The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

expired.”
    “Detective Rizzoli asked me to check on her condition.”
    “Oh. The chart’s in that slot over there. Number ten.”
    Maura crossed to the row of cubbyholes and pulled out the aluminum cover containing Bed #10’s hospital chart. She opened it to the preliminary operative report. It was a handwritten summary, scrawled by the neurosurgeon immediately after surgery:
    “Large subdural hematoma identified and drained. Open right parietal comminuted skull fracture debrided, elevated. Dural tear closed. Full operative report dictated. James Yuen, M.D.”
    She turned to the nurses’ notes, and skimmed the patient’s progress since surgery. The intracranial pressures were holding steady, with the help of intravenous Mannitol and Lasix, as well as forced hyperventilation. It appeared that everything that could be done was being done; now it was a waiting game, to see how much neurological damage would result.
    Carrying the chart, she crossed the unit to Cubicle #10. The policeman sitting outside the doorway gave her a nod of recognition. “Hey, Dr. Isles.”
    “How is the patient doing?” she asked.
    “About the same, I guess. I don’t think she’s woken up yet.”
    Maura looked at the closed curtains. “Who’s in there with her?”
    “The doctors.”
    She knocked on the doorframe, and stepped through the curtain. Two men were standing by the bed. One was a tall Asian man with a darkly piercing gaze and a thick mane of silver hair. The neurosurgeon, she thought, seeing his name tag:
Dr. Yuen.
The man who stood beside him was younger—in his thirties, with robust shoulders filling out his white coat. His long blond hair had been pulled back into a neat ponytail. Fabio as M.D., thought Maura, regarding the man’s tanned face and deep-set gray eyes.
    “I’m sorry to intrude,” she said. “I’m Dr. Isles, from the Medical Examiner’s office.”
    “The M.E.’s office?” said Dr. Yuen, looking baffled. “Isn’t this visit a little premature?”
    “The lead detective asked me to check in on your patient. There is another victim, you know.”
    “Yes, we’ve heard.”
    “I’ll be doing that postmortem tomorrow. I wanted to compare the pattern of injuries between these two victims.”
    “I don’t think there’s much you’ll be able to see here. Not now, after surgery. You’ll learn more by looking at her admission X rays and head scans.”
    She gazed down at the patient, and could not disagree with him. Ursula’s head was encased in bandages, her injuries by now altered, repaired by the surgeon’s hand. Deeply comatose, she was breathing with the aid of a ventilator. Unlike the slender Camille, Ursula was a woman of large proportions, big-boned and solid, with the plain, round face of a farmer’s wife. IV lines coiled over meaty arms. On her left wrist was a Medic Alert bracelet, engraved with “Allergic to Penicillin.” An ugly scar tracked, thick and white, over the right elbow—the aftermath of an old injury, badly sutured. A souvenir from her work abroad? Maura wondered.
    “I’ve done what I could in the O.R.,” said Yuen. “Now let’s hope Dr. Sutcliffe here can head off any medical complications.”
    She looked at the ponytailed physician, who gave her a nod, a smile. “I’m Matthew Sutcliffe, her internist,” he said. “She hasn’t been in to see me for several months. I didn’t even know she was admitted to the hospital until a little while ago.”
    “Do you have her nephew’s phone number?” Yuen asked him. “When he called me, I forgot to get it from him. He said he’d be talking to you.”
    Sutcliffe nodded. “I have it. It’ll be easier if I’m the one who stays in touch with the family. I’ll let them know her status.”
    “What is her status?” asked Maura.
    “I’d say she’s medically stable,” said Sutcliffe.
    “And neurologically?” She looked at Yuen.
    He shook his head. “It’s too early to say. Things went well in the O.R., but as I was just telling Dr. Sutcliffe here, even if she regains consciousness—and she very well may not—it’s likely she won’t remember any details of the attack. Retrograde amnesia is common in head injuries.” He glanced down as his beeper went off. “Excuse me, but I need to get this call. Dr. Sutcliffe can fill you in on her medical history.” In just two quick strides, he was out the door.
    Sutcliffe held out his stethoscope to Maura. “You can examine her, if you’d like.”
    She took the