CHAPTER TWENTY
Alexa Reed was swimming upward from the bottom of the darkest ocean. Her eyelids felt like lead as she tried to force them open to see if she had surfaced yet. She worked to move her lips to speak, but she was still deep under water.
Her mouth was dry and her throat hurt. As she struggled through the darkness hoping to reach the light, she imagined ice water tingling on her tongue. She concentrated on the weights on each eyelid, willing them to vanish so she could see how much farther she had to go before she’d break free of the dark. But then there’d be the problem of swimming to shore. Her limbs were heavy, and she couldn’t imagine having the strength to keep going much longer. Something was pushing on her chest. Was she wearing scuba gear? But a scuba tank didn’t push the air into your lungs. Was she still alive or was this death?
* * *
Around 8 a.m. on Sunday morning, Jim saw Alexa’s eyelids flicker. He held his breath as he waited to see if she’d open them. His back was stiff and sore from the makeshift cot and from being in the chair by her bed for so many hours. The stubble on his chin itched, and he longed for a hot shower and a razor. He had been about to go for a brief walk in the hallway to limber up, but now he stayed put and tried to pray.
Religion, like the Bureau, had wedged itself between him and Gail. His parents had given God short shrift, and he was pretty sure neither of them believed. His maternal grandmother had taken him to her Lutheran services when he was very small. Jim liked the clean smell of the church, the ever-changing flower arrangements on the alter, and the sense of peace that reciting the words of the liturgy with everyone else gave him. But she died when he was twelve, and that was the end of his brush with God until he married Gail in a long Catholic mass, heavy with ritual and incense.
His grandmother had convinced him God was real, despite his parents’ obvious indifference; so when Gail became pregnant with Cody and told him how much it meant to her to have all three of them in the church, he’d been very willing to go along. He’d agreed to everything: Cody’s baptism, suitably Catholic godparents of Gail’s choosing, attendance at Mass every Sunday and on required holy days. He’d been ready to convert until those divorce papers came his way, and he’d found out his already Catholic partner was taking his place in his family.
The bitterness of that moment never ceased to sweep his lungs clean of air. As he watched Alexa’s eyes, hoping for some concrete sign she had decided to soldier on with life, he struggled both to find the words to a prayer and some air to pump into his own now empty lungs.
And then in a flash, Jim was looking at Alexa’s deep blue eyes; and they weren’t blank the way they’d been while she’d been lying on the jail cot. They were a mixture of confusion and anxiety. The doctor apparently had been right: her memory was gone, and she had no idea how she’d wound up here.
Jim got up and hurried over to the bed.
“Alexa?”
Her eyes met his, and tears began to flow. They streamed down her face, a torrent of unchecked emotion. He sat down on the side of the bed and did what he could to gather her into his arms. She was attached to so many machines, he couldn’t hold her very close, and he doubted the professional propriety of what he was doing, anyway.
But professionalism wasn’t the point, he reminded himself. Alexa Reed needed human contact at that moment, and fate had put him there to provide it.
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he whispered over and over, patting what was left of her thin little body. “You’re going to be ok, now.”
But, of course, that wasn’t true.
The door opened and Sarah appeared, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep, her short hair sticking up wildly, and her clothes wrinkled from being slept in. Jim wasn’t sure if her eyes went wide with shock because Alexa was awake or because he was holding her in his arms. He felt even more uncomfortable.
“She just woke up.”
Sarah nodded, but said nothing.
“We’d better call the nurse.”
She remained silent but reached for the call button.
Jim eased Alexa back onto her pillows and awkwardly dabbed at her eyes with the end of the sheet.
“Here.” Sarah handed him a wad of tissue from the box by the bed.
“Thanks.”
Alexa’s eyes were now fixed on Sarah’s face as if she were seeing her for the first time. Jim’s heart sank. Significant memory loss for sure.
A crisp, newly on-duty morning shift nurse answered their call and quickly shooed them out of the room while she took Alexa’s vital signs and summoned a doctor. Once again, they stood in the corridor outside Alexa’s door and waited for news.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“She had just opened her eyes. When she started to cry, I didn’t have time to think.”
Jim’s empty stomach knotted because Sarah looked skeptical.
They stood in awkward silence in the corridor, waiting for the doctor to come out.
Finally, he emerged from Alexa’s room. His name badge said Dr. P. McMillan. Sarah notice Dr. McMillan was ten years younger than Dr. McCord of the previous evening but no less jaded and not particularly optimistic.
“Dropping her sedation has allowed her to wake up.”
“So is she going to be ok?” Sarah demanded.
“Too soon to tell. We need to wean her off the ventilator.”
“How long will that take?” Sarah had never seemed to be in a hurry before, Jim thought.
“I can’t say. Some patients can breathe on their own in six to eight hours. Others, it’s a long process.”
“When can she talk to us?”
“Not for several days, and that’s assuming the weaning process goes quickly. She’s going to have a sore throat and the tracheotomy has to heal.”
Jim saw Sarah’s shoulders sag.
Dr. McMillan noticed, too. “Look, these things take time.”
“I know. I know.” Sarah frowned. “But I really need to talk to her.”
Jim was disappointed she’d said “I” and not “we.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Jim faced Sarah over bacon and eggs in the cafeteria.“I’m pretty sure these started life as powder in a tin and not as yolks and whites in shells,” he said.
But Sarah was already digging in. “I’d probably eat cardboard right now if you put it in front of me.”
He smiled. “When this is all over, I’m going to cook you the best brunch in San Diego.”
“Thanks, but I’m not sure how we’ll know when it’s over.”
Her eyes darkened as she reached for a slice of limp toast and began to butter it.
“You knew when the Menendez case was over.”
Sarah dropped the knife, and it hit the plastic plate so hard that the occupants of adjacent tables looked up. Her eyes met his, full of dark fire. “I don’t want you to mention that case again! I can’t talk to you about what happened because it’s covered by attorney-client privilege. And Alexa Reed’s situation is very, very different. If you mention Menendez one more time, even though I think you’re the best, I’ll get another investigator.”
The force of her fury startled him. “I’m apologize for bringing it up. I don’t want you to hire someone else.”
She sighed and took a long sip of coffee before picking up the knife and going back to buttering the toast. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“It’s ok. We’re both exhausted. I was going to suggest going home and getting some sleep.”
“Do you think we can leave her now?”
“She’s going to be watched pretty closely while they try to get her off that ventilator. I say we go get some sleep and meet here again at six to see how she’s doing.”
“Agreed.”
“What are you going to do if she does come off the ventilator quickly? Sending her back to the jail isn’t safe.”
“I’m thinking about that. She has no right to bail because she’s charged with capital murder. She has the right to a bail hearing, but bail can be denied if the facts of guilt are ‘evident’ or the presumption of guilt is ‘great.’ Since we don’t yet have enough facts to know what our defense is going to be, I’m not sure how I can show that the facts of guilt aren’t ‘evident.’”
“You could call the night nurse who told me about the jail’s request for her medical records before they gave her the Lexapro. And you could call the EMT who did the tracheotomy that saved her life.”
Sarah listened thoughtfully. “That would prove they tried to kill her, but I’m not sure that would prove she might be innocent.”
“Bob Metcalf could testify about the war Michael Reed waged on her.”
She frowned. “That wouldn’t give us a Battered Woman’s Syndrome defense. We only have her statements to Bob that she was beaten, and those are hearsay and covered by the attorney-client privilege.”
“But the brutality of the court proceedings – you saw how thick that file was. Michael hauled her on the carpet every chance he got. She might have finally snapped that night and killed both of her tormentors.”
“True. That would be a manslaughter defense and would mean she’s not guilty of capital murder. I’m just not sure I want Preston Baldwin to know the defense theory of the case this early in the game.”
“Maybe you could try it with just the nurse and the EMT and not call Bob unless you have to.”
“That’s a thought. Did you get any contact information for the nurse?”
“Of course. And I wrote down the names of the EMT’s, too. I’ll contact them both tomorrow, although I can see if Tammi is on duty tonight when we come back.”
“I’ll go home and start drafting a motion for the hearing.”
“Don’t you think you should go home and get some rest first?”
“I’m trying to save her life. I haven’t got time to rest. I’m pretty sure if she goes back to jail there won’t be a trial.”
dhawkinsdotnet 