Chamberlain, Diane - The Shadow Wife

Paul stood up and pulled a chair out for her, and she laughed.

“I’m looking that pregnant, am I?” she asked.

“Just trying to be chivalrous,” Paul said. “When are you due, again?”

“New Year’s Day,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. How could I forget that?”

“I’m thirty weeks today,” she said.

“You look great,” Paul said.

“Thanks. Where’s Liam?” She tried to sound only mildly curious.

“He’s had a rough morning in the E.R.,” Paul said. “It’s been like a Saturday night down there.”

She popped a prenatal vitamin into her mouth and swallowed it with a few sips of milk. “And how are your units today?” she asked.

“Not bad, actually. How about yours?”

Her pager buzzed as he asked the question, and she looked down to see the E.R.’s number on the display.

“Speak of the devil,” she said.

“E.R.?” he asked as she got to her feet.

She nodded. “Be right back.”

She walked over to the wall phone near the cafeteria exit and dialed the number for the E.R.

It was Liam who picked up on the other end. “Are you in the cafeteria, Jo?” he asked.

“Yes. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to drag you away from lunch, but I could really use your help down here. I have a couple of accident victims I’m tied up with, and a woman just came in who looks pretty beaten up, but says she just fell. Any chance you could see her?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

She hung up the phone and returned to the table, but didn’t take her seat again.

“Just leave this here for me in case this doesn’t take too long, okay?” she asked Paul, pointing to her tray.

“I’m almost done, Joelle,” he said. “Want me to take the E.R. case for you?”

“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s a possible battered woman, so it’s probably better if I do it. But thanks for offering.” She gave him a quick wave of her hand. “Have a good afternoon.”

From the hallway of the E.R., she could see into the waiting room, and Paul had been right. It looked like a weekend night in there. Mothers bounced irritable babies on their knees, a couple of kids held ice packs to their legs, and several men slouched in their chairs, looking in the direction of the reception desk, waiting for their names to be called.

A nurse spotted Joelle and walked toward her, handing her a chart.

“She’s in four,” she said. “Bart stitched her up and set her broken arm and tried to get her to admit what happened, but she insists she fell down the stairs.” The nurse shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she did. But we didn’t want to let her go until one of you guys had a chance to assess her. She wants to get out of here, though. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep her.”

Joelle nodded, glancing quickly through the thin chart. Twenty-four-year-old Caucasian woman. Katarina Parsons. She didn’t bother trying to read Bart’s nearly illegible notes. She’d get the story soon enough.

She pushed open the door of the treatment room to find the young woman sitting on the edge of the examining table, arms folded across her chest, a look of boredom on her bruised face. The blasé expression masked fear, Joelle was almost certain. She’d seen the act before.

She held out her hand to the woman. “Hi, Katarina,” she said. “I’m Joelle D’Angelo, one of the social workers in the hospital.”

The woman shook her hand limply. “Why are they making me see you?” she asked.

“Well—” Joelle leaned against the counter “—when someone comes in looking as though there’s a possibility that she might have been beaten up, we want to make sure she’ll be safe when she leaves the E.R.,” she said.

“I told that doctor I wasn’t beat up,” Katarina said. “I fell down some cement stairs.” She pronounced cement “see-ment.”

Joelle smiled at her. “I like your accent,” she said. “Where are you from?”

“Virginia.”

“Oh.” Joelle took a seat on the wheeled stool. “Near Washington?”

“No. Southwest Virginia. Right near North Carolina.”

“I bet it’s pretty there,” Joelle said. “What brought you out here?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Oh. Did he live here, or…?”

“No, he lived in Virginia,” Katarina said. “But his brother was in Monterey, and he wanted to come out here, too. He thought he could find a job, but he hasn’t yet.” She shifted her slender weight on the examining table.

“Do you want to sit in that chair?” Joelle pointed toward the one chair in the room. “I know how uncomfortable it is sitting on those examining tables. I’ve been doing a lot of that myself lately.” She patted her belly with a smile.

“I don’t want to sit anywhere in here,” Katarina said. “I just want to leave.”

Joelle nodded toward the chair. “Just take a seat there,” she said. “It won’t be so hard on your back.”

Muttering under her breath, Katarina slipped off the examining table and sat down in the chair, arms folded protectively across her chest once more.

She was so easy, Joelle thought. So malleable and so scared. Joelle was confident she’d be able to get the truth out of her in no time.

“Where did you get hurt?” she asked.

“I told you, on the cement stairs at his brother’s apartment.”

“No, I mean, where on your body. I see you have some stitches on your cheek, and your other cheek is pretty swollen. Your arm was broken, right?”

“I been through all of this with that doctor,” Katarina said.

Joelle leaned toward her. “Katarina, it may be that you did fall down the stairs,” she said. “But if that’s not what happened, there’s help for you. There’s a place you can go where you’ll be safe. You just moved here—I know you probably don’t know many people, but you don’t have to feel alone in this.”

The tears welling up in Katarina’s eyes told her she was on the right track.

“You’re not the only woman this has happened to,” Joelle said. “You have a lot of company, unfortunately, but the good thing about that is that we have resources in place to—”

Katarina’s head suddenly jerked to attention, her eyes on the door to the treatment room. Joelle heard the voices outside the room, one calm and female, the other loud, angry and male.

“That’s Jess,” Katarina said in a whisper.

“Your boyfriend?”

She nodded, her gaze still on the small window of the door. “He’ll kill me for coming here, but I knew my arm was broke.”

Joelle stood up and reached for the phone on the wall. “I’ll call security,” she said, keeping her voice calm as she dialed the number, despite the fact that the man’s shouts were growing louder, more enraged. “Probably someone already has,” she said, waiting for the number to ring. “You don’t need to wor—”

The door flew open and a large man stormed into the treatment room, knocking the phone out of Joelle’s hand as he passed her. Her hands moved instinctively to protect her belly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the man asked Katarina, who literally cowered on the chair in the corner of the room. The man’s blond hair jutted out from his head in no discernable style, and his eyes had a wild look that made Joelle think he was on something.

“I told them I fell down the stairs,” Katarina said.

“Jess,” Joelle said as calmly as she was able to, “Katarina and I are nearly finished talking. Please wait outside and we’ll be out in a few—”

“What are you, a social worker?” Jess turned to face her. “Jesus, Kat, what have you been telling them? She’s clumsy, that’s all,” he said to Joelle. “Clumsy bitch.” He started toward Katarina again, his hands reaching for the small woman’s shoulders.