Memorial,” Dr. Reese ordered. “We need to know if they want to airlift Adam back to Colorado Springs or somewhere else.”
She nodded, spinning on her heel, and headed to the telephone. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the numbers. The time dragged as she waited for a connection to the United States, then to speak with the hospital director at Vance Memorial. She grappled to concentrate on her conversation as she described the situation. Her thoughts were on Adam and the two doctors working to save his life.
The director’s order halted her thoughts when she heard his decree. “I want the team back. I want you all to come home. We’ll send our staff back only after we have some answers.”
“You want the team back? But what about—?”
“The other doctors can stay and run the facility. I want the Vance Memorial team here.”
“Sir, I need to tell you that Dr. Valenti had a run-in with one of the burglars and shot him.”
“He what? Never mind. They’ll need him for questioning. Valenti can stay, but I want the rest of you to return. I’ll order Medevac to airlift Adam home. You and Dr. Reese fly with him if you can.”
“All right, sir,” Kate said, shocked at the director’s orders. “They’re operating now. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Do that…and be careful. All of you.”
She didn’t have enough strength to agree or fight for the clinic’s needs. When she hung up, she hurried to the operating room with his words ringing in her head.
Peeking through the small window, Kate watched Dr. Reese and Dr. Valenti hover over Adam. Fear had rankled her reasoning skills. Flying home meant she had things to do and fast.
Before she could act, Carmen appeared at her side with three men, two dressed in navy-blue short-sleeved shirts with patches on the sleeve, officers from the Santa Maria de Flores police department, and the third in plainclothes. Detective or vice squad, Kate figured.
In her minimal Spanish she explained what she knew, using Carmen as an interpreter when necessary. Their questions backlashed through her head—had she heard sounds or smelled strange odors, were doors opened or closed, were there witnesses to the shooting and who had been in the dispensary since the crime?
When she explained about Adam’s surgery, the detective’s glower let her know they’d contaminated the crime scene. How could she explain they couldn’t stand back and let Adam die? She only shook her head and showed them the surgery taking place inside the operating room. The detective looked through the window, gave instructions to the officers, then walked away.
The younger man quizzed her again, taking down names and facts that Kate could remember while the other officer listened.
“Come,” she said, guiding the young men to the dispensary. She led them along the corridor, and as they reached the doorway, the detective stepped in from the delivery entry and followed them.
She motioned the men inside, her stomach churning at the pool of blood on the floor. Not just blood, but Adam’s blood. She indicated where she’d found him, his position on the floor. From that location, one officer measured distances and angles, speculating from the drugs found on the floor where the looters had stood.
The other officer donned plastic gloves and moved about so as not to disturb evidence any more than the medical staff had destroyed earlier. While Kate watched from the hallway, the younger man pried what appeared to be two bullets from the wall beside the doorway and dropped them into plastic bags.
The detective turned his attention to a blood stain on the corner of a storage cabinet. Kate suspected it was where Adam had struck his head in the fall, the reason for the gaping wound above his temple.
They worked with speed, measuring and taking notes. When they finished, one officer closed the door and cordoned off the room.
Kate gaped at the closed door blocking their medical supplies. Somewhere in her addled mind, she thought of the people who depended on the clinic for their health-care needs. Sadness turned to anger and the emotions mingled with the fear and bewilderment that already overwhelmed her.
Outside the dispensary, the detective pointed to the delivery door. “Do you keep this locked?”
Carmen, lingering on the sidelines, translated. “Yes, always.”
He opened the door and Kate followed. Outside she could see the body on the ground while officers huddled around. The detective shooed her away, but she peeked at the doorjamb anyway, wondering if it had been pried open. She saw nothing—no marks or dents. She looked closer, but the irate man ordered her away for a second time.
Kate moved inside and hurried toward the operating room. She had nothing to do now but follow orders and prepare to leave. Her breath came in gasps as she neared the surgeon. Would Adam make it back to Colorado Springs alive?
She couldn’t bear to think otherwise.
Kate’s body trembled with exhaustion as she willed her eyes to stay focused. She looked around the surgical waiting room at Vance Memorial Hospital, with its drab yellow walls and unimpressive framed prints. She shifted on the plastic upholstery and eyed her rumpled blouse and pants she’d worn for the past twenty hours.
The chaos of those past hours filled her mind. The surgery at the clinic, the fear, the questioning, the packing, the waiting.
She had flown back in the Medevac with Adam clinging to life with his falling blood pressure and faltering pulse. The problem had been what she feared—internal bleeding. Now she waited with Adam’s parents for his second surgery.
Kate eyed her watch. Nearly two hours. She’d told his folks everything she knew about the horrible incident. The details lay muddled in her overtaxed mind, and she was glad they’d accepted her patchy description.
“Rats.” Adam’s father slammed his fist on the table beside his chair and sent the lamp teetering before it settled in place. “What are they doing?”
“Frank,” Liza Montgomery said to her husband, her voice calm and hushed, “be patient.”
“Patient! I’ve been more than patient. I don’t understand what’s keeping them.” He rose, unfolding his tall, stocky frame, and paced in front of them.
Kate scrutinized the Montgomerys and wondered if she should infringe on their privacy. Her nurse’s persona took over, and she leaned forward. “Adam has internal bleeding, Mr. Montgomery. That may take time to repair…depending on where they find the problem and how extensive the damage is.”
She glanced at her watch again, realizing only a minute had passed since she’d last looked. “The doctor should be in soon, I’m sure.”
Frank ran his thick hand through his bushy white hair and gazed at her with vivid blue eyes canopied by shaggy white brows.
His eyes unnerved her; they were the same shade of blue as Adam’s.
He gave her a subdued nod, then settled back into the chair and folded his hands in front of him while he stared at the floor.
Kate wondered if he were praying. Though he was arrogant as a peacock, Adam, she knew, was a Christian. Kate guessed his father was, too.
“So tell us about yourself, Katherine,” Liza said, gazing at her with amazing green eyes and a kindly smile.
Kate froze at the suggestion. Talking about herself fell somewhere in her list of favorite activities between cleaning the toilet and scrubbing out the trash cans.
“Not much to tell,” she said, hoping to dissuade the woman without being rude.
“Tell us about your work at Doctors Without Borders. Adam tells us so little.”
Kate relaxed. She could talk about the clinic. “It’s challenging. We deal with poverty, primitive conditions and a language barrier. We all speak a little Spanish—very little in some cases.”