Chapter Seven

5: 49 p.m. Monday 16th

The EMTs loaded the unconscious man onto a gurney. EMT Troy Trentham turned away, the smell was worse than any street bum he'd ever had to attend. "I'll go call it in." He couldn't get away fast enough.

EMT Carol Makilvoy watched her partner go and shook her head. Alright, so the guy smelled disgusting but looking at his clothes, his hair cut, and his hands - this wasn't normal for him. She took his pulse, it was rapid but not unusual for the level of dehydration she was looking at. Blood pressure was low too. She'd get some fluids into him first and go from there. While she prepped a bag to hang she could hear her partner in the front. "No, he's just some bum…" Trentham stayed on the phone flirting with the girl at dispatch.

Carol wiped the limp hand with a sterilizer, nice big hands, the nails were dirty but she guessed they'd been manicured less than a week ago. And like many men, he had good veins; even with the dehydration she'd be able to get a needle in there easily. She chose the left hand where there were some small cuts, on the edge but none on the back like the ripped skin on his right…

She prep'd the needle and held it close. As she pushed the thin silvered point into a vein at the back of his hand, suddenly he reared up, and the needle tore out, spraying blood onto her latex gloves His flailing arm hit her in the chest and she stumbled back against the wall of the bus. Supplies rattled and something hit the deck with a crash. The man had gained his feet while she fell, and now he stepped back hard into the barrier between the driver seat and the medical compartment.

His eyes were wide and moving rapidly from side to side, blue irises in red raw whites. "No, no - " he cried in a ragged angry voice.

Trentham had heard the crash and stepped into the cabin, his face livid. He took one look at Carol on the floor and grabbed the man by the throat. The burly medic pushed the patient back and up onto his toes. "You fucking piece of shit, if you've hurt her-"

Carol grabbed her partner's arm and pulled, "Troy, No! He's probably hallucinating with the dehydration. I'm not hurt. Just help me get him back down."

She muscled her way in past Trentham's body and stood close, kept her voice calm and gentle, "Sir, Sir, it's okay. You're okay now." The man's eyes moved frantically around, clearly he had no idea where he was.

"Sir, you're in an ambulance. We're about to take you to the hospital. You've been injured."

As soon as he heard her voice the fight went out of him. His head dropped. "I'm sorry, I… it's just…" His knees sagged and Carol couldn't hold him.

"Troy, help me get him back to the gurney."

Troy grabbed the man in a rough grip, disgust clear on his face, and pushed him forward. He hit the gurney knees first and seemed to grope for the surface. Carol's brows closed in a frown. Severe dehydration could affect mental capacity, eyesight, all manner of things. She wanted to get that fluid into him fast. She turned to get another saline bag and cannula.

"Water…"

Trentham ignored him. Makilvoy would have an IV into him in a moment, he could just wait.

"There's no need…" the man was saying weakly and Carol turned to see Troy jerking tight on the straps they used for violent patients. She pursed her lips. Better to get Trentham in the driver's seat so she could give this guy some care.

"Let's get him to the ER Troy, you wanna drive?"

"Sure thing." Trentham snapped up the offer, grabbing an aerosol can and spraying disinfectant over his hands and around the cabin before he moved forward again.

Carol sat next to the gurney. She laid a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "Sir, I'm going to put a needle in your hand. Will you stay still?"

The man nodded and asked, "Water?"

"Here." She soaked a small sponge and held it to his cracked lips, his head lifted, eager to bring as much of the moisture in as possible. He went to lift his right hand but the strap prevented any movement. Looking to make sure Troy wasn't watching, she lifted the buckle and freed his hand. He reached up and took the sponge, squeezing the water into his own mouth. The water mixed with dried blood and trickled from the cracks in his lips and he winced. "Thank you."

She stepped away to pull the doors closed. The dog that had been found with him was lying on the ground behind the doors, his big eyes looking up at her. "Is the dog yours?"

He hesitated. "Fido? She's here?"

Carol made up her mind. She snapped her fingers and the dog jumped up. It curled in the corner, never taking its eyes from the man. "Shh, don't let my partner hear you."

"I'm sorry, about before." He seemed very anxious. "I thought it was another rat… you know, from the landfill."

The horror of the image got through her defenses and she shuddered. She could see blood on his fingers, bite marks on his arms, and realized he had had good reason to imagine the needle had been teeth.

"I'm so sorry. You're safe now." She put her hand on his shoulder as the ambulance lurched forward. Troy hadn't bothered to put the sirens on. "You should begin to feel better soon."

There was no change in the man's expression. "Please, check my eyes, something's wrong. I can't see anything."

"Let me take a look." Carol used the small flashlight, checking for reflex response in the pupils and noting the pupils were unequally dilated. His lack of response was clear she didn't bother to ask him to follow the light. "When did this happen?"

"When I woke, at the dump. At first I thought it was night, but then there were birds." He stopped for a moment, thinking. "Must be from my injuries; back of my head and one on my forehead. Blunt force, I'd say."

She looked closely at his eyes, drew her hand back and forth in front of them. He wasn't tracking her at all. She brought a finger tip up close to his eyeball, there was no automatic retreat of his head, no flicker in his eyelids. "I can't tell. We'll have to get the doctors to look at you."

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from her. She touched his hand and took the sponge.

"Can you give me your name, someone to contact?"

His voice was a whisper, and his mouth twisted as if to hold back a sob. "I don't remember."

"Do you know how long you were at the landfill?"

She had to lean in close to hear his words. "It was dark all the time, cold sometimes, hot sometimes. Maybe two days, maybe three? I thought…I thought I was dead." And with that he lapsed back into unconsciousness, spent, his head dropped to the side.

9:00 p.m. Monday 16th

"Alright, that's enough. Get that guy back here, take his statement," Fisk ordered the detectives who had been checking dumpsters in the surrounding area all night.

"We want to go see Marybeth and see if we can squeeze it out of her," Marty said.

Fisk just nodded.

He looked out the window at Karen who sat, ear to the phone, eyes closed talking to a guy in Sanitation. She was trying to find out when the bins had been emptied last and where. With the strike, she was getting no where.

"Karen, I want you to check Dunbar's apartment again and then go get some rest. We won't be able to look through transfer stations and things until it's light anyhow."

Karen looked like she was going to protest, but the merest possibility that she'd find Jim safe at his home had her nodding agreement.

9:55 p.m. Monday 16th

The emergency attending at Staten Island University Hospital admitted an unconscious John Doe with severe dehydration and blunt trauma to the head. The doctor put in the regular paperwork for a John Doe.

11:00 p.m. Monday 16th

Karen closed the door behind her and shut her eyes. The apartment was silent and she just stood there fighting the thoughts that crowded her mind. Was this it? Was her partnership with James Dunbar a thing of the past already? Was the silence in the apartment final?

1:00 a.m. Tuesday 17th

Elise Russo opened the door to the lounge. Her husband sat staring out of the window at the rain. "Come to bed. You need to have your wits about you if you're going to find him tomorrow." She kissed him on the head and he followed her back to bed.

5:00 a.m. Tuesday 17th

Tom Selway rolled out of bed and changed into his sweats. He headed down to the gym in his apartment block and began a long work out. His dreams were full of rotting dog corpses and beating up perps, he may as well get the body moving for real.

5:00 a.m. Tuesday 17th

Karen closed the door behind her and walked to the elevator. She'd go scout the streets around the area before heading into the squad. She drove, windows down, looking for Jim and listening for Hank. It was a quiet morning and she refused to give up hope yet. She wouldn't do that until she saw his body for herself. Missing wasn't dead.

6:00 a.m. Tuesday 17th

The ER admin routinely faxed off the description of the latest John Doe to the closest precinct and to the MPU.

Wainright and Saunders were off duty.

Tom and Marty waited while Marybeth Desmond was brought out from her cell.

6:15 a.m. Tuesday 17th

Sergeant Mathers took one look at the description that came in on the fax from SIUH and placed a call to the Lieutenant at the 8th. He intended to leave a message but the Lieutenant himself answered the call.

Fisk scribbled a note as Mathers described the live John Doe at Staten Island Hospital. Gary glanced through the blinds on his window, Karen was at her desk, phone tucked into her cheek.

"Karen, go check this John Doe at Staten Island University Hospital. Came in yesterday, no ID."

6: 35 a.m. Tuesday 17th.

Karen leaned on her car horn again and cursed the woman in front of her on the bridge to Staten Island. Rush hour was more like rush two hours. She'd called the hospital but not gotten anything more. The doctors seemed to think the blindness of this John Doe was from his recent injury, and New York had thousands of men who fit Jim's physical description. A space appeared beside her and she squeezed in, a few yards closer to answering her question.

8:02 a.m. Tuesday 17th

Karen pulled up at the emergency door and readied herself for the possibility that this was not going to be Jim. She stepped out of the car and stood by the entrance, strangely reluctant to enter. A low whine reached her ears and she turned. A few feet away a filthy dog struggled to sit up, tied to the no standing sign with a rope too short for it to move toward her any further. "Hank?"

The German Sheppard wagged its tail slowly. She rushed over and held the smelly dog in her arms. "Oh Hank, oh man, I never thought I'd be so glad to see you." She wanted to rush into the hospital, if Hank was here, it had to be Jim in there, but he'd want Hank looked after, and a moment wouldn't make any difference to him now. She undid the rope and walked Hank to the car. He was slow and a bit wobbly. She helped him climb up and settled into his regular seat with a sigh. "It's okay boy. He'll be okay now." She patted him on his head but he was already asleep.

This time there was no hesitation as Karen ran in the glass doors and pulled her badge at the receptionist. The woman was too slow. While she answered a call, Karen slipped past and began walking through the ER, pulling back curtains and apologizing to people. A nurse came up, "Who are you looking for Ma'am?"

Karen flashed her badge again, "You have a John Doe. I believe he's actually a detective."

The woman's eyebrows rose, "Wow, well, he's in here. We put him in a proper room, he's been here since yesterday."

8:10 a.m. Tuesday 17th

Karen didn't hear the nurse leave. She just stood and looked at him. He was asleep. His cheeks were drawn and grey. It was twenty four hours since he'd failed to arrive for their tour. It felt like a week to her. She'd seen him three days ago, when she dropped him off at his apartment. He looked a decade older. She closed her eyes and sagged, reaching blindly behind her for a chair.

The doctor entered. "Is it the man you were looking for?"

Karen nodded. "Yes, he's my partner. He's been missing since Friday night. What are his injuries?"

The doctor spoke gently, he was used to breaking bad news, "He's received several blows to the head, and he has no vision in either eye. Right now we don't know if it's temporary or permanent, or even exactly what has caused it."

Karen gave the man a wry smile. "He's been blind for several years, Doctor."

"Oh," the doctor was taken aback. "Are you sure?"

Karen just nodded.

"Well, that's … good I suppose, then his recent injury hasn't caused this." He suddenly realized what he had said and changed tack, "Also he's dehydrated, quite confused, it looks like he had a concussion a few days ago, and his memory is affected."

"Affected how?"

"He doesn't know who he is. He knows you well I take it?"

"Yes, we've worked side by side for almost three years."

"That's excellent news, seeing you might bring it all back immediately… well…" The doctor blushed at his own gaff when Karen raised an eyebrow. "Talk to him, see if you can jog his memory, someone they know usually does it."

"When will he wake?"

"He's been sleeping most of the time since he got here, so you can wake him when you're ready."

"Thank you."

8:14 a.m. Tuesday 17th

"It's Jim," Karen called Fisk a soon as the doctor had left. "It's him."

On the other end of the line Fisk was silent. Then, "What's his condition?"

"He's asleep. The doctor says he's dehydrated and confused."

"Have you talked to him yet?"

"No, I'll go wake him now."

Fisk was silent. "Okay, good. Tom and Marty just charged Marybeth with his murder."

"Marybeth?"

"Carl Desmond's wife."

"Jesus! Well, he's not dead. She thought she'd killed him?"

"Hit him in the head with a crow bar and had him thrown in a dumpster. Hank too."

It was Karen's turn to be silent. There were more than a few cops who'd like to do the same to Marybeth, including herself right now.

"Bitch!" Karen shook her head in disbelief, "I guess we're lucky she's an idiot. Hank's here too."

"Well, that's a piece of luck." After three years, the dog felt like one of the squad, even Fisk would have been sorry to lose the pooch. "I'm going to call Russo and Selway. Right now, they think Jim's dead."

"Hey, we better tell those assholes from MPU too."

"Yeah, I'll do that. You stay with Jim."