actually, Marcus and ’Zilla are similar in a number of ways. They are both basically nonverbal, fearless, and perfectly willing to kill anything in their path. I think Marcus has fresher breath.
Laurie first introduced me to Marcus, and I’ve always been struck by the change in his demeanor when he’s around her. He becomes borderline human, and I’ve even detected a hint of emotion. He likes her, which is why I try to remind him at every opportunity how disappointed she would be if he killed me.
Marcus doesn’t say hello; I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say hello or good-bye. He just looks around the room and is probably disappointed when he sees only Kevin and me. “Laurie,” he says, and I think it’s a question.
“She’s in intensive care,” I say. “She’s unconscious.”
He takes a moment to digest that information. “She’ll be good,” he