One Day Soon (One Day Soon, #1)(5)

“They’re an amazing family. I’m just glad I could help them in whatever way I could,” I said simply, embarrassed by the compliment.

Jason shook his head. “You give yourself too little credit, Imogen.”

I cleared my throat and shuffled through the new paperwork again. “I guess I should go check on the new patient then.”

“The police were back an hour ago and took a picture of him. They’re going to start trying to ID the man. Or at least get a name. They already notified the homeless coordinator so I’m expecting a busy day for you.”

“I should get a jump start on it then. Tracey gets a little territorial over these cases. If I want to get a leg up I don’t have any time to waste.” I got to my feet and grabbed the folder.

Tracey Higgins was the local homeless coordinator and we had worked together a lot over the years. She proclaimed herself the knight in shining armor for the city’s homeless. Her ego made it impossible to like her. Her self-indulgent savior complex made physical violence a very real possibility. But I had perfected the art of smiling politely all the while thinking of very horrible names I’d like to call her if given the opportunity.

“Don’t let her push you around. We all know how Tracey gets when she feels self-righteous and entitled,” Jason said firmly.

I patted my well-meaning boss’s arm as I passed by him on my way out of my office. “I can handle Tracey. I’ve dealt with worse people than her.”

“I know you can, Imogen. You’re one tough cookie. After everything you’ve been through lately with Chris—”

“I’ve got to get upstairs,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t want to talk about my ex-husband. Or my upcoming divorce. Or how I should be dealing with the end of my five-year marriage.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to Jason Valerio that I felt very little about any of it. It wasn’t like I was numb. I was just indifferent.

The truth was that had been what killed the marriage in the first place.

My overall lack of interest.

Jason frowned, but didn’t push me. He knew better. “Okay, well I’ll check in with you later.”

“Thanks, Jason,” I said sincerely, closing the office door behind us. With a final wave, I headed towards the elevator.

Up in the ICU, I stopped just outside of room 102 where the homeless man was moved. A nurse was leaving as I arrived.

“Hi, Jill,” I said, stopping as she closed the door behind her.

Jill, an older woman with eyes entirely too close together and an unfortunate abundance of facial hair, gave me a smile. “I heard you were given this case. I’m glad. I feel so bad for him.”

I peered through the window into the hospital room, but couldn’t see much beyond the monitors and a lump under a white blanket.

“What can you tell me about him?” I asked, opening the file and looking again at the details about my new mystery client.

Jill sighed and pulled out the chart that hung beside the door. “He came in pretty roughed up. He hasn’t really woken up enough for anyone to speak to him much. He had a CAT Scan around seven and it showed some swelling on the brain, but Dr. Howell thinks it will go down quickly, then he should regain consciousness. Though from what I’ve heard about how he was found, maybe he doesn’t want to wake up.”

I made notes on my pad of paper and nodded. “I heard he was found underneath the Seventh Street Bridge,” I said lightly, hoping Jill didn’t pick up on the tightness in my voice.

Seventh Street Bridge.

Like a sledgehammer, the memories always came. Fifteen years and they still hit me with a crushing weight.

“I’ll meet you under the bridge. I promise. Wait for me, Imi…”

Jill finished her notations and handed me the patient’s chart. I read through the medical jargon quickly and didn’t see any further information that I hadn’t already been given.

“He’d been beaten pretty badly. The police seem to think he had been attacked by a…” Jill leaned in close and dropped her voice into a scandalized whisper. “By a john. He’s some sort of male prostitute.”

She sounded horrified. Her disgust erased her earlier sympathy.

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not our job to judge him then, isn’t it?” I remarked sharply, though I understood her censure too well. I had shared her revulsion once upon a time.

Jill’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—”

I lifted my hand and waved away her words. “I was told that the police came by to take a picture. So they know he’s a hustler, but they don’t know his name?”

Jill bit down on her lip, looking contrite by my reprimand. “No. The detective that was here earlier said so many of them hang out by that bridge and near the river, they can’t keep track of them all. He thought he had spoken to him in the past though. So obviously this man has been out there doing whatever he was doing for a long time.” Jill made a face. “I just don’t get how people can do that sort of thing. To be used like that for money. It’s awful!”

“You have no idea what people are willing to do to put food in their belly or drugs in their body. A life on the streets makes people desperate,” I snapped.

“Oh, well, that’s true. But anyway, the detective left his card so you can call him.” She handed me a small white business card, which I promptly tucked into the case file.