Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

nine, then stayed at a solid eight.
    Sara tapped her foot. She looked at her watch. And then she felt her body fill with dread as she saw Oliver Gittings trotting toward her.
    As a pediatric attending in Grady Hospital’s emergency room, Sara was in charge of several students who—despite some evidence to the contrary—assumed that one day they would become doctors. Night shifts were particularly tedious. There was something about the moon that turned their little brains into mush.Sara often wondered how some of them managed to dress themselves, let alone get into medical school.
    Oliver Gittings was one of the better examples. Or worse, as the case tended to be. In the last eight hours, he’d already spilled a urine sample on himself and accidentally sewn a sterile cloth onto the sleeve of his lab coat. At least she hoped it was accidental.
    He called, “Dr. Linton—”
    “This way,” Sara told him, giving up on the elevator and heading toward the stairs.
    “I’m glad I found you.” Oliver ran after her like an eager puppy. “An interesting case came up.”
    Oliver thought all of his cases were interesting. She said, “Give me the highlights.”
    “Six-year-old girl,” he began, pulling on the exit door twice before realizing that it opened outward. “Mom says the girl woke her up in the middle of the night for some water. They’re going down the stairs. The girl starts to fall. Mom grabs her arm. Something pops. The girl starts screaming. Mom rushes her here.”
    Sara took the lead down the stairs. She guessed, “X-ray showed a spiral fracture?”
    “Yes. The girl had a bruise on her arm here—”
    Sara glanced back to see where he indicated. “So, you suspect abuse. Did you order a skeletal survey?”
    “Yes, but radiology is backed up. My shift is almost over. I thought I’d go ahead and call D-FACS to get things moving.”
    Sara abruptly stopped her descent. The Division of Family and Children’s Services. She asked, “You want to go ahead and put the kid in the system?”
    Oliver shrugged, as if this was nothing. “The girl’s too quiet. Mom’s antsy, irritated. All she wants to know is when they can leave.”
    “How long have they been here?”
    “I dunno. I think she was triaged around one.”
    Sara looked at her watch. “It’s 5:58 in the morning. They’ve been here all night. I’d want to leave, too. What else?”
    For the first time, Oliver seemed to doubt himself. “Well, the fracture—”
    Sara continued down the stairs. “No specific fracture is pathognomonic to child abuse. You call D-FACS and it’s a legal matter. If this mother is an abuser, you want to make sure she doesn’t get away with it. You need corroborating evidence. Does the girl seem scared of her mother? Does she look you in the eye and answer questions? Are there other bruises? Developmental delays? Continence issues? Is there a history of ER visits? How did she present otherwise?” Oliver didn’t immediately answer. Sara prompted, “Is she healthy? Well nourished?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Stop.” Sara wasn’t looking for a discussion. She checked her watch again. “Dr. Connor is taking over for me, but you’ve got all of my numbers. Order the skeletal survey to see if there are any past breaks or fractures. Notify security to keep an eye on the mom. Call the other ERs to see if the girl’s ever been admitted.” Sara moderated her tone, trying to make it clear she was teaching him something, not punishing him. “Oliver, sixty-five percent of child abuse cases are flagged in emergency rooms. If you stay in pediatrics, this is the sort of thing you’re going to be dealing with on a weekly basis. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying you need to know all the facts before you turn this girl’s life upside down. And her mother’s.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He headed down the stairs, hands tucked deep into his coat pockets.
    Sara didn’t immediately follow, cognizant that Oliver’s ego was fragile enough without her snapping at his heels. Instead, she sat on the bottom stair and checked her hospital BlackBerry. Sara’s eyes threatened to roll back in her head as she scrolled through theadministrative detritus littering her mailbox. Meetings, conferences, denied requisitions, and new procedures for requisitioning, attending conferences, and scheduling meetings.
    She felt around in her other pocket and traded the BlackBerry for her personal phone. This was much better. Her father