Chapter 6: Aftermath

Jane

Jane hated being out of control, having things done to him. Even if necessary.

The EMT's wheeled Jane's stretcher into St. Vincent's trauma center and then into a hall in the treatment area beyond the waiting room. Pain flared in his arm, chest, face with every bump. Overhead lights hurt his eyes. The EMT's and an RN transferred Jane to a hospital bed so they could leave with their stretcher. The triage nurse looked him over immediately and then...nothing. Jane's vital signs were stable and the bleeding was well controlled. Jane had the misfortune of arriving just after two teens with gunshot wounds. Even with his law enforcement connection, the GSW cases trumped non-life-threatening stab wounds.

Carson Springs poverty and crime ensured you did not want to visit the emergency room on a Friday night. Nor even on this particular Tuesday night. A gang war left seven with gunshot wounds. The cases overwhelmed the capacity of the three hospitals. Located in an area long poor and declining, the hospitals didn't enjoy magnanimous gifts for new wings or revamped emergency services. The hospitals did the best they could with what they could get: Inadequate reimbursement from the Medicaid program for the poor, the Medicare program for the elderly, and insurance companies for the (few) employed. They got mostly bad debts from everyone else. Federal law mandated that hospitals treat everyone who showed up at an emergency room, regardless of ability to pay, putting hospitals in a no-win situation. Citizens resisted paying ever higher taxes and so the problems persisted. Separating receiving care from paying for it ensured that demand endlessly exceeded supply. The plight of St. Vincent's and hundreds of other inner city hospitals was the result.

At first Jane struggled to calm the storm of thoughts, emotion and pain. Random thoughts, emotions crashed around in his mind. Haffner, how could I miss it when I worked–dead, dead, right? at least I waited, didn't I? I think I–and Jimmy, damn Barlow, Eileen, his own niece–no one was hurt, god I don't think so, gotta ask Lisbon, where's Lisbon?–Alex wasn't my–but my mother then, but I knew, suspected– where's Lisbon? Seconds ticked by and gathered into minutes and then into many minutes. It was anything but quiet. A woman groaned and periodically cried out in one emergency bay, machines beeped and whirred, and conversations, arguments and exclamations of pain in the waiting room provided a constant undercurrent of noise in the treatment area. Jane reflected again that a hospital was the last place to go for actual rest. Nonetheless, he gradually calmed down and gained control over the pain, his thoughts, and his emotions.

Able to think clearly once more, he knew exactly what to expect, having spent many carny layovers in Carson Springs. Although he would prefer to be treated sooner than later, he couldn't argue that his impatience should have priority over someone's life – even to himself. St. Vincent's hadn't the resources for frills or hand-holding or quick treatment for everyone. Strep cases competed with gunshot wounds, competed with baby deliveries, competed with sprains, competed with heart attacks. Jane did take comfort knowing that sheer volume ensured expertise in treating gunshot wounds, stabbings, and beatings. He would get decent treatment...eventually.

Lisbon

Lisbon made her way into the trauma center, mentally scoffing at the pretentious term. She wound her way through a surprisingly crowded waiting room to the clerk's desk and confirmed that Jane was a patient. They could tell her nothing more. She found a seat on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. The room was vaguely grubby. The magazines provided to occupy hours of waiting were months or years out of date. Hurry up and wait. She hoped for a cup of coffee, but the vending machines were out. Surprisingly, they had chilled orange juice – probably because it was one of the few healthful choices. She got that in lieu of coffee - or dinner. Surprised, fifteen minutes later she looked over as Cho sat down alongside and handed her coffee and a take-out bag containing a burger and fries.

"I thought you were going back to Sacramento."

"Changed my mind. You need company. Maybe security if they keep him." Then after a minute, "He's my friend, too. Any news?"

"No." She sighed. "I don't think the injuries are too bad. There are some pretty serious cases here, tonight.'

"Yeah." Cho had ample experience with inner city emergency services from his days as a gangbanger and city cop. It was the same everywhere. He expected nothing different.

After half an hour, Lisbon mustered her best authoritative cop persona and asked to see Jane. Her badge convinced the clerk and RN to be flexible. The treatment area was worn but spotless - a sharp contrast with the waiting area. She found Jane dozing on a bed in the hall in the treatment area. He looked slightly pale and more than slightly tired.

"How you doing? she asked, touching his shoulder.

He turned his head and opened his eyes. "Hi, Lisbon. Fine." Urgently, "Everyone's okay?"

"Yes, except you. How's the pain?"

"Under control. Busy night. They'll eventually get to me."

She frowned slightly, "Sorry you have to wait."

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "Meh. Flesh wounds. Just the way it is." He motioned with his chin. "In bay four, you have a woman in labor. Bay three, heart attack. Numbers one and two were gunshot wounds, currently in surgery. And the woman groaning and moaning in the waiting room? Hemorrhoids. Bad, I guess."

Lisbon looked at him and shook her head. He picked up information like other people breathe. Reading the patients was his way of distracting himself from the pain...and the night's events. He would have to deal with it all eventually, but not now apparently. She stopped wool-gathering, realizing he'd gone on to something new.

"–Hey, since I'm gonna be here awhile, how about getting a cop to take my statement?"

"Abbott's agents are handling the crime scene. You think that's wise? Are you sedated, or–"

"Stone cold sober. I just want to get it over."

"Jane, it was justified. I gave fair warning. He fired first."

"I know." Jane lifted his right hip, wincing in pain at the movement. He fished in his back pocket under the blanket then handed her his CBI cell phone. "Here."

"What?" she asked as she accepted it.

"A gift of technology. Barlow missed it –maybe thought it was my wallet since he'd found the burner cell. I left it on 'RECORD.'"

She looked at him, gratitude battling with surprise. "I'm impressed. If it picked up enough–"

"–It did, I listened."

"–that could provide everything we need to pressure Barlow and justify dealing with Ha–"

"Shush. Let's not broadcast it," he said softly.

She drew a deep breath. "Yeah. Better not stir things up till security's lined up. I'll get an agent in here." She turned to leave.

"Hey! How about bringing me a shirt from my go-bag? I have no plans to stay the night despite these lovely accommodations."

She smiled despite herself. For once, Jane's reluctance seemed reasonable.

Cho stepped in and talked with Jane while Lisbon called to request an FBI agent come and take Jane's statement. She then got Jane's shirt from the go bag in the Citroen.

"Jane."

"Hey, Cho."

"Here." Cho handed him the burner cell phone he'd retrieved from Barlow. "Congratulations. Got him. Doing all right?"

"Thanks. Thanks for the back-up. Yeah, I'm fine."

Cho's eyes narrowed just perceptibly. "You're a damned fool. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking it was now or never with the FBI sniffing around. It worked."

"You're reckless."

"I was bait. The team was – what?- a half hour behind? How would a plan have differed?"

"It would have been safer."

"Or maybe we would have missed the chance. I would have spent another decade trying to find him."

Cho sighed and shook his head. "Better hope your luck never runs out."

Jane grinned. "Hasn't so far."

"You keep telling yourself that. Till it does. Then it'll be too late."

"It's all probabilities, Cho. Thanks for the back-up."

Lisbon returned with a shirt and put it on the shelf under his bed. A short while later one of Abbott's agents appeared and took his statement.

Then the medical staff was finally available to treat Jane. It took 20 minutes to clean and close the wounds. The cheek and chest gashes were closed with surgical glue and butterfly bandages, plus a waterproof dressing over the chest wound. This would provide the best chance of healing without scarring. The stab wound required internal as well as external stitches. Fortunately the blade cut was in line with the muscle instead of across it. At Jane's insistence, the doctor sutured it closed with pain control provided by just local anesthetic and Jane's own biofeedback skills. A waterproof dressing also protected that wound and would allow showering until the skin again provided an impermeable barrier. A half hour later, Jane had received written wound care instructions, and antibiotics and pain medication.

While Jane dressed, the doctor took Lisbon and Cho aside to brief them on the treatment and aftercare. The prophylactic antibiotics would avert any regular bacterial infections, but there was still the risk of blood borne viral infections – particularly hepatitis and HIV. Lisbon had the doctor arrange to take samples from Haffner's knife. She hoped that would clarify Jane's risks, only to be dismayed to learn it would take between two weeks and six months from exposure for an HIV infection to be detectable by a blood test; and four to six weeks for hepatitis. She gave the knife to Abbott's agent before he left. Finally, everything was done. She and Cho went to meet Jane in the treatment area.

Jane was gone. When asked, the RN said he had left through the hospital.

Lisbon's shoulders slumped. "Damn."

They walked out to the parking lot. The Citroen was indeed gone. Both got into the CBI SUV.

"Should we try to follow him, find him?"

Before she could reply her phone buzzed, signaling a text message. She read it, then read it aloud. "Lisbon, I need to think, need to get away. I just have too much to sort out right now to stay. I will be back. Sorry. Jane."

"So?"

"Cho, I think we start by respecting his wishes. He has ten years and a lot of personal stuff to work out."

"What about Red John's friends? Blake Association members? There are a lot of people who want him dead."

"I've got some ideas. And before you ask, we still have the trace on his burner phone–"

"–Which he'll probably ditch."

"I also bugged the Citroen."

"Uh, illegal?"

"Don't care. He's not going to file any formal complaints." She added a bit grimly, "I'm going to do what I can to keep him safe whether he likes it or not."

"Good."

They rode in silence the rest of the drive back to Sacramento, the day's events finally manifesting themselves in physical and emotional exhaustion. Everything else would have to wait.