Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) by Lee Hanson

ago; he thought her refusal would spell the end of their relationship. But it hadn’t, thank God. Everything was the same.
    I’ll never pressure her again, God. Please let her be all right…
    Joe knew about Julie’s husband, knew how traumatized she was by his death. He understood her fear of loss. But Joe had fears, too, and he was afraid of losing her .
    The traffic was light. In a matter of minutes, he was parking the Land Rover and running into the Emergency Room. He waited impatiently for a woman to finish her business at the window and move.
    “Julie O’Hara. My girlfriend…she’s here…a nurse called me. Can I see her?”
    A nurse with a clipboard stood behind the woman sitting at the desk. She looked up at him.
    “Mr. Garrett?”
    “Yes. Can I see Julie O’Hara?”
    “Of course. I’m Megan; I called you,” she said. “Walk over to the double-doors on your right. I’ll let you in.”
    Everything was beige…the walls, the shiny linoleum floor, the wooden doors that swung open, the wide corridor that stretched before him. It was lined with gurneys, IV’s and diagnostic equipment.
    Joe followed the heavy set, pony-tailed nurse in her green scrubs, the small squeak of her white sneakers adding to the myriad sounds of the ER, equipment beeping softly, the carefree bantering of two EMT’s as they wheeled an old man on a rolling stretcher. He was dimly aware of an intercom voice paging a doctor, but it was the antiseptic smell that unnerved him. It brought back memories of Walter Reed Hospital where he’d gone to visit a friend who was injured by a roadside bomb in Iraq. He’d been unprepared for the horrible damage. He steeled himself now for what might be coming as Nurse Sewell turned, leading him into Julie’s room.
    Catching his breath, Joe sagged with relief when he finally saw her. Julie was propped up on a gurney, her leg elevated on two pillows and encased in a hard plastic boot. She was conscious and in one piece.
    Thank you, God.
    A white-coated man with a stethoscope draped around his neck – Indian, perhaps - looked up from his laptop computer, acknowledged them, and continued with his typing.
    “Julie…what happened?” said Joe, hugging her.
    She sighed and smiled, obviously relieved to see him.
    “It was so fast, Joe. I don’t know who it was. My head got hit and I fell down. Then he hit me again. It was a bat or something. I pushed the alarm button on my keychain and he ran. That’s all I know.”
    Joe could see that she had been sedated; her eyes were closing. He turned his attention to the doctor and, out of habit, stuck out his hand.
    “I’m Joe Garrett,” he said, checking out the doctor’s name tag. “Dr. Leyva?”
    “Yes. Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking Joe’s hand.
    “What’s her prognosis, Doctor?” asked Joe.
    “It’s a fractured fibula, not a major weight-bearing bone,” he said, putting up the x- ray. “She doesn’t need surgery. The break is high and it’s lined-up straight. You can see it right here,” he said, pointing. “And there doesn’t appear to be any damage to the tibia.
    “That’s the good news. The bad news is that she’ll be on crutches for three or four weeks, then she’s going to need some physical therapy. She has a concussion, so we’re going to keep her overnight as a precaution. You’ll be able to take her home tomorrow.”
    “Thank you, Doctor.”
    “She’ll be fine,” said Dr. Leyva, as he left the room.
    Julie’s eyes fluttered open.
    “Go to sleep, honey. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
    Joe pulled up a chair and stayed, holding Julie’s hand, until her breath was coming slow and easy and she was sound asleep.
    Then he drove home…in a cold rage.
    This has to be connected with Dianna’s murder.
    Who the hell is this bastard?
    * * * * * 
     
    Chapter 18
    “C lose the door, please, Luz.”
    Julie’s Latina assistant looked like a worried duenna leaving her young charge alone.
    “All right,” said Luz.