The Nitrogen Murder(12)

Dana and Tanisha walked back to the ambulance.

“This guy has a lot of stuff. I’ll start with the duffel bag,” Tanisha said. “You clean up and follow me with the rest, okay?”

“Got it,” Dana said.

Or did Dana say, “Tanisha, you take the duffel bag”? Dana doesn’t remember. She hopes it was Tanisha’s idea to go first.

Tanisha left the back of the ambulance carrying the duffel bag. It was a gray-and-silver bag, shiny, and distended enough to strain the white zipper.

Dana stayed behind. She sprayed the gurney with a germicide from a clear plastic bottle and wiped it down. She gathered up the contents of the patient’s wallet, which had spilled on the floor. She noticed multiple IDs; same face, different name. Oh well, not her problem. She stuffed the laminated cards into the pockets of her uniform pants.

She heard a noise. Fireworks already? It was barely mid-June. They started earlier and earlier every year.

Another blast. Not a firework. She stepped out of the back of the ambulance and looked toward the ER doors.

Tanisha is down, sprawled on the driveway.

Someone is running through the bushes to the left of the doors. Running away.

The old security guard runs out from the building. He yells something—it’s unintelligible to Dana, who is also running toward Tanisha.

More people come. Doctors and nurses, a gurney, not rugged and yellow like Valley Med’s but small and white. Tanisha’s large frame fills the bed of the gurney; there’s blood on her cornrows.

Dana hangs on to the gurney, walks with it, her body leaning over Tanisha, calling her name, “Tanisha, Tanisha, oh my God, Tanisha,” until someone pulls her back and sits her down on the cold cement bowl of a potted plant.

Dana’s ears are ringing. She tries to block the sound, but it only gets louder and louder.



The phone was ringing, but Dana couldn’t find it. Bleary-eyed, she fished around under her pillow, among the folds of her tangled comforter, on the floor, under the bed. Finally the shrill sound stopped and her answering machine clicked on.

“Dana, this is Julia. It’s Sunday morning. Actually, noon.” Her boss’s voice, sounding like she had a cold. Valley Medical Ambulance Company’s owner, Julia Strega.

Dana threw herself on her back, arms outstretched, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself back to sleep.

“Just want to say we missed you today,” Julia’s drone continued. “You need to come in and get debriefed and, you know, let’s just talk. Call me, okay? Take care.”

Sure, Dana thought. I’ll take care.



“Dana, Dana, wake up.”

Dana opened her eyes enough to see Jen, one of her roommates, standing over her. “How come the door was wide open? I can’t believe you went to sleep and didn’t lock up the house.”

Jen’s voice was a scalpel, cutting into Dana’s brain, her short blond hair a surgeon’s cap. “What?” Dana managed. “I overslept.”

“It’s two in the afternoon. Didn’t you go in for your meeting? And the front door was open to the world. My bike and Robin’s are still here, thank God, but—” Jen stopped and stared at Dana. “Oh, my God, Dana, I’m so sorry I forgot, almost.” Jen sat on Dana’s bed, hardly making a dent with her tiny body, and took her hand. “I just got worried when I saw the door like that. Can I get you something? How about some tea? And I see all kinds of delicious pastry out there.”

Dana nodded yes to the tea and shook her head no to the pastry She could still taste the blueberries from yesterday’s scone. She felt it was still high and heavy in her gut, which she’d known would happen, but she’d wanted to show her appreciation to Elaine and her friends.

“And don’t worry, I closed the door,” Jen said.

Dana had no idea what the big deal was about the door. Of course she’d locked up. Robin must have come back or something.



“Here you go,” Jen said, stirring honey into a mug of hot chai. Jen had coaxed her to the living room.

Dana watched her roommate—the youngest of the three women, a junior history major at UC Berkeley—as she moved the milky liquid around in careful swirls, as if trying to make up for her lack of gentleness earlier.

Dana knew she should be grateful to have good friends and family. A lot of people were there for her. Her dad—not the warmest of guys, but in a pinch he’d come through. Well, most of the time, unless someone in China needed him. Her mom—not so much since she moved to Florida with Mike, but she’d called as soon as she’d heard about Tanisha from her dad. She was sure it was Elaine who’d suggested her dad call her mom. He’d never have thought of it. She liked Elaine and hoped her dad wouldn’t screw it up as he usually did.