Chapter 5

He didn't know how much time had passed when the sound of a throat being cleared made him jump. He glanced up apprehensively, automatically slamming the file closed.

Amanda stood in the doorway, wearing her best 'mother face'. "I thought you weren't supposed to be doing that."

Steve looked a little embarrassed, and tried to smile innocently. "I'm not reading anything. I'm just looking at David Fuller's autopsy photos."

"Oh, that's much better," Amanda entered and stood where she could look over his shoulder. "The letter of the law, but not the spirit. I'm surprised at you, Steve. And here I was bringing you such a nice surprise."

"I'll bet. What kind of a surprise?" Amanda laughed at his suspicious tone and he explained, "So far, whenever anybody brings me a surprise it's got a needle attached. I'd kinda like to pass on the next one."

"Nothing like that." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small hand-held tape recorder. "I thought of it while I was doing an autopsy. Figured I could loan you my spare."

"That's nice." Steve eyed it cautiously. "Um - what for?"

She rolled her eyes at his apparent dimness. "To spare you trying to read. Every time one of us reads you something from the file, you can run the tape recorder. That way, if you want to go over something, you can replay it whenever you want - "

Steve broke into a grin. "Amanda, you're a genius!"

"Well, since I know how patient you are, I thought it would save you waiting for someone to read it to you again, or - " She stared meaningfully at the file in his hands.

"I swear, I just looked at the pictures. Maybe you can tell me exactly what I'm looking at? Since I can't read the notes."

Amanda made herself comfortable on the bed next to him and took the photos from his hand, spreading them out across his tray table. She tapped one with her finger. "Okay, here's point of impact - the depth of the wound at different points combined with the blood spatter evidence indicates that the killer swung in this sort of an arc - " she gestured with her hand, "leaving us to deduce that she - or he - was left handed. Height and angle of the blow, combined with the depth, seems to indicate someone of between 5'7" and 5'9" - probably muscular. Made a good impact. You've seen these before. Do you remember them at all?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"All right - what in particular interests you?"

"What I'd really like is to compare them to my x-rays. See how they're different. Are those available?"

Amanda frowned. "I suppose so. There's really no rule against a patient seeing his own x-rays. What are you trying to find out?"

Steve ran his eyes over the row of photos and shook his head. "I'm not sure. Just want to see if there's anything different. Everybody seems so sure it was the same person swinging the bat both times."

"And you don't think so."

"I don't know what I think. That's what I'm trying to find out."

Amanda raised her eyebrows and reached for the telephone. She pressed a couple of numbers, then pinned on her professional smile. "Hello, this is Dr. Bentley. Could you send patient Steven M. Sloan's x-rays to room 428? Thank you." She returned the phone crisply to its cradle.

Steve studied her. "You don't think I'm crazy."

Amanda's lips stretched into an affectionate smile. "Steve, I know you're crazy. I've accepted it. I also accept that you will never settle down about this until your curiosity is satisfied."

"Well, thank you. I think." He lined up the blood spatter photos over the autopsy photos. "Now, I think I remember what I have here - these show that the murderer entered from the hall behind the victim."

"That's right - and swung the bat into the back of his skull."

"We won't have the photos from the scene where I was hit until - " he broke off, reaching out to steady himself on the tray table. "Whoa. Guess maybe that's enough of looking at those. I think my eyes are adding some brand new spatters."

Amanda swept up the blood spatter photos and shuffled them into a neat pile. "What did Jesse tell you? These are almost worse than reading." She placed a cool hand against his cheek. "You're clammy. Are you going to be sick?"

Steve leaned back into the pillows and pressed his palms over his face. "No - just - give me a minute - feels - almost like - motion sickness."

"Because the same thing causes it." Amanda wet the washcloth sitting on the night table in water from the bedside pitcher and slid it behind his neck. "Take deep breaths."

Steve complied, and after a minute he dropped his hands. "Better," he admitted. "Okay. So, if - "

"Steve!"

Steve halted in surprise.

Amanda blew out her breath in exasperation. "If you're not feeling well, don't you think you'd better stop for now? I mean, I know it's an extraordinary concept for you, but when people are hospitalized, they're actually just supposed to lie in bed and rest and get better."

"I have been lying in bed," Steve pointed out.

"Then maybe you should try the resting part."

"I have been. I've never slept so much in my life. In fact, I wanted to ask Jesse to lighten up on the meds - I can hardly keep my eyes open."

Amanda folded her arms. "Mm. You'd almost think you were concussed or something."

"I've had concussions before, Amanda."

"Yes, and if you'd ever stayed in bed for one instead of staggering out to ride off on your white horse, you'd find they make you uncommonly sleepy. It's your brain's way of healing."

"Well, I can't sleep all the time. And I was fine with the autopsy photos - it's just the blood spatter ones that got to me…all those little dots. Um…" he gave her a sideways glance. "There were a whole lot of little dots, right?"

"Yes, there were." Amanda's rebuking frown turned to a smile as an orderly poked his head in the open door. She stood to take the grey x-ray envelope from him. "Thanks, Rocky." Her foot kicked something and it skidded across the floor. She looked down and raised her brows. "Lose your TV remote?"

Steve chuckled self-consciously. "Guess I dropped it."

Amanda bent down to pick it up. "Made good distance." She gave him a knowing look as she dropped it on the table and slid the x-rays out of the envelope.

Steve craned his neck to see. "Do they look different from Fuller's?"

"Well, yes, of course they do…" She held one up to the light to see it better. "Fuller suffered skull fracture - a lot of crushed bone pushed into his brain. You don't have any fracture. The placement is different, too."

"What would account for the difference?"

Amanda shrugged, holding up the next x-ray to look. "A number of things. Your height difference, for one thing. Fuller was 5'9 1/2"…" She paused, studying the x-ray more closely.

Steve hid a smile. He always enjoyed Amanda's meticulous attention to detail.

"…and you're, what? 6'2"? 6'3"?"

Steve nodded.

"So, if the killer is between 5'7" and 5'9", you're a much more awkward reach. You're point of impact is also on the side of your head, not the back. From the angle you might even have been turning, or trying to deflect the blow - the damage is significantly less severe. Not that it's not bad enough…this is really ugly, Steve."

"You should feel it."

"I'm sure. All the more reason you should be taking it easy."

"I am. All I'm doing is lying here."

"No, you're lying there trying to work on a case. A closed case. You should be lying there with your eyes shut, dozing. Or zoning in front of some really bad TV." She offered him the remote.

Steve sighed. "I've tried that. Not only am I bored out of my skull, but the case won't leave me alone. Madge Fuller is going to be arraigned any day, Amanda. What if she's innocent?"

Amanda looked at him for a minute, then sat on the bed next to him again. "What makes you think she is?"

Steve grimaced, shook his head at the row of pictures in front of him. "I don't know. That's the problem. I keep thinking that if I look at all the evidence and go over the case it will come back to me, but so far, nothing."

"Steve," Amanda touched his hand. "Is it possible that you're just sort of - well, stuck at the point when you were hit in the head? That you think Madge Fuller is innocent because that's what you thought at that moment, and you're just having trouble moving on because you're missing that chunk of time? Amnesia can be very disconcerting."

"I don't have amnesia," Steve answered automatically, but he was obviously thinking of something else. "At least you didn't ask me if I was tired of my Dad solving my cases."

"Look, Steve, I don't really think that the reason is important. I think that what's important is that you have a lot of competent people making sure this case goes all right, and you have a bad head injury that you really need to take care of."

Steve was quiet a moment. "What if it's something only I know that I've forgotten?"

"You mean if there's anything at all? Then the more you rest and follow doctor's orders, the more likely it is that you'll remember. Honestly, Steve."

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I guess my head does hurt a little."

"I wouldn't be surprised. And it's almost dinner time. You want to make sure you're feeling well enough to eat."

Steve nodded glumly. "Is my Dad around?"

"I'm sorry. He has a Board Meeting right now. I'm sure he'll be by later."

"Right."

Amanda rested a sympathetic hand on his arm. "I need to get home to the boys. Anything you need before I go?"

"No. Well - " he hesitated.

"Go ahead," Amanda coaxed.

"If you have a couple of minutes, could you read my Dad's statement into the tape recorder for me? I'd like to listen to it."

Now it was Amanda's turn to hesitate. "If I do, will you promise to close your eyes and rest while you listen to it?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine…I just hope my brain doesn't atrophy with all this rest."

Amanda's mouth quirked. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. Why don't you close your eyes while I read it? It will help you concentrate."

Steve rolled his eyes again, but obediently closed them, too. "There. Satisfied?"

"Mm hm." She shuffled through the file for the statement she wanted and thumbed the button on the tape recorder.

"Bet C.J. and Dion don't stand a chance," Steve mumbled.

Amanda smiled smugly and began to read.

*

Steve pressed the button on the small tape recorder and listened dreamily to the faint humming as it rewound, then started up again.

A thin, tinny version of Amanda's voice dribbled from the tiny speaker and he turned slightly toward it, not bothering to open his eyes. "If Mrs. Fuller left the house sometime between 7am and 7:30…" When did Homeroom start again? 7:30 or 8:00? He'd ask Cheryl. She'd know. Had Mrs. Fuller been there for the whole thing? She'd taken attendance - that must mean something…He swallowed a yawn, only half-listening as his thoughts kept pace with Amanda's words. He knew it almost by heart by now anyway. "David Fuller's frequent absences, allegedly for business…" Well, at least SOME had to be for business, it was that kind of job. On the other hand, he wouldn't be the first man to mix business with pleasure…"…consistent with the theory of alienation of affection…" Yeah, maybe - but surely a divorce was an easier means of separation than a baseball bat? Crime of passion, then? And, of course, even the best divorce settlement wasn't as lucrative as an inheritance. Especially if there was a life insurance policy involved. And if some of the money was starting to mysteriously find its way elsewhere… Had there been an insurance policy? He'd ask Cheryl…or his Dad. That was the sort of thing his Dad would never overlook.

He was startled by a familiar touch on his forehead and fought to pry his eyes apart. "Hi. I'm awake."

His father was taking his time easing into focus, but he could hear the smile in his voice. "That's funny. You looked just like somebody asleep."

"Just resting my eyes." He tried to pull himself up into sitting position. "And concentrating."

"So I see."

He ground his fingers into his eyelids to try and clear his vision, saw his father pick up the tape recorder.

"What's this?"

"Your statement. Amanda recorded it for me."

"That's nice." Mark turned it over in his palm. "But I don't think you're going to have to be worrying about any court dates for a while. Trying to catch up?"

"And remember. Put the pieces back together."

Mark nodded, pulling up a chair. "Hear that you and your dinner didn't get along too well."

Steve made a face. "My own fault. Got looking at some blood spatter photos…."

Mark pursed his lips and winced sympathetically. "Oooo…bad idea. All those little dots."

"Tell me about it. Guess I wasn't missing much anyway. Just some dry toast with jelly and applesauce. I'll wait for the real food."

"Well, I'm afraid that until you manage to make peace with a little toast and jelly, there won't be anything more substantial. Are you hungry? Would you like to try something? The kitchen is still open."

"No thanks. My last battle with food is still a little too vivid to make it sound appealing."

"Mm. Nothing worse than vomiting when you have a head injury. Am I keeping you up? Did you want to take a nap?"

"No, I thought I'd take a five or ten minute break between naps, just to see what was going on in the conscious world."

"Well, it really wouldn't have surprised me if you'd slept straight through the first twenty-four hours. Rest is crucial when you have a concussion."

"You sound just like Jesse. And Amanda."

Mark grinned. "Maybe the fact that we're all doctors has something to do with that."

"So I hear. You aren't going to tug on your lab coat now, are you?"

Mark looked perplexed. "Why on earth would I do that?"

Steve shook his head. "Never mind. Dad - " he hesitated. What is my problem? Just ask!

Mark waited. "Son?" he finally rejoined playfully.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. Was he really having trouble questioning his Dad about his conclusions on this case? They always questioned each other! It was just how they worked. He would point out to his Dad what he had overlooked. His Dad would point out to him the holes in his logic. Back and forth, until they had fought their way through the problem. Nobody's feelings ever got hurt - it was just like working on a puzzle together.

He saw his father's eyes resting pleasantly, but questioningly, on him, and felt his color rise. Oh, this was ridiculous! He hadn't felt this self conscious in front of his father since the first time he'd been caught necking with a girl! Just because both Jesse and Cheryl had made the same passing remark…he dropped his eyes to the standard hospital blanket and studied it as though there was something interesting about it.

On the other hand…both Jesse and Cheryl were pretty perceptive. Especially, he admitted reluctantly to himself, when it came to him. Was it possible that they'd noticed something he wasn't even aware of himself? He cleared his throat and shot his Dad an embarrassed look. He felt confused, and obscurely disloyal. Maybe it really was the head injury. At the very least it probably wouldn't hurt to hold off on expressing his doubts until he was more sure of his own motivations.

He noticed his father eyeing him intently and flushed more deeply.

Mark leaned forward to touch his face again. "You know, I don't like your color. Do you have a fever?"

Steve pulled away, feeling foolish. "No, Dad, of course not."

"You feel pretty warm."

Well, his face did feel warm, but that wasn't why! "Was there an insurance policy?" he blurted at last. Mark looked hard at him; that 'I can see right through you and I know that's not what you started to ask' look. Steve dropped his eyes again. "It didn't say anything about one in your statement, and I'm not allowed to read the file. I remember we were still trying to track one down when…" he trailed off, feeling awkward and ridiculous.

Mark looked at him for a moment longer, then seemed to decide to let him off the hook. "Have a little of this," he instructed, handing him a tall plastic cup with a lid. He watched as Steve meekly took an obedient sip from the straw. "Yes, there was one. A big one."

Steve looked curiously at the cup. "This isn't water."

"No, apple juice over ice. It should be easy on your stomach, but give you some nutrients outside of the IV."

"Apple juice?" Steve's face split into a rueful grin. No one could make him feel four years old quite like his father could. He took another sip. Actually, it tasted pretty good. "How much? The policy, I mean?"

"Two million."

Steve choked on the straw. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Plus a $500,000 accidental death and dismemberment rider."

Steve whistled. "Nice take. She take it out? Or him?"

"David Fuller took it out on himself - a lot of traveling businessmen did that after 9/11. Probably wanted to make sure his family wouldn't lose the house and that his son could still go to college if anything happened to him."

Steve lost interest in his apple juice. "Poor kid. Father dead, mother in jail. How do you survive something like that?"

"With a lot of help." Mark eased the plastic cup out of his hand, removed the lid and added more juice from a small bottle on the side table. He handed it back to Steve and waited pointedly.

After a minute, Steve sighed and took another sip. "Any signs of him trying to change the policy at any point? Include a mistress? Change beneficiary? Anything like that?"

"Not so far. Though Cheryl has a few people digging into the financials." Mark picked up the remote from the side table and hit the button. "There's a Pacers game on, you know. Feel like watching? I'll spot you points."

Steve breathed a laugh. "Yeah, okay, I get the message." He relaxed into his pillows. "What about you? Have you had any dinner?"

"Oh, yes. The Board Meeting had it catered in, since it was so late in the day."

"Bet that wasn't applesauce."

Mark patted the lump his knee made under the blanket. "No, but it wasn't hospital food either."

Steve chuckled, trying to pick out the different teams on the screen. "Sure you want to stay? Remember, you're stuck with me all day tomorrow."

Mark cleared his throat, his eyes intent on the screen. "Look at that. Pacers are already up six points!"

Steve turned his head to look at him. "Dad?"

"If you're going to choose your point spread, you'd better do it soon. Or it'll be a foregone conclusion."

"Dad. I am going home tomorrow."

"What? Oh, yeah. Probably. I mean, eventually."

"Eventually. What does that mean exactly? Aren't you taking me home tomorrow morning?"

Mark made a face. "Probably not in the morning." Steve started to protest and he continued, "Well, you didn't keep down your dinner. You lost a lot of blood and Jesse is a little worried about your hydration levels. Doesn't want to remove the IV until he's sure you can keep down two meals in a row."

Steve blew out his breath slowly. "Guess I did that to myself, huh. Breakfast and lunch?"

"If you keep down breakfast and lunch and everything looks all right, he'll probably let you go home."

There was a subdued crowd roar from the set and Steve looked up just in time to see a tall player slam dunk a basket. "Hey! Look at that! How many points you taking?"

Mark squinted at the screen. "I'll take twelve."

"Good. Make mine twenty." He folded his arms across his chest and got comfortable. "Between you and Jesse, at least my hospital stay will be profitable."