The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in green scrubs with a surgical mask around his neck.
We made immediate eye contact, and the next half second lasted an eternity.
"Mr. Corey?"
"Yes."
We walked toward each other, and he put out his hand and introduced himself as Dr. Andrew Goldberg. He put his other hand on my shoulder and said, "She's resting comfortably in ICU."
I closed my eyes and nodded.
He continued, "Her vital signs are stable. Blood pressure and breathing are good."
Again, I nodded.
He steered me toward the chairs, and I had the random thought that he'd been on his feet for over two hours and needed to sit. My second thought was that he wanted me seated for the rest of his report, which might not be so good.
We sat side by side, and he reported in a soft voice, "The surgery was successful in closing the laceration to her right carotid artery."
Once again, I nodded.
He said, "I noticed a contusion to her face, and her lips were swollen, but the anesthesiologist said there were no loose or missing teeth. " He speculated, "That injury may have been a result of her hitting the ground."
Actually, it was a result of Asad Khalil punching her in the face, but I didn't mention this.
He continued, "In any case, it's not significant." He went on, "There were other contusions as a result of her fall, but I don't believe there were any internal injuries, and no internal bleeding, though there may be bone fractures." He assured me, "We'll get her to radiology as soon as possible."
"When will that be?"
"I'm not sure." He continued, "It was a deep puncture-type wound, and there was no other major vascular involvement-no injury to the jugular, or other veins or arteries, and no injury to her trachea." He remarked, "I understand it was a knife wound."
I nodded. It was meant to be a cut across her throat severing everything in its path. But Kate had done something to stop that. I hope she had also kneed him in the nuts.
I asked him, "Prognosis?"
He stayed silent a second too long, then replied, "Guarded."
"Why?"
"Well… she lost six units of blood, and we-and you, I understand-needed to stem the flow of blood… which goes to the brain…"
I knew this was coming, and I waited for the verdict.
Dr. Goldberg continued, "Six units is a significant loss of blood. Also, her windpipe was swollen, which may have caused some oxygen deprivation before the paramedics got a breathing tube down her throat." He stayed silent a moment, then said, "We just don't know if there will be any neurological impairment."
"When will we know?"
"Shortly after she recovers from anesthesia." He added, "Maybe in an hour or two."
I did not reply.
He hesitated, then glanced at my bloodstained jumpsuit and said to me, "I understand that a skydiver attached himself to her during your skydive and caused this injury with a knife."
"That's right."
"I assume this was not an accident."
I replied, "You may have noticed the State Trooper outside the operating room."
He nodded, then asked me, "Any more questions?"
"No."
Dr. Goldberg stood, and I stood also. He said, "She'll get a complete evaluation as soon as possible, including a neurological evaluation. In the meantime, you can check in with the ICU nurses' station. I assume you'll want to stay here until she regains consciousness."
"That's right."
We shook hands and I said, "Thank you."
He patted my shoulder and suggested, "Some prayers would help." He further suggested, "Take a break in the cafeteria. It will be awhile before we have any further news for you." He assured me, "She's in good hands."
Dr. Goldberg left the waiting room, and I gave him a few minutes to clear out, then I went into the corridor and followed the signs to the ICU.
At the nurses' station I identified myself as John Corey, the husband of Kate Mayfield, who had just arrived from the OR. I showed my creds and also said I was a Federal law enforcement officer. The nurses seemed sympathetic to the former and indifferent to the latter.
In situations such as this, Murphy's Law is in effect, and I couldn't be certain that the ICU staff had gotten the same information as the OR staff, so I said, "My wife was the victim of an attempted murder, and the assailant is still at large and may attempt to gain access to her."
That got their attention. I asked if they'd been told about this, and asked if there were any State Troopers in the unit. They hadn't been told anything, and they said there were no State Troopers in this unit.
I informed them, "You are not to disclose this patient's location or condition to anyone except an authorized medical person, or a law enforcement officer who can show you identification. Do you understand?"
A nurse, who identified herself as Betty, a supervisor, said to me, "I understand, and we will call security."
"Thank you. And also call the OR nurses' station and tell them to have the State Police reassigned here."
One of the nurses picked up the phone to make the calls.
I said to Betty and the other four nurses, "If anyone is looking for Detective Corey, I'll be at my wife's bedside."
Betty was scanning a clipboard-probably Kate's chart-and said to me, "I don't have any orders yet about visitors."
"You do now."
Betty made a note of that on her chart and escorted me toward the ICU.
On the way down the corridor, she informed me, "We're not used to these things here."
"And I hope you never get used to it."
She pushed through a set of double doors and I followed.
Betty, chart in hand, led me toward Kate's bed and said in a quiet voice, "Don't be alarmed by her appearance, or all the monitors and infusion tubes." She added, "She's on a ventilator to help her breathe." She assured me, "Dr. Goldberg is a wonderful surgeon."
But no one, including Dr. Goldberg, knew what was going on, or not going on, in Kate's brain.
We reached Kate's bed, and I stood over my wife and looked at her. Some color had returned to her face, and her breathing, aided by the ventilator, seemed steady. There was a thick dressing around her neck, tubes in her arms, and wires running under the blanket that connected to three different monitors. I looked at the screens and everything seemed normal, though her blood pressure was a little low.
Betty glanced at the monitors and assured me, "Her signs are good."
I took a deep breath and stared at Kate. I could see the swelling around her mouth where Khalil had hit her. Bastard. I bent over and kissed her on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful."
No response.
Betty advised me to sit in the bedside chair, which I did, and she said to me, "Press the call button if you need anything." She informed me, "No cell phones." She turned and left.
I took Kate's hand, which was cool and dry, and I could feel her pulse. I kept looking at her face, but it remained expressionless. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, and I glanced at the monitors several times.
Having nearly bled to death myself, I knew what Kate had gone through in those minutes when her blood was pumping out of her body-the very frightening, runaway heartbeat, the falling blood pressure that caused an awful ringing in the ears, the sense of being icy cold on the inside, unlike anything you've ever felt… like death… and then, the brain becomes cloudy…
When I had awoken at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital, I had no memory of why I was there or what had happened to me. I wasn't allowed visitors, but my partner, Dom Fanelli, had bullied his way in and engaged me in a long, stupid conversation about why the Mets were a better team than the Yankees. Apparently I didn't agree with him, and he went back to Homicide North and told everyone that I was definitely brain damaged. I smiled at that memory, and the memory of Dom Fanelli, who died on 9/11.
I looked again at Kate and thought, Too much death on this job.
I prayed that Kate would come through this as well as I had, against all medical odds. But if there was some impairment, then I'd quit the job and take care of her. After I killed Asad Khalil.