Truth-Stained Lies (14 page)

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s the group waited in the hall for the doctors to examine Jackson, Cathy glanced up and saw Mrs. Haughton hobbling toward them, one breathless weary step after another, leaning on her cane and rolling her oxygen tank in front of her. Cathy pushed off from the wall and went to meet her, took her oxygen tank so she wouldn’t have to roll it herself.

“Mrs. Haughton, are you all right?”

The woman looked like she was near death. She wore a scarf on her head, probably to hide her chemo-thinned hair, but it was askew. She took three or four steps, then stopped and leaned against the wall to rest. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” she said, then stopped to cough. Cathy touched Mrs. Haughton’s back as she tried to clear her lungs. Finally, she drew in a short breath. “I had
to drive myself. Haven’t driven in months. Warren rode in the ambulance …”

Cathy saw an empty wheelchair against the wall and ran to get it. “Mrs. Haughton, sit down. I’ll push you.”

She expected an argument from the proud woman, but Mrs. Haughton didn’t protest. When Cathy brought the chair up behind her, she dropped down into it. Her chest heaved with her labored breathing, and Cathy wondered if the oxygen was doing her any good at all.

She glanced down the hall where Warren and the others stood. Warren seemed impassive as his mother was rolled toward him. “Mom,” he said when they reached him, “you know you’re not supposed to drive.”

“I had to come,” she said. “Had to check on Jackson.”

“But I told you to stay home. I told you I’d let you know —”

“How is he?” she asked, cutting in. “Where is he?”

“He’s in this room,” Juliet said, pointing to the door. “They’re examining him now.”

“He’s not doing well,” Cathy said. “He’s very sick. They’re running tests.”

Mrs. Haughton’s hands trembled as she brought them to her face. “I would’ve insisted he come sooner … but until he had his accident on the bed … I didn’t know there was blood …”

“How long has he been having diarrhea?” Juliet asked.

“For several hours,” she said. “He kept saying his stomach hurt.”

“But Warren,” Holly said, “you didn’t tell me he had diarrhea when I came to visit.”

“It wasn’t relevant,” Warren said. “We figured he was under stress, that he was having a hard time adjusting.”

“But if we had known,” Juliet said, “I could have told
you what to do about it. I could’ve told you he needed liquids, that maybe his electrolytes were off. I had medicine that he could’ve taken. I could have called his pediatrician.”

Mrs. Haughton’s shoulders were shaking. “We never should have taken him, Warren. I told you it wasn’t right for him. I told you we should leave … well enough alone.”

Cathy turned from Mrs. Haughton to Warren. So there it was. It had all been Warren’s idea, not his mother’s.

Suddenly an alarm blared across the hallway, startling her. The red light over Jackson’s door began to flash. Nurses came running out of exam rooms, dashing toward Jackson’s room.

“He’s coding!” Juliet cried.

Cathy froze, staring at that light.

“Out of the way!” a man in scrubs said. “Get back! We need this area clear.”

Cathy rolled Mrs. Haughton to the other side of the door. Two doctors ran toward them, a woman following them with a crash cart.

Mrs. Haughton wobbled to her feet, her glazed eyes round. “Is he dead?”

No one answered, and she dropped back into the chair as if her legs had given out.

“What’s happening?” Juliet cried.

Cathy couldn’t take it. Abandoning the wheelchair, she stepped inside the doorway, unnoticed by the staff. They had opened her nephew’s gown and placed leads on his chest.

“Clear!” someone yelled, and they shocked him, his little body jolting up and bouncing back down.

Cathy held her breath.

“Nothing,” someone shouted.

“Again. Clear!”

Again, the body jolted. Cathy winced.

“We’ve got a pulse.”

Thank you, God!
Cathy almost collapsed with relief.

Suddenly Jackson took a deep breath, coughed, and his eyes fluttered open. He began to cry.

Cathy pressed between two doctors and went to the bed. “It’s okay, honey,” she said, touching his face. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re just really sick.”

His eyes focused as he looked at her. “Daddy.” His voice was weak, not much more than a whisper. “Where’s Daddy?”

“He’s not here, honey. Aunt Holly and Aunt Juliet are here, and we’re all gonna take care of you.”

His face twisted and reddened, but that was a far cry better than gray and pale. Sweat broke out on his forehead and over his lip. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know you don’t, honey. But the doctors and nurses are gonna help you. Everybody’s praying for you.”

If there was ever a time that God answered prayer, Cathy hoped it was now.

Out in the hallway, Michael couldn’t help the niggling suspicion that had been working on him ever since he’d seen Mrs. Haughton coming up the hall, and Warren’s reaction … or lack thereof. It wasn’t normal. Warren’s mother was dying of cancer, yet he looked at her with disgust and dread, as if angry that she had bucked his orders and driven to the hospital to check on her grandson.

The fact that she’d admitted that it was Warren’s idea to take custody of Jackson worried him further. Why would Warren want that? It wasn’t like he was close to Jackson.
The few times Michael had seen Warren at birthday parties and other family events, he’d never even seen him speak to the boy. Something wasn’t right.

And now as this emergency played out before their eyes, Michael watched Warren’s face. Everyone else was trembling, embracing, wiping tears, terrified. Warren simply paced back and forth, back and forth, his fingers fidgeting. They’d always known Warren didn’t do things like other people did. His inability to hold a job, despite his high IQ, was evidence that he didn’t do life that well. Now he worked as a janitor and lived at home with his mother. At a time when she couldn’t take care of herself, that was a blessing, he supposed. But he saw no tenderness in his dealings with her.

Warren checked his watch. Another alarm went off in Michael’s head. He was checking the time when his nephew was in the next room coding?

No, something wasn’t right.

Finally, the doctor came out of the room. Juliet and Holly almost assaulted him. “Is he okay?” Juliet asked.

“We were able to revive him. But he’s in critical condition. We’re going to put him in the ICU.”

“Yes, okay,” Juliet said.

“We need to get some papers signed. Which one of you is his parent?”

“None of us,” Juliet said. “His mother died Monday. His dad can’t be here.”

“We’re his family,” Holly cut in. “We’re his aunts, and this is his grandmother.”

“Who has custody?”

“I do,” the old woman said. “I can sign the forms. Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

He shook his head. “We’ll have to wait for lab results
and do a few more tests. I’ll let you know when they’re back. We don’t have any beds in the pediatric ICU, so we’re taking him to the adult ICU. But he’ll get excellent care there.”

The doctor picked up his pace, heading down the hall. Michael left the others and followed the doctor, catching up to him. “Doc, can I ask you something?” he said, matching his stride.

“I’m in a hurry,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of the family.”

“Then I can’t talk to you about this patient.”

“No, I don’t want you to talk about him. I just want to make a suggestion. When you’re doing those blood tests, could you test for poison?”

The doctor stopped walking, turned to look at Michael fully. “Poison?”

Michael wondered how much to tell him. “I’m a former homicide detective. Michael Hogan.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yes, I remember you.”

Of course he did. “So Monday this kid’s mother turns up dead, murdered. And today he’s so sick he’s near death. The timing just seems fishy. I want to make sure.”

The doctor nodded. “I get it. Yes, we’ll test him. Was he at home when his mother was killed? Was
she
poisoned?”

“No, she was shot. He was at day care. The killer is still at large. Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that he’s so sick that he codes a couple of days later?”

The doctor looked back toward the room. “I guess it is. So he’s staying with his grandmother?”

“Yes, and his uncle. The grandmother has stage four lung cancer. I guess we should also consider the possibility that he could have ingested some of her drugs.”

“I’ll test for those too. I’ll call the lab now. I’m putting a rush on everything.”

“Great. Thanks, Doc.”

While they waited for Jackson to be moved to the ICU, the nurses allowed two people at a time to go into the room with him. Cathy stayed in the waiting room, letting Juliet go in. Warren wouldn’t cede his position next to the boy, not even for his mother. Cathy didn’t know what was taking them so long to transfer Jackson to ICU, but she supposed it was better that family members were able to be with him now. Once he was moved to ICU they’d probably be kept away from him.

She wondered if she should call Jay at the jail. When she first got to the hospital, she had thought she would call him when they knew something, but now that Jackson had coded, it seemed his death could be imminent. Did they let murder suspects out if their children teetered on the brink of death?

“You okay?” Michael draped his jacket over her shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

She grabbed the lapels and pulled it tighter around her. “Michael, I saw you talking to the doctor,” she said in a low voice. “What was that about?”

“I just thought of a few more things they should test him for.”

“Like what?”

“Just … different things.”

She could tell he was evading, so she got to her feet. “Michael, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, not at all. I don’t know any more than you do.”

“But do you have one of your hunches?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Is it about Warren?” she asked in a whisper. “Because he’s creeping me out.”

Michael should have known her instincts matched his.
“I never have liked the guy that much. But we’ll know more when the test results come back.”

“Do you think Jackson was poisoned or drugged?”

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “If he didn’t want Jackson around he could’ve left him with Juliet.”

“Unless this was what he planned all along.”

“What do you mean?”

Cathy glanced back at the others in the room. Mrs. Haughton sat in the wheelchair, her chin on her chest. Holly seemed to be drowsing too, slumped back against the wall with her eyes closed. “I don’t know,” Cathy whispered. “There’s just something not right about the way he’s acting. His stubbornness, his hostility. And it wasn’t his idea to call the ambulance; it was Mrs. Haughton’s. If it weren’t for Jackson having an accident in the bed, she wouldn’t have known how bad off he was. But Warren knew it was bad if he was the one taking care of him. Why wouldn’t he have taken Jackson to the hospital sooner, unless maybe … unless he planned it?”

“That’s why I asked the doctor to check to see if there were any poisons in his system.”

Cathy sank into her chair again, trying to work possible scenarios out in her mind. Jackson poisoned? Surely not.

Michael lowered to the chair beside her and planted his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. She knew him well enough to know he was praying. She hoped he had God’s attention.

After a while, the doctor came back up the hall. Cathy and Michael got to their feet, and Holly opened her eyes.

As he stepped into Jackson’s room, Cathy touched Mrs. Haughton. She lifted her head and sat straighter. “The doctor … he’s in Jackson’s room.”

Mrs. Haughton nodded and tried to roll herself, but
Cathy took over and rolled her to the exam room, the others following.

As they entered, Mrs. Haughton looked hopefully up at the doctor. “Do you have the results?”

He turned to her, his expression grim. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“What is it, Doctor?” Cathy asked.

He cleared his throat, rubbed his jaw. “I’m afraid it’s pretty serious. Jackson doesn’t have a virus. He has
Escerichia coli
.”

Cathy sucked in a breath. “E. coli?”

“How could Jackson have gotten that?” Juliet demanded.

“It’s food-borne. It usually doesn’t get this severe until three to four days after eating the tainted food. Is anybody else in the family sick?”

“No,” Juliet said. “They’re not. We would know.” She turned to Warren. “What did you feed him?”

Warren grunted. “Did you hear him? He said it would take three to four days. I’ve only had him for two. Maybe it was what
you
fed him!”

“He ate what my kids and I ate.”

“Annalee died three days ago,” Cathy cut in. “Maybe it was something
she
fed him.”

“We need to have everything he’s eaten tested,” the doctor said. “Can we get into the child’s house?”

“It’s a sealed crime scene,” Michael said. “But I’m sure we can get the police to help us on this. But we’ll need to test the food at your house too, Warren.”

“Give me the key to your house,” Holly said to Warren. “I’ll drive over there right now and get what’s in the fridge.”

Warren sprang up then. “No, I’ll go. What do you need, Doctor?”

“Anything he’s eaten while he’s been with you. Even wrappers that may have been thrown away.”

“I’m the only one who knows what that is. He ate two McDonald’s Happy Meals. That was all we could get down him.”

Mrs. Haughton finally spoke up. “He did have a few bites of a breakfast casserole … a friend brought it. We’ll need to test that.”

“What about his school?” Juliet asked

“Doubtful,” the doctor said. “We’d be seeing other sick kids.”

“What can you do for him?” Juliet asked.

“We’ve got to arrest the growth of the bacteria. Keep him hydrated. We’re going to get him to ICU in the next few minutes. Since he’s so young, we’ll allow one of you to stay with him. I recommend that it’s the person he’s closest to.”