Chapter 12
An ambulance arrived on the scene along with a few police cars not long after Dutch radioed in. Two more ambulances were called out soon after the first arrived.
Connor and the boy with the shattered knee were loaded into separate ambulances, and on the way to the hospital cops road with them, questioning them the whole way. The kid would get off because he wasn't legally and adult yet, but Connor would be in jail within the next two months.
Dutch sat in the third ambulance, holding a pack of ice to the back of his head. The cops who had arrived questioned him thoroughly, asking about every detail of what had happened. And Dutch told the truth, up until the point when he killed unarmed men.
A stray shot got one, and one had been coming at him when he was taken down. But Dutch had managed to simply knock Connor unconscious, rather than killing him.
Claudette arrived on the scene as the third ambulance was preparing to take him to the hospital to treat his head injury. She jumped inside the ambulance and held out a piece of paper to him.
"How are you doing?" She asked as he took the paper.
"Fine, I think," Dutch said, opening the paper while continuing to hold the ice pack to his head. "What's this?"
"A message was left on your machine. A Dr. Coffman called about Crystal."
"Crystal?" Dutch asked, looking up at Claudette. "Is she OK? What happened?"
"I don't know," Claudette said. "He just said he needed to ask you some questions. But relax, I'm sure everything is fine. And you don't need to be getting all worked up."
He removed the ice pack and looked down at the towel wrapped around it. The wound was still bleeding just a little. The towel was spotted with red, but most of the bleeding had stopped, so he wasn't too worried.
"What happened?" Claudette asked.
"Look at the report," Dutch said. "Sorry, but I'm just getting sick of talking about it."
Sighing and nodding, Claudette leaned back. She opened her mouth to speak, but the paramedic interrupted her.
"We're going now," he said. "Were you planning on riding with us?"
"Oh, no," Claudette said, standing. ""I'll drive myself." She looked back to Dutch. "Try to relax, OK? I'll see you there."
"OK," Dutch said, leaning against the side of the ambulance, holding the ice back to his head as he took out his phone. He dialed the number that Claudette had given him with his thumb as the paramedic jumped in and closed the door. Dutch saw that the paramedic was about to ask him to turn the phone off, so he said quickly, "I'll only be a minute."
Ring, ring.
"Hello, this is Nick Coffman."
"Hi, this Holland Wagenbach," Dutch said, crumbling the paper and shoving it in his pocket. "You called me about Crystal Martinez. Is she OK?"
"I'm not sure," Dr. Coffman said. "I wanted to ask you about that."
"What?" That was a little...weird. "Why? What do you mean?"
"Are you her boyfriend?"
"Yeah." He could see that the good doctor was going to start asking him a long line of questions, but he was going to be at the hospital anyway, and would much prefer to see this man face-to-face. "I'm coming to the ambulance right now. We can talk there," Dutch said.
"OK."
"I'll be checked in as a patient, so just come see me during the examination."
"Sure," Dr. Coffman said. "I'll see you then."
"All right," Dutch said, sighing and hanging up the phone. He would call Crystal when they got to the hospital and tell her what had happened, but until then he was going to let the paramedic take care of him.
A nurse called Lynette was shinning a light in Dutch's eyes when Coffman came in. "It looks like you don't have a concussion," she said. "How's your chest doing?"
"Fine," Dutch said. He had gotten stitches in the long, and pretty deep gash across his chest. On hundred and ninety six stitches, to be exact. He hadn't let them see the cuts on his back, just his chest, so no one knew about the cuts between his shoulder blades.
Lynette looked up at Coffman with a smile. "Yeah?"
"I actually need to speak with your patient," Coffman said, motioning to Dutch. "Can we have a few moments alone?"
"Yes, of course," Lynette said, stepping out of the room.
Coffman pulled up a chair while Dutch leaned back against the wall. "Have you spoken with Crystal today?"
"No," Dutch said. "What happened?"
"I saw her take a fall in the park," Coffman said. "I insisted on bringing her here to check her out after I saw the bruise on her jaw and on her wrist."
"Thos are old," Dutch said. "A man broke into her house-"
"That's what she told me," Coffman said, cutting him off. "But I also saw some cuts on the inside of her thigh."
Dutch's heart seemed to skip a beat, turning to ice.
"There was 'D' carved into her skin, and it looked like it might be infected, but she wouldn't let me look at it." The doctor eyed Dutch for a minute, watching him as he bowed his head, frowning and gnawing his lip. "Do you know anything about that?"
Several minutes passed of complete silence, then Dutch slowly nodded his head. "I did it," he said.
"Have you abused her?" He asked bluntly.
Dutch lifted his eyes, his lips parting in shock of the blatant nature of the question.
"Those cuts looked pretty bad," the doctor said. "She was trying to protect you. That's not unnatural in an abusive relationship."
Feeling his stomach heave, Dutch leaned forward a little, grasping the edge of his chair tighter. My God, he thought, closing his eyes for a moment. He remembered the night before, cutting his name into her thigh, the way the cuts bled.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice choked. "I never wanted to hurt her."
"Most don't," the doctor said.
"I did it," Dutch repeated. "I hurt her."
The doctor rose, straightening his medical coat and looking down at Dutch. "I want to let you know that I'm going to call the police."
Dutch just nodded. "Good," he said. "Do it. I deserve it."
As the doctor left the room, images flashed through his mind: the blood running down Chris's leg. The bullets striking those men back at the bar and striking them dead.
I deserve it, he repeated to himself. I deserve worse.
