The Nitrogen Murder(56)

She found what she expected: Tom Stewart was stretched out on the couch, the TV remote in his right hand, a large soda cup in his left. Dana reached from behind his head, grabbed the remote, and clicked the TV off. His cup fell to the floor, spilling reddish liquid on the couch. No one will even notice the extra spots, Dana thought.

“Hey!” Tom sat up. He smiled when Dana came into his field of view. “You want my attention?”

“Yes, you wank.” Dana strained to keep her voice low. No use waking the EMTs grabbing some Zs in the bedrooms. “Since when does a little grass become coke? I’d appreciate it if you did not mess with the reputation and the memory of my friend and your coworker.”

She had a good mind to grab the long-handled brush in the corner and whack him. Maybe that would also remind him to take his turn washing the outside of the ambulance once in a while.

Tom kept his smile in place, calling attention to an especially large pimple near the corner of his lips. “Not my fault. The cops came to search Tanisha’s locker. We all saw them.”

“And you saw coke?”

“Maybe not coke …”

Dana’s jaw muscles tightened, the beginning of a serious headache. “So, I’ll expect you to spread the truth around just as loudly, or—”

“Pickup at No Name 5 in Emeryville.” Julia’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, in time to break up the argument. Dana wondered if their boss had the employee lounge bugged. She wouldn’t put anything past Julia after seeing the fake billing lists.

“No Name” was Valley Med’s jargon for the many skilled nursing facilities in the area that were regular homes, with three or four bedrooms, in residential areas, with no sign in front. No Name 5 was on a quiet Oakland street not far from Dana’s own house.

“That’s us,” Tom said. “Lucky me. I get to hear you bitch some more. But I don’t mind. You’re so hot when you’re—”

“Cool it, Tom. Let’s just do this job, okay?”



Dana tore out of Valley Med’s driveway before Tom was fully buckled in. This was her first call since Friday evening. This is my job, she thought, the same as before. Most of their calls were pretty ordinary, Dana reminded herself. Only a few stood out.

“Remember the last time we partnered?” Tom asked, apparently also in a reminiscing mode. “The kid with his eyeball popped out?”

Dana would never forget the little boy who’d been hit in the eye by a swing on the school playground. By the time they picked him up, he’d been bandaged, with a small paper cup taped to his face to hold the eye in place, but the trickles of blood were creepy to see.

Today’s No Name call was a wait-and-return. Dana and Tanisha had transported this patient several times before. Maria Santiago was recovering from spine surgery for scoliosis, about halfway through her rehab at No Name 5. She’d be getting an X-ray at the trauma center, where her insurance card would be accepted. It wouldn’t take more than a half hour, so it was easier for the EMTs to wait around and take her back.

The big question was how Dana was going to get through the half-hour wait with Tom. Usually that wasn’t a problem; partners would go to the cafeteria and chat over free food, or they’d finish up paperwork together.

Dana had a flashback to similar waits with Tanisha and longed for a knock-knock joke.



At No Name 5, a pale pink stucco home with a neat lawn, Dana switched with Tom, letting him drive while she got in the back with Maria. She admitted to herself, but not to Tom, that she wasn’t ready to face turning into that trauma center driveway again so soon. She’d have to deal with it later, but not today.

“I like to talk to Maria,” she’d told Tom as they climbed the few steps to the front door.

“Practicing your Spanish?”

She glared at him and rang the doorbell.



Maria needed spine precautions, so Dana and Tom stuck a board under her on the gurney She looked less than comfortable. This was a routine Code 2, and Dana went through the questions on the PCR, the Patient/Customer Care Report.

“Any pain today, Maria?”

“Yes,” Maria said, pronouncing it jes. “A little.”

“Is it radiating?”

“No.” A short o.

“Can you rate it for me?”

“A five,” Maria said. Fi. Halfway to excruciating.

Dana took Maria’s pulse and blood pressure and reported them to Tom, who’d be doing the ring-down when they got closer to the trauma center. To get Maria’s respiratory rate, Dana resorted to the usual trick.

“I need to take your pulse again, Maria,” she said. Dana folded Maria’s arms over her chest and counted her breaths. She’d been clued in on the technique by older EMTs: If you told patients you wanted their resp rate, they’d get nervous and throw off the reading, so you’d let them think you were doing a pulse check. She looked at Maria’s gentle face and wondered if she’d caught on by now.