The Nitrogen Murder(80)

We convinced Elaine to leave her car in the cul-de-sac and ride with Matt and me in Dana’s Jeep. We seemed to have spent a lot of time figuring out car logistics on this trip.

“It was just routine out there, Gloria,” Matt said from the driver’s seat. Meaning, You didn’t miss anything. “They want us all down at the station in the next day or two.”

“The paramedics wouldn’t tell me a thing,” Elaine said, “except that it seemed to be a gunshot wound and that Phil’s alive.” She took a long breath. “I told the police about Howard Christopher. And I heard Dana talking to her cop friend about Julia and her scam. Phil had those invoices, and maybe Julia knew he was on to her. I’ll bet the police are sorry they didn’t listen to us before.”

We were all sorry for one thing or another, I thought. My biggest regret was that I might have led the shooter to Phil.

At some point I’d have to face that.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

We sat in the stark waiting room of the trauma center where Lokesh Patel and Tanisha Hall had died. And countless others, I thought. I had an urge to ask the young Asian nurse at the desk if anyone left here alive. My heart went out to Elaine. An image came to me of Al Gravese, my own fiancé who died, and I tried to brush away the connection. Phil was still alive, I reminded myself. There could still be a wedding.

“I had to go over to that house, you know,” Elaine told us. “I couldn’t stand it another minute. I needed to know, was he in danger? Was he just having a crisis of faith in our marriage? Was he …?”

“It’s okay, Elaine,” we all said in different ways, from our multicolored plastic chairs. Dana was slumped in an orange one, her arms across her chest.

Elaine stared at the wall, at a landscape that even I knew was not fine art. “I got there and the front door was open. And I heard moaning from the living room or library, whatever it was. Phil was on the floor.”

I pictured the area I’d peeked in on from the side yard, with the bookcase full of matched sets. I tried to imagine what I would have done if I’d seen someone sprawled on the carpet of the elegantly furnished room.

Elaine choked back tears. “He was bleeding from his side,” she said, patting her own. She was in a dark green sweatsuit I’d never seen, with rubber-soled shoes that also looked strange to me. Apparently Elaine had a whole separate wardrobe for slipping out of her house undetected.

Matt handed her a second bottle of water from the six-pack he’d picked up somewhere. I thought he might remember this vacation as one where his main function was driving strange cars and providing water and comfort to frazzled females.

Elaine took a long swallow and continued. “I panicked. I tried to talk to him, to find out who did that to him, but he didn’t answer. I guess he was unconscious. I didn’t know what to do to help him, so I just ran to the phone on a little table and called 911. Maybe I should have done something else. I had no idea how to stop the bleeding. I was so afraid if I touched him I’d make it worse, so I just threw a throw on him—” Here she was able to giggle at the idiosyncrasies of our language and help us all relax a bit.

“You did just the right thing, Elaine. You probably saved his life,” Dana said. Coming from an EMT and a doctor-to-be, the assurance had to make Elaine feel better. The tables have turned, I thought, with Dana comforting Elaine instead of vice versa.

I resolved to take a first aid course at the earliest possible opportunity.



We nearly force-fed Elaine cheese and crackers from the cafeteria. She’d taken aspirin, too, and declared that she was fine. I had the feeling this situation, with Phil in an intensive care unit, was only marginally better for her than not knowing where Phil was.

Dr. Brandon, the physician in charge of Phil at the moment, approached us. He was gray-haired and soft-spoken, and older than anyone I’d seen in a medical capacity lately. I had a flashback to the bouncing blond ponytail of Trish, Matt’s oncologist in Boston. Youthful energy aside, I preferred at least the appearance of wisdom and experience.

“He’s sedated,” Dr. Brandon said, taking Elaine’s hand. “He lost a lot of blood, but he’s stable now. I can’t tell you when you’ll be able to talk to him. Your best bet is to go home and stay by the phone. But I’m sure you won’t want to do that.” He gave her a kindly smile. “So I’ll simply tell you the cafeteria is at the end of that hall, and there are more comfortable chairs in a lounge downstairs.”

“He’s so nice,” Elaine said. “He’s in good hands.” A little slip of pronouns, but Elaine’s grammar was not in the best shape this week, and we all knew what she meant.