Stephen White: Critical Conditions

“Hindsight’s great. Yeah, you probably should’ve had him picked up. And if you did, how long do you think he would have been in custody?”

Sam scoffed, “Eight hours. Maybe a day. Maybe not that long. That’s not the point. I needed to send him a message to leave my family alone. I didn’t.”

“This isn’t hockey, Sam.”

“Hockey is life. This is life.”

“So? What difference would it have made had you gotten in his face? Everyone survives, the way it turned out. Merritt’s going to be okay. Chaney has a chance. No way of telling what would have happened the other way.”

“Yeah,” he said.

He was blowing me off. “Sam, thanks for all you did. You’re a hero today.”

He nodded, acknowledging something. I wasn’t sure what. “You know, you two were great down there. Merritt, what a kid, the way she moved around. And you did good in there, too, you know that? He would have had her without you.”

“I don’t know about that, Sam. I will say it was the oddest ten minutes I’ve ever had in my life.”

“You reach Lauren, tell her what happened?”

“No. I’ll tell her when we get there. She has enough on her mind with her mom. You reach Brenda and John?”

“John. Told him there was a delay. That’s all. They have enough stress too, you know; I didn’t want to go into this on the phone. Chaney is still set to start those new drugs tomorrow. You’ll have to fill them in about Dr. Gusman when you get there. Use your judgment.”

“Fine,” I said.

Lauren was standing with Lucy about thirty feet from John Trent as I exited the plane a long time after the first-class cabin was empty. I kissed her and held her and kissed her again. Over my shoulder, I watched Trent as he embraced Merritt ten yards away.

Her arms still around me, Lauren turned to Lucy as though she were continuing an earlier conversation. She said, “You said you missed the earlier flight? What happened?”

Lucy looked at me, hoping I would field the question. I grinned and glanced once toward Merritt, then back at Lucy before I said, “Oh, you know, just another problem with the baggage system at DIA.”

Sam phoned me at Lauren’s parents’ house that evening. He had already spoken with his wife and learned that early the next morning, Chaney would indeed start receiving the experimental drugs from Japan that would, with luck, arrest the virus that was destroying her heart. A short while later she would be a prime candidate for a donor organ.

And another vigil would begin for Merritt and John and Brenda.

Sam mostly wanted to talk about Madison’s boyfriend, Brad, and Dead Ed’s brother-in-law, Andrew. “We have word from a state trooper in Nevada. It looks like Brad’s been spotted. He’s south of Vegas, camping illegally. They’ll close in on him today and he’ll go down, but I’m still kind of hoping he doesn’t go down in flames. You know?”

“Yeah, I know. Where are things with Andrew?”

“He has a lawyer now, of course. Funny, took him a couple of tries to find one. The first one he called was Cozier Maitlin. How’s that for irony?”

“Has he been charged?”

“Not yet. They’ve collected hair and fingerprints from him. They’ll check out his story, see if it’s consistent with the forensic evidence before they decide what to do. I’m not convinced the DA’s going to press it. What’s it going to be? The charge, I mean. Homicide? Assisted suicide? Mercy killing? Ask Lauren if she wants a piece of this one when she gets back to Boulder. Nobody else on the felony team in her office does. The guys in the detective squad are already calling Andrew ‘Dr. Jack.’”

I smiled. “Merritt and John are in the clear?”

“Not quite. It’s looking brighter for them. Some loose ends are hanging. Trent’s prints are on a bottle of water that we collected in Dead Ed’s mud room. That’s a problem still to be solved. And there’s a whole bunch of people, myself included, who would still like to know how those bloody clothes got under Merritt’s bed and what the gun was doing in her bathroom. She still has some explaining to do about all that.”

I pondered Dead Ed’s butt and the vile videotape I hoped no one would ever see. I said, “I don’t think you really want to know those answers, Sam.”

“Sure I do.”

Firmly, I said, “You don’t. Trust me.”

I heard him swallow once and imagined him narrowing his eyes. I hoped he would take my advice.

I have the great fortune of receiving generous assistance from virtually everyone I ask for help. Where license has been taken with reality, though, the responsibility is mine.

This time I needed medical attention, and I got it STAT from Drs. James Todd, Terry Lapid, Stan Galansky, Randy Wilkening, and Alfred Jackson. Joani Rogers Jackson, R.N., M.S.C.S., refreshed my memories of my days working on adolescent in-patient units. I’d suppressed a lot.

Steve Klodt showed me the bowels of Denver International Airport and Mike Silva of KCNC the skies along the Front Range, each in a way that granted a perspective I could never have otherwise gained. Authorities in Boulder continue to provide their expertise. Special thanks to Tom Faure of the coroner’s office and Detective Melissa Hickman of the Boulder Police Department.

Critical Conditions involves teenage girls in difficult circumstances. I was fortunate to receive the counsel of a group of remarkable young women still in, or not far from, their teens. My deep gratitude to Holly Greenburg, Alexis Wilson, and Erin Graham. You helped more than you know.

Harry MacLean, Mark Graham, Tom Schantz, and Elyse Morgan are always among my first readers, and they usually find ways to critique without drawing too much blood. I thank them not only for their sharp eyes but also for their friendship. Jeffrey and Patricia Limerick have been there for me since the beginning. And I commend Jay and Miggy Monroe for their courage and thank them for their generosity and goodwill.

I think I’m running out of ways to show appreciation to my family long before they’ve begun to run out of ways to support and help me. Rose and Xan, you have my heart. My mother, my brothers and sister, and my extended family are, too, always there for me, and I thank them.

In New York, Jariya Wanapun and Julie Harston make every task and every day easier. I thank them for their graciousness and their patience as much as for their always smooth assistance. Lynn Nesbit, Michaela Hamilton, and Elaine Koster are true publishing professionals, and I’m fortunate to be in their care. It’s no small sleight-of-hand to turn a manuscript into a book and they make the magic happen.

Finally, this book is dedicated to Al Silverman. He is a world-class editor and an even better human being. Al, thank you.