Free Broken Saint, The by Mike Markel Page B

waiting for my
caffeine to kick in as Ryan walked back over to the desk and returned in thirty
seconds, waving a slip of paper.
    “One other thing,” I said, “before we go. Wanna
see if there’s CCTV of the ER entrance? To see if Amber came in alone or with
Jared?”
    “Good idea.”
    He turned and went back to the woman in Medical
Records, then spun on his heels and came back over to me.
    “Facilities, room 2300.” He pointed down the hall to
the staircase.
    We walked down the long hall, past docs and nurses
and assorted clerical people. I pulled myself up the flight of stairs. Room
2300 was on the right.
    “Ma’am,” I said, pointing to my shield. “Detective
Karen Seagate, Rawlings Police Department. Can we talk to the senior person on
duty now?”
    She picked up the phone. “Arnie, can you talk to
two detectives?” She hung up. “Arnie Hastings, first door on the right.”
    He rose to meet us.
    I introduced us, and we shook hands. “Mr.
Hastings, do you have CCTV of the entrance to the ER?”
    “Yeah, we added that two, maybe three years ago.
After a baby was left at the ER.”
    “Oh, yeah, I remember reading about that. Can you
call up a particular date and time?”
    “Absolutely. It’s digital. What do you need?”
    Ryan said, “Early Wednesday morning, starting at
2:10 am , until about 2:20.”
    He hit some keys on his computer, which also lit
up a large flatscreen on the wall to his left. “Okay, what are we looking for?”
    “A twenty-year old girl, dark hair, maybe holding
her face.”
    Arnie hit fast forward, bumping it to 2X and then
8X. A couple of trees rimming the circular drive in front of the Emergency Room
entrance started shaking back and forth real fast.
    “Okay, slow it down a little,” Ryan said. Arnie
slowed it down to 2X. “That’s her,” Ryan said to me. She was wearing gray
sweatpants and a plaid wool coat. Her left hand was up to her eye. “Okay, put
it on normal speed, please.” She was walking up to the entrance.
    I leaned in to see her face. “Can you freeze it
right there?” The picture stopped. “Looks like she’s holding a tissue or
something to her face.”
    “Yeah,” Ryan said, “it’s been bleeding. Okay,
start it up again, normal speed.” He pointed to the screen. “There’s our boy.”
    Jared was walking behind her, looking sheepish. We
saw her turn back to him, say something sharp, pointing her finger at him. “Looks
like she’s giving him hell, doesn’t it?”
    “That’s what I see,” Ryan said. “Can you freeze it
right there?”
    “What are you looking for?”
    “Just checking on his earrings.” He walked over to
study the screen on the wall. “They’re both in.”
    “You want to see anything else?” I said to Ryan.
    “No, that’s all we need.”
    “Okay, thanks, Mr. Hastings.”
    “Sure thing,” he said, as the big screen went
black.
    Back in the cruiser, Ryan looked up the address of
David Tristan, the ER doc. It was inside Ravensmere, a gated community in the
east end of town. It took us ten minutes to get to the million-dollar house
neighborhood. I punched in the number, and the gunmetal gray gate swung open.
    “You know the password on this thing?” Ryan said.
    “It’s the year, then star.”
    “Heck of a password,” he said.
    “It’s the same for all the gated communities,” I
said. “So we can get in, and the ambulances and firemen.”
    “And the FedEx guys, I bet.”
    “Yeah, mostly the FedEx guys.” I parked at the
curb at 4211 Blue Stem. We walked up the brick path. I rang the bell.
    A carefully packaged forty-year-old woman, cashmere
sweater, wool slacks, answered the door. She was normal size but seemed small
standing on the marble entryway, beneath a huge cut-glass chandelier hanging
from the double-height ceiling.
    I introduced me and Ryan and asked if Dr. Tristan
was in.
    “He’s got a long shift coming up,” she said,
looking at her watch, “and he’s got one more hour of sleep. Can you