Cold Case Justice. Sharon Dunn

“My arm.”

      He touched her shoulder. “Please don’t try to move. My partner and I are going to put you on a backboard and get a collar around you to prevent any additional injury to your spine.”

      “I don’t need to go to the hospital.” Her voice filled with panic. “I can’t. Please, I have to get my son.” She arched her back and closed her eyes, probably trying to shut out the pain.

      Even without a close exam, he knew her injuries were extensive. Though she was free to refuse medical attention, she clearly needed it. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with Christina Johnson. He had to convince her.

      “What’s your name, ma’am?”

      “Rochelle.”

      “Rochelle, I’m Matthew. I can appreciate that you are concerned about your son. We’ll make arrangements for you to call a friend to pick him up. But right now, my priority is to get you to a hospital.”

      She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” She swung out of the car seat and attempted to push herself to her feet. He caught her before she collapsed to the ground. Her eyes opened briefly and then she became a rag doll in his arms.

      “I got it,” said Daniel as he ran toward them, grabbing Rochelle’s legs and helping Matthew transfer her to the board.

      She stirred only slightly when they strapped her to the backboard and put the collar around her neck. The crowd dispersed as they loaded her into the ambulance.

      “I’m going to ride in back with her,” said Matthew.

      While Daniel moved into the flow of traffic, Matthew started an IV. They passed a tow truck headed in the opposite direction. Up front, he could hear Daniel calling ahead to alert the hospital of their arrival.

      Matthew stared down at the porcelain-skinned brunette. He had said hello to her once or twice when he went for a walk in the evening. His house was a few houses down from hers and on the opposite side of the street. He’d talked to the kid several times. He felt a connection to the boy when he’d seen him in the yard trying to learn how to throw a football. Matthew’s father had left the family when he was seven. No one had been there to teach him to throw a football, either.

      Her eyes fluttered open briefly. “Jamie.” The note of desperation surprised him. Nothing he said seemed to calm her down.

      “I know that’s your son. I’ve talked to him a couple of times. Nice kid.”

      She didn’t respond.

      “Rochelle, you’ve got glass in the cut on your forehead. I’m going pull it out and put a bandage on you.”

      She turned her head to one side, eyes closed. “My arm hurts, and here.” She touched her rib cage.

      “I’ve got an IV going for the pain. We’ll have a doctor look at you as soon as we get to the hospital.” He hadn’t seen any sign of external bleeding other than her head, but there was no telling what kind of internal damage she’d sustained.

      “I have to go. I have to get out of here. Please.” She wrapped her arm around his bicep and squeezed before her voice faded, and she closed her eyes.

      What was going on in her life that she could not let go of the idea that she had to leave? He hoped the kid was okay and that her worry was being fueled by the trauma of the accident. He found tweezers and carefully picked out the pieces of glass. She winced each time. He disinfected the wound and placed a bandage over the gash.

      She looked up at him with wide brown eyes. He locked into her gaze for a moment. Though he had only seen her at a distance, he’d always thought she was pretty. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes. “I have to call someone to go get Jamie.” Fear lanced through her words.

      At least she seemed to be tracking with reality and had given up the idea that she had to get her son. He studied her for a moment wondering exactly what her story was. His concern for the kid’s safety heightened.

      The ambulance pulled up to the ER doors. The trauma team met them outside with a gurney.

      As they were wheeling Rochelle inside, Matthew tapped the nurse’s shoulder. “Marie, when this woman is stabilized, can you make sure she has access to a phone? She’s concerned about her son and needs to make arrangements for him to be picked up. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

      Marie nodded. “We can take care of that.”

      He watched them push the gurney down the hall and disappear around a corner. Matthew finished out his shift with only one minor call. With Rochelle and her son still on his mind, he swung by the nurses’ station before leaving for home.

      An older, plus-size nurse with brassy hair and pink lipstick sat at the station flipping through a patient chart.

      “Lindy, there was a woman brought in from a car accident earlier. Did she get access to a phone?”

      Lindy crossed her ample arms. “She did, as per your request, Matthew.”

      “How’s she doing?”

      “No serious internal damage. She’s got bruised ribs and a fractured arm. They’re keeping her overnight to make sure no latent head injury shows up.” Lindy studied him for a moment. “You don’t usually take this much interest in patients.”

      “She’s a neighbor and she was emotionally distraught.” His gut was telling him something more was going on with her. This time, he intended to listen to that instinct. He had to know she was going to be okay before he went home.

      Lindy narrowed her eyes at him. “Didn’t your supervisor suggest you take a few days off after that suicide tore you up so bad?”

      “Work is the best thing for me.” Honestly, sitting at home wondering what he could have done different to save Christina Johnson would only make things worse.

      “You can’t rescue everyone from everything. Sometimes you’ve just got to hang it up once your shift is over,” Lindy said.

      “That’s not what’s going on here.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He wasn’t stepping out of bounds. He just didn’t want another Christina on his hands.

      Lindy shrugged. “It’s your call. I’m about to do my rounds. You’re welcome to pop your head in and say hello to her yourself.”

      He wouldn’t be at peace to leave work until he saw that Rochelle was okay and that whatever panic she had at the scene had been because of the accident and not something else.

      He followed Lindy down the hall. When they stepped into the room, the bed was unmade but empty. Lindy checked the bathroom and then shook her head. “Looks like our patient checked out on her own.” She bustled toward the door. “I’m not sure what recourse we have for getting her back here, but I’ll talk to the doctor. I hope we find her. That woman needs rest and medical supervision. She’s in no condition to be running around.”

      Feeling a rising sense of panic, Matthew darted toward the door. “I know the first place to look for her.”

       TWO

      Pain shot through Rochelle’s bruised rib cage as the taxi pulled up to her house. Cradling her fractured arm in a sling, she leaned to the side and studied the street. She recognized all the cars as belonging to people in the neighborhood. Hopefully, she’d been right about Corben only knowing where she worked. She’d been careful through the years not to list her address publicly, instead using a PO box. How Corben had found her was anyone’s guess. Something connected with her court-reporting work and a picture of her must have appeared somewhere online that a detective could track her down.

      The cabdriver turned his head. “This is the place, isn’t it, lady?”

      “Yes.” Her purse and her phone were still back at the courthouse. “Can you