“I was here,” I said defensively. “I have a fellowship at NYU and had just finished up some paperwork. You can ask my admin person because she was doing some work for me and knows I was here.”
“You have to understand that we’re obliged to interview the spouse of a victim of a potential attempted homicide,” St. James said.
I nodded, and exhaled heavily, trying to relax. Of course they had to ask. The first person that they should suspect when an adult has been murdered or there has been an attempt on their life is the spouse or other family member. Sadly, all too often, it’s someone close to the victim who is the perpetrator. Having worked in enough ERs over the years, I knew that well.
So I told them about Lisa Monroe. I told them about my participation in the BDSM lifestyle and was amazed that neither man raised an eyebrow. I told them about having been intimate with Lisa at dungeon parties before I met my wife. I told them that she’d been using that past to force me to be her ‘friend’ but that she offered more and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
McDonald took down her name and particulars without a change of expression or sideways glance at his partner. I felt such incredible guilt for not going to the police earlier, for not stopping this whole thing months earlier, when I realized who Lisa was and when she kept trying to be part of my life, but I didn’t want my perfect life to be upended.
Now, that’s exactly what happened. My baby was almost twelve weeks early, and my wife was in critical condition due to internal injuries and possible brain damage. I covered my eyes with my hand and wept.
The two officers said nothing while I tried to regain my composure, offering no sympathy nor passing any judgement. Once I was in control again, they continued the interview, asking about Lisa and whether we had been intimate since we met again.
“No,” I said and shook my head. “No, I refused her advances. She tried to get me to comply, but I refused. I told her we could be colleagues but nothing else.”
If they believed me, they didn’t show it. I didn’t expect them to believe me. How many cheating husbands had they interviewed over the years? How many spouses had they interviewed who had a hand in their partner’s death?
When they were finished with the interview, McDonald handed me his card. “If you think of anything else that might help us track down who did this to your wife, please call me at that number.”
I took the card and tucked it into my jacket pocket and then went to see my baby.
I gowned and masked up and went to where they had Sophia. I saw her in the incubator in the NICU, and felt a tightness in my chest.
My daughter.
She was doing surprisingly well and had pinked up a bit, her skin not so red. At just over three pounds, she was at a good weight for survival, but there were still a lot of potential complications. They had removed the tube that fed her oxygen directly to her lungs for her condition had improved since delivery. They kept her on oxygen because her lungs weren’t as developed as they should be but she had on a CPAP instead of being intubated, the plastic tube covering her nose.
She also had an IV, a feeding tube and several leads on her tiny chest, so they could monitor her breathing and heart, but she looked good. Her diaper was huge on her tiny body, and she had a pink tag on her ankle with her identification.
“She’s doing well,” the NICU nurse said with a smile. “Surprisingly well given her gestational age, but each baby is individual. Do you want to touch her? You can.”
“Yes, of course,” I said and went to the incubator, my blue gown billowing out around me, my mask muffling the sound of my voice. I slipped my hand in the opening and stroked her tiny head, watching as she slept, tears blurring my vision. When an alarm went off on a neighboring incubator, Sophia startled and her tiny limbs jerked. I pulled my hand away, but then she settled down again and so I continued to touch her.
“Hi, Sophia,” I said to her, even though she could probably not really hear me over the hiss of oxygen. “Daddy’s here, and is watching over you.”
I had to bite back more tears, and smiled as I watched her, amazed that this was our baby. I hadn’t expected to see her so soon, but I was thankful that she was alive and doing well.
I stayed for as long as I could but then it was time for the nurses to do a check so I pulled my hand out and moved away, watching as they checked her over and spoke amongst themselves.
I left the NICU, removing my gown and face mask and gloves, so I could go back and see if Ethan and Elaine had arrived, but they were still not there. I imagined that it would take some time to get Ethan up and ready.
As to Kate, I was now allowed to go see her so I gowned back up and went inside her tiny ICU bay and watched her, taking her hand in mine and squeezing.
“Kate,” I said. “Katie, I’m here. I just saw our daughter, Sophia, and she’s doing fine. She’s breathing on her own and is stable.”
There was no response except for the bleep bleep of her monitors and the hiss of oxygen, but I didn’t care. I wanted to talk to her and let her know I was there. As a neurosurgeon, I knew that although she might not seem to hear me, she might be unable to respond. Even if she couldn’t hear me, she might sense that someone was there.
I hoped that was the case.
“You’re doing fine,” I said, clearing my throat, trying to sound hopeful. I didn’t know for certain that she was fine, although she was stable. I hadn’t had a chance to read her most recent vitals, nor had she gone for her second CT scan yet. They had done one when she first came in, but it was negative. The first twenty-four hours were critical. If she had any swelling in her brain due to a hemorrhage or damage to any part of her brain, she could remain unconscious for some time and potentially lose function if and when she did wake up.
“Come back to me,” I whispered, kissing her hand, her palm, her fingers. “I can’t do this without you.”
I heard a rustle at the door to the alcove and turned to see Ethan and Elaine standing in the hallway. I let go of Kate’s hand after kissing it once more and left her, knowing that Ethan would want to go in and see his beloved daughter. As much as I hated leaving her, I had to let him in.
“Ethan,” I said when I emerged from Kate’s room.
“Son,” he said and opened his arms, his face pale, his eyes dark under a furrowed brow. I had to admit I welcomed the show of affection and we embraced, Ethan clapping my back. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “Kate’s nurse told us what happened and how she is. What do you know?”