Thatcher said, “Who’s the woman outside?”
“Miss Blanchard’s sister. Patsy Kemp.”
She was no doubt the woman who’d chauffeured Norma to Gabe Driscoll’s house, but Thatcher hadn’t gotten a good look at her face that night and wouldn’t have recognized her.
Bill said, “I asked her to stay, so we could talk to her about the assault.”
“Assault? This wasn’t an accident?”
“No. Mrs. Kemp brought Norma to Dr. Perkins around four o’clock. She was barely alive. He evaluated her condition and called me right away. She never regained consciousness.” To the doctor, he said, “Give him a run-down. No medical jargon, please. Plain talk.”
The doctor unhooked the wire stems of his eyeglasses from behind his ears, removed them, and began polishing them with the towel he’d used to dry his hands.
“Her nose is broken. Pulverized, actually. Fractured cheekbone, broken jawbone, three loose teeth. A flap of scalp about an inch in diameter had been ripped away. I sewed it back, but that’s the least of it.”
He replaced his glasses and looked down at the draped figure. “The back of her torso appears to have been pummeled repeatedly, I suspect with fists. I also tweezed out several shards of mirror glass that had sliced through her garment.” He pointed to a silky dressing gown wadded up in a chair.
“I detected three broken ribs. Others may have been cracked. She might have survived, in time, and under the care of physicians better trained and skilled at treating the more serious of her injuries.”
“What were they?”
“She has a sizable bruise and swelling above her left kidney. It’s so precisely placed, it appears the organ was targeted. Perhaps by the heel of a shoe. I suspect the blunt force caused internal hemorrhaging. She bled to death.”
The doctor’s eyes looked apologetic behind the round lenses of his glasses. “I did what I could, but I’m a country doctor, unqualified to deal with something like this. Perhaps Gabe Driscoll would have been a better choice.”
Bill glanced at Thatcher, then turned to the doctor. “Tell him the rest.”
The doctor bowed his head and addressed the floor. “She was raped. Barbarically. Considerable damage was done to tissue.”
The men stood silent, looking neither at each other, nor at Norma Blanchard’s still form. After a moment, the doctor covered her face.
In a quiet voice, Bill said, “Her injuries are of such a sensitive nature, I’d like to keep the details between us, doc.”
“Of course.”
“Do you mind if we use your waiting room to talk to Mrs. Kemp?”
“Not at all. I’ll stay with Miss Blanchard until the ambulance arrives.”
“Ambulance?” Thatcher asked.
“I want the autopsy done in Dallas,” Bill said. “They have a lab, forensic specialists.”
Thatcher took a last look at the sheet-draped figure then followed Bill from the surgery and back out into the waiting room. Patsy Kemp hadn’t changed her position since Thatcher had come in.
Bill pulled a chair over closer to her and motioned for Thatcher to do the same. When they were seated, Bill said, “I’m awful sorry this terrible thing has happened, Mrs. Kemp.”
She gave him a curt nod.
“This is Thatcher Hutton.”
“So he said.”
“He’s new to my department. We’d like to ask you some questions, gain as much information as we can, in an effort to catch the person who assaulted your sister.”
She sat stony-faced.
Bill asked softly, “Where’s her baby?”