G Is for Gumshoe

My vital signs were checked and I slept again until 11:15 that night. At intervals, I was aware of someone taking my pulse, fingers cool as an angel's pressed against my wrist. By the time I woke, someone had retrieved some of my belongings from the car. The portable typewriter and my duffel were tucked against the wall. I clenched my teeth and slid out of bed. When I bent over to unzip the duffel, my head pounded like a hangover. I pulled out fresh jeans and a turtleneck and laid them on the bed. The drawer in my bedtable held soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a small plastic bottle of Lubriderm. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, grateful that all of them were present and accounted for. I took a long, hot bath in a tub with handholds affixed to the wall at every conceivable point. I needed them. Getting in and out of the bathtub only made me aware of multi-hurt places distributed randomly all up and down my bod.
    While I dried myself off, I checked myself in the mirror, disheartened by the sight. In addition to the bruise on my forehead, my eyes were now dark along the orbital ridge and streaked with red underneath, perfect for Halloween only six months away. My left knee was purple, my torso sooty-looking with bruises. Combing my hair made me wince, sucking air through my teeth. I moved into the other room and took my time getting dressed, resting between articles of clothing. The process was exhausting, but I plugged on doggedly. Whatever damage I'd sustained in the accident was taking its toll.
    I stretched out on the bed again with a glance at the clock. Midnight straight up. I figured Dietz would arrive any minute now. Somehow I assumed he'd want to hit the road right away, which suited me fine. If I'd suffered a concussion, it must have been mild. I wasn't even sure I'd lost consciousness and I wasn't aware of any post-trauma amnesia-though, of course, if I'd forgotten something that thoroughly, how would I really know? My head still hurt, but so what? That might go on for weeks and in the meantime, I wanted out. I wanted someone in charge-preferably someone with a big gun and no hesitation about using it. I noticed I was skipping right past the notion of Judge Jarvison.
    The next thing I was aware of was the soft pinging of the hospital paging system and the rattle of the breakfast carts out in the corridor. It was morning and some female was addressing me. It took me a minute to remember where I was.
    "Miss Millhone? Time to take your temperature…" I automatically opened my mouth and she slipped a cold, wet thermometer under my tongue. I could taste lab alcohol that hadn't been rinsed off properly. She took my blood pressure, holding my right arm against her body while she secured the Velcro cuff. She placed the silver dollar of the stethoscope against the crook of my arm and began to pump the cuff. I opened my eyes. She was not one I'd seen before: a slender Chicana with bright red lipstick on a plump mouth, her long brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. Her eyes were pinned to the gauge as the needle descended counterclockwise. I assumed my blood pressure was normal, as she didn't gasp aloud. It would help if they'd tell you things about yourself now and then.
    I turned my head toward the window and saw a man leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Dietz. Late forties. Five ten, maybe 170, in jeans, cowboy boots, and a tweed sport coat with a blue toothbrush protruding from the breast pocket like a ballpoint pen. He was clean-shaven, his hair medium length and showing gray around the ears. He was watching me with expressionless gray eyes. "I'm Dietz." Husky voice in the middle range.
    With a ripping sound, the aide removed the blood-pressure cuff and made a note in my chart. With my free hand, I took the thermometer out of my mouth. "What time'd you get in?"
    "One fifteen. You were out like a light so I let you sleep."
    The aide took the thermometer and studied it with a frown. "You didn't keep this in long enough."
    "I don't have a fever. I was in an accident," I said.
    "The charge nurse is gonna fuss at me if I don't get a temp."
    I tucked the thermometer in the corner of my mouth like a cigarette, talking to Dietz while it bobbled between my lips. "Did you get any sleep?"
    "In this place?"
    "As soon as the doctor comes, we can get the hell out of here," I said. "The guy with the kid was in the same motel. I think we ought to go back and see what we can find out from the desk