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Designed Intent

Chapter 45

Tuesday Noon

Bobby was preparing to head over to the courthouse as Carver asked to meet him there at half past noon when his cell rang. He expected to hear from Gleason as she had promised to go to the clinic after her first class.

"Goren."

"Detective Goren?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Detective Goren, this is Malcolm Conway."

"What do you want?"

The silence said everything.

"Malcolm . . . is Gleason all right?"

"She's in hospital, her heart. She didn't show up for class this morning and didn't answer her phone. I went to her apartment to see if she was ok, and found her on the floor in the kitchen. She was still in her nightgown. A bottle of pills was spilt on the floor and a glass was broken."

Malcolm might as well have kicked him square in the solar plexus, Bobby couldn't breathe for a moment and then he whispered, "How is she?"

"They've stabilized her and are running tests."

"What did they say? Can I talk to her?"

"I don't know anything. I followed the ambulance and was with her in the ER. They worked on her there for a bit and then took her away. She, she was very swollen, her eyes, feet and hands. Her lips were blue when I found her. She was barely breathing and was cold."

"Jesus. Where is she, what hospital?"

"She's at Pullman Memorial. I've got the number if you want to call."

"Yeah, thanks." Bobby wrote the number. "Uh, Malcolm, thanks. Thanks for checking on her."

"Sure. Bye."

"Bye." Bobby wiped his face and looked up at Eames.

"Is Gleason all right?" He ignored her, grabbed the sheet of paper with the number he had written, stood and turned, already dialing.

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The phone rang five times before anyone answered it.

"Uh, hello. May I speak with Gleason Wintermantle?"

"I'm sorry, sir, there is no patient in this room at this time; she's having tests."

"What? Where, who can I talk to find out where she is, how she is?"

"You'll have to dial into the main desk and they can redirect your call to the nurses' station."

"Wait, wait! Don't hang up! I, I don't have that number. Can you transfer me?"

"I can't do that from this phone."

"Well, I need to speak with her. Who can I talk with to find out how she is?"

"Oh, hang on, here, talk with this nurse."

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD. I need to know where Gleason Wintermantle is. I need to speak with her."

"You're who? With what?"

Bobby closed his eyes and tried to count to ten, he got as far as six. "Listen, I need to speak with Gleason Wintermantle, or her doctor. I need to know what has happened to her."

He could hear the other person considering what to do, what to say. "I am her nurse. What do you want to know? Are you family?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Yes, family, I'm family." This wasn't exactly true yet, but it would be soon. "How is she? What happened? Is she going to be all right?"

"Let me get her chart here, a minute. Ok, here we go – Ms Wintermantle presented via ambulance in the ER mid morning today unconscious with a nearly negligible pulse. She was swollen, blue and cold. En route, she received a minimal dose atropine injection to increase her heart rate. Initial diagnosis upon examination in the ER was bradycardia and congestive heart failure secondary to pulmonary edema; she admitted to the coronary care unit. She is stable at present and is currently having tests to establish diagnosis and determine prognosis and subsequent course of treatment. She will not be back to her room for at least an hour."

Bobby listened intently. "Who is her doctor?"

"That would be Dr. Chavez."

"When can I talk with him? Would he want to talk with her heart doctor here in New York?"

"Perhaps; mention that when you speak with Dr. Chaves."

"When can I talk with him?"

"I'll let Dr. Chavez know that you called and that you would like to speak with her. She will return your call at her convenience. Where can she reach you? Would you spell your name for me, please?"

Bobby gave her the requested information and then said, "Thank you. Thank you. I'll, I'll call back in an hour. Thank you."

"Shall I tell Ms Wintermantle you called?"

"Yes, yes, please tell her Bobby called. Thanks again."

He clicked off, walked back to his desk, and dropped into his chair. Eames looked at him and asked, "Is she all right? What happened?"

"Uh, I need to see the Captain." He pushed up from his desk again and walked toward Deakins' office.

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"Do you have a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

Bobby entered and shut the door. Deakins looked at the man and knew it wasn't good, whatever it was; he set down his pen and asked, "What's happened?"

Bobby sat and put his head in his hands and then looked up. "Gleason is in the hospital in Chicago – her heart. I, I need to go to her. I need to be there. I need to take some time." He knew he had no usable time left. Their current case was on the cusp of closing, he and Eames had the paperwork from the last case to complete, and he was due to testify in court some point, probably this afternoon; this was the absolute worse time to leave. He did not want to have to plead.

"What happened?"

Bobby told Deakins everything Malcolm and the nurse had told him. Deakins listened knowing he could not let his best detective go to Chicago – Bobby needed to testify. The brass upstairs would never approve the time away. The solve rate was improving steadily and they wanted it to continue. No, he couldn't let his detective go.

"Bobby, wait and talk with Gleason. See how she sounds. Talk with her doctors. Get the facts before you do anything."

Bobby stood and looked steadily at his boss. "You're not going to let me go, are you?" he said darkly. "Son of a bitch! If this was your wife, your daughter, you'd be on a plane in a heart beat, no questions asked."

"That's not fair, Bobby, and you know it. I'm just saying talk with her. Talk with her doctors."

Bobby two-stepped and paced in a circle; he couldn't stand still. His left hand traveled over his head and down his neck. He turned, gestured and said, "I'm going to Chicago. Fire me if you have to, but I'm going to be with Gleason. She needs me." He turned and reached for the door.

"Detective, you are going nowhere; not yet, anyway. Go and call her doctor. Get some facts." Bobby stopped and turned slowly. "Bobby, you are panicked right now. Think this through. You need to speak with her before you do anything. Listen to me."

Bobby stopped with his hand on the door. He knew Deakins was right, but it was her heart. Her heart had not been right since the shooting. The first prescription had not worked and her heart had nearly stopped during the miscarriage. This new medication seemed to be fine until now. What had happened? He just wanted to know that she was going to be all right.

"Do you have the name of her doctor? Phone numbers?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Deakins came around his desk and said, "Look, you're scheduled to testify this afternoon. Go, get it done, then talk with her doctor, talk with Gleason. Let's get a better sense of how she is. Meanwhile, I'll see what upstairs says. Then we'll know how to proceed."

Bobby had never felt so powerless; he knew the Captain was right. Bobby nodded and returned to his desk then headed to the courthouse. He explained to Carver what had happened and Carver said he would do what he could. Carver did not tell Bobby there was little he could do about anything.

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"Hi, Sweet. How do you feel?" he whispered as her eyes opened.

Gleason moaned softly and licked her lips. Her eyes flickered and she shifted her legs. She could not focus on the face before her. "Bobby?" she breathed.

He didn't answer, but took her hand, bent and softly kissed her forehead. "It's me, Malcolm."

"Where's Bobby?" she whispered and coughed.

"Excuse me sir, I need to see how she is. Please step outside," the nurse demanded as she swept into the room.

Malcolm left and stood in the hallway. I should call Goren, he thought; tell him she's awake. I should call him. I should. I will. Later.

After a few minutes, the nurse emerged and said, "You can go in, now. She's going to be sleepy. I'll be back in ten minutes." Malcolm nodded and walked back into the room.

"Where is Bobby?" Gleason asked again and coughed.

"He's still in New York. I'm here, Gleason. I'll look after you."

Gleason moved her head from side to side. "Why isn't he here? Is he ok?" she spoke in a whisper.

"Gleason, he's in New York. He's ok, he's in New York."

"I want Bobby." Her face crumpled and she began to cry. The monitor attached to her heart began to beep faster. She coughed and moaned. Her legs drew up and she coughed again.

"Gleason, don't cry. He's coming. He said he'll be here as soon as he can. Don't cry, Sweet. Shush."

The nurse was back in a dash, "What's wrong here? Gleason? Gleason, let's sit up, dear. Stop crying. Why is she crying? Are you in pain? Calm down. You better step out again, sir."

"Is she going to be all right?"

"Please step out. I need help in here!"

Malcolm watched as two nurses hurried into her room.

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