Tail Spin

done became moot the moment he died. It was his decision and only his, no one else’s. It would be wrong of me to change how history will judge him. I don’t have that right or that responsibility Only he did.”

FIFTY-FIVE
    Washington Memorial Hospital
    Monday night
    One of the emergency room doctors, Frederick Bentley, turned tired eyes to the clock on the waiting room wall. His green shirt was still covered with blood. He said, more to himself than to the people standing around him, “Isn’t that strange? It’s ten o’clock, straight up. It always seems to be ten o’clock straight up when the freight train hits. You’d think midnight, the witching hour, would bring that choo-choo, but no. All right, I can tell you Greg Nichols is still alive, but I doubt he will be for long.
    “We poured blood, plasma, and fluids into him to resuscitate him. His PT—that means prothrombin time—measured off the charts, meaning his blood wasn’t clotting, and his hematocrit just wasn’t compatible with life.
    “He has remained unconscious. We’ve intubated him, meaning we put a tube into his trachea through his nose to allow him to be hooked up to a respirator. We’ll be moving him to the ICU in a minute.
    “We’re not yet certain why his blood isn’t clotting, but I’m thinking poison or an overdose. Most commonly it’s coumarin, or something chemically related to it like a superwarfarin, which is used as rat poison. It must have been a massive dose.
    “We took stomach and blood samples, which will show us what was in his system, and maybe how long ago he ingested it. It will take a while for the results, though.
    “To be blunt, I’m surprised he’s still alive. Even if he regains consciousness, he may not be able to talk. I strongly doubt his brain survived the anoxia, the lack of oxygen. Would one of you like to see him?”
    Savich followed Dr. Bentley into a screened-off section of the emergency room.
    “You’re the boss, right?”
    “Yeah, I get all the perks.”
    “Good luck.”
    Nichols lay alone and still, his face white as a plaster saint’s. Dried blood and vomit caked the side of his mouth. His eyes were closed; his lids looked bruised, like someone had punched him. There were two IV lines tethered to his wrists. The obscene wheezing of the respirator was the only sound in the room.
    Savich leaned close. “Mr. Nichols.”
    Savich heard Dr. Bentley suck in a breath behind him when Nichols opened his eyes. Savich saw the death film beginning to creep into them. No, Greg Nichols wasn’t going to live through this.
    “Do you know who poisoned you, Mr. Nichols?”
    Savich was losing him. His eyes were darkening, the film creeping slowly over them, like a veil. His voice was urgent. “Who, Mr. Nichols?”
    He was struggling for breath to speak but couldn’t.
    His eyes froze. He was gone.
    Nichols was dead and Savich wanted to howl. There were alarms, the heart machine flatlined.
    Two nurses joined Dr. Bentley in the cubicle. Savich stepped out and returned to the small waiting room. There was an older black couple there now, their faces blank with shock, holding each other.
    “Come with me,” Savich said to Jack and Rachael. He took Sherlock’s hand and led them into a long empty hallway, away from the emergency room and the soul-deadening silence of that waiting room.
    “He’s dead. He regained consciousness, but it was only for a moment.”
    “They killed him, Dillon.”
    “Yes, Rachael, I think they did. And they did it dramatically, something I think pleased their vanity.”
    “But why?”
    Savich was quiet for a moment. Sherlock sighed. “I’m sorry, Rachael, but I think Greg Nichols was involved with them. After you and Jack met with him, maybe he spoke to them. Whatever he said must have made them realize he was a weak link, that he’d break, and so they killed him. I’ll bet you we’ll find out from Greg’s staff how they got to him.”
    Savich’s cell sang out “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.” He checked to see who it was, frowned. “Savich here.”
    He was shaking his head as he said, “No, no, that can’t be, it just can’t be. Yes, we’ll be right there. We’re in the ER right now.”
    He closed down, looked blankly at them. “That was Agent Tomlin. We’ve got to go to Dr. MacLean’s room.”
    His voice was flat, but his eyes were dilated with shock. It scared Sherlock to her toes. She shook his arm. “Dillon! What in heaven’s name has happened