Witness in Death (In Death #10)(95)

"You don't want to get overexcited."

"Find Lieutenant Dallas, and tell her."

"All right, don't worry. But in the meantime, you should rest. You took a nasty fall."

She smoothed his sheets, satisfied when he settled, closed his eyes. "I'll go see about your nutrition requirements."

She notated his chart and slipped out. She paused by the uniformed guard at the door. "He's awake."

From her uniform pocket, she took out her memo pad and informed Nutrition that Patient K. Stiles, Room 6503, required his midday meal. When the guard started to speak, the nurse held up a hand.

"Just a minute. I want to get this in so they get it up here before midnight. Nutrition's been running behind all week." Since the patient had neglected to fill in his lunch choices from the authorized menu, she ordered him a grilled chicken breast, mixed rice with steamed broccoli, a whole wheat roll with one pat of butter substitute, skim milk, and blueberry Jell-O.

"That should be up within the hour."

"Whoever brings it has to be cleared," the guard told her.

She gave a little huff of annoyance, took the memo out again, and made the necessary notation. "Oh, Patient Stiles was asking for someone named Dallas. Does that mean anything?"

The guard nodded, pulled out his communicator.

"He's got cop juice for blood," Peabody commented as they walked down the corridor.

"The juice is still green, but it'll ripen." When her communicator beeped, she dug it out of her pocket. "Dallas."

"Lieutenant. Officer Clark on guard duty, Kenneth Stiles. The suspect is awake and asking for you."

"I'm one level up and on my way."

"That's good timing." Peabody punched for the elevator, then sighed and followed Eve to the exit door. "I guess we're walking."

"It's one patient level."

"One level equals three flights."

"You'll work off the cookies."

"They're only a fond memory. You figure Stiles is ready to give us some straight talk?"

"I figure he's ready for something." She pushed through the doors to the next level, headed left. "He doesn't know we found Carvell or that we've identified Draco as Carly's father. We'll see how he plays it before we clue him in."

She stopped at the door. "Clark."

"Yes, sir."

"He have any visitors?"

"Not a soul. He was sleeping it off until a few minutes ago. The nurse reported he was awake and asking for you."

"Okay, take a fifteen-minute break."

"Thanks. I can use it."

Eve reached for the door, pushed it open. Then, with a curse, leaped inside. She grabbed Stiles's legs, hauled up and took his weight. "Get him down!"

Peabody was already scrambling onto the bed, fighting with the knot. Clark pounded in behind her.

"I've got him, Lieutenant." He moved in with his wide shoulders and took Stiles's dangling body up another three inches.

He'd hanged himself with a noose fashioned from his own bedsheets.

"He's not breathing," Clark announced when the body collapsed on him. "I don't think he's breathing."

"Get a doctor." Face fierce, Eve straddled Stiles, pressed the heels of her hands to his heart and began to pump. "Come on, you son of a bitch. You will breathe." She lowered her mouth to his, forced in air. Pumped.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Kenneth!" At the doorway, Areena Mansfield scattered the armload of flowers she carried at her feet.

"Keep back! Come on, come on." Sweat began to pour down Eve's face. She heard the sound of running feet, of alarms shrilling.

"Move aside. Move aside please."

She slid away, pushed to her feet, and watched the medical team work on him.

No pulse. Flat line.

Come back, Eve ordered. Goddamn you, come back.

She watched the slim pressure hypo of adrenaline jab against his chest.

No response.

Small disks were slicked with gel. There were orders to set, to clear, then Stiles's body bucked when the discs shocked his system. The heart line on the monitor stayed blue and blank.

For a second time the disks slapped against him, a second time his body jerked, fell. And now a low beep sounded, and the blue line wavered and went red.

Sinus rhythm. We have a pulse.

At the door, Areena covered her face with her hands.

"Give me his condition."

"He's alive." The doctor, a cool-eyed man with saffron skin, continued to make notes. "There was oxygen deprivation, and some minimal brain damage as a result. If we keep him alive, it's correctable."

"Are you going to keep him alive?"

"That's why we're here." He slipped his memo pad back into the pocket of his lab coat. "His chances are good. Another few minutes dangling there, he wouldn't have had any chance. We've come a long way in medical science, but bringing the dead back to life still eludes us."

"When can I talk to him?"

"I can't say."

"Hazard a guess."

"He may be functional by tomorrow, but until we complete the tests, I can't gauge the exact extent of the brain damage. It may be several days, or weeks, before he's capable of answering any but the most basic of questions. The brain finds ways to bypass damage, to reroute if you will, and we can help that process along. But it takes time."