Am I the Killer? - A Luca Mystery - Book 1 Read online

  Tony took one of the seats lining the wall as a couple of pallets of cargo were quickly hoisted aboard. As the pallets were being secured, the nose of the C-5 descended into place with a resounding click. Within seconds, the engines revved up, and the plane taxied to take off.

  Once the plane leveled off, Tony unhooked his chest harness, grabbed the overhead webbing, and made his way down the nurse-filled aisle to Peter. He passed several gravely injured soldiers. The severest were loaded last in order to be the first off. Then he got to his buddy.

  Tears filled his eyes as he looked down at his comatose friend. He straightened the camouflage blanket as a nurse, wearing a headset to communicate with other caregivers, sidled up to Peter’s hanging gurney.

  Tony raised his voice over the engine’s drone.

  “He’s gonna be all right, won’t he? He’s not moving, or anything.”

  She smiled at him and checked the IVs. “I’m sure. He’s in a light coma to reduce the amount of oxygen his brain needs.”

  “The doc said he had a skull fracture and needed an operation. It sounds scary.”

  She nodded. “What was it? Another roadside bomb?”

  “No, hit by a goddamn car!”

  She shook her head. “No surprise, the way the Afghans drive around Kabul.”

  “If you can believe it, he was hit on the fucking tarmac at Bagram.”

  The nurse frowned and inserted a hypodermic needle into the IV line.

  “What’s that for, the pain?”

  “No, a diuretic. It helps with the swelling.”

  “The doctors, they’re good at Landstuhl?”

  “For sure, especially with head injuries. Lord knows they’ve had more experience than they care to.”

  Peter’s hand slipped out from the blanket as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. Tony grabbed the webbing and gently tucked Peter’s hand back under.

  “His hand is ice-cold, man. He needs another blanket.”

  “I’ll get one for him, but you better get back to your seat.”

  Seven hours later, the plane touched down at Ramstein Air Base. As it taxied toward a waiting bus, the paramedics and nurses readied the injured for the next phase of their journey. An announcement reminded everyone to stay seated till the wounded were off the plane. The C-5 came to a halt, and its nose quickly rose.

  Dawn’s light streamed into the cavity as a procession of gurneys were hurried down the ramp and loaded aboard a special bus. Lights ablaze, the bus lurched forward for the ten-minute drive to the hospital.

  With the wounded out of sight, the mood lifted as those heading home, to R & R, or assignment gathered their belongings and filed out. With his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Tony stepped off the aircraft into a German morning, focused only on his injured buddy.

  Inside the terminal, he headed to a bank of phones that were free for the enlisted, grabbed a booth and called his mother. Then he made a series of calls to track down Pete’s brother, Vinny, whom he found in Dallas.

  “Vinny? Vinny Hill?”

  “Yeah, you got him. Who’s this?”

  “Tony, Tony Burato. I’m a friend of your brother, Pete. We served together.”

  “Yeah, I hear he’s heading home soon. What’s up?”

  “Well, he’s been in an accident. He’s okay, well, not totally okay. He’s in the hospital.”

  “What happened?”

  “He got hit by a car, hit his head. They flew him to Germany, to a hospital in Landstuhl. It’s one of the best the Army’s got.”

  “What? Nobody called or nothing.”

  “I figured it’d take ’em time for an official notification, but that’s a good sign, you know. If it was real serious, they’d have reached out already.”

  He got no response from Vinny and continued.

  “Anyway, I wanted to get ahold of you, since I think you’re the only family he has.”

  “Uh, thanks, thanks, but what now?”

  “The Army will probably fly you over. It’s free for family, you know, and you can be with Petey. They got tons of flights, and you being in Dallas and all, Lackland Air Base is pretty close.”

  “I don’t know about that, but who knows exactly what’s going on with Peter?”

  “Call Fort Dix. They got a special system, and they’ll patch you through for the latest on Petey’s condition.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, you got his girl Mary’s telephone number? I think she should know what’s going on.”

  “Mary? Uh, I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about her. I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Sure wasn’t looking forward to that call. Anyway, look, I gotta run. I’ll check in on him again before I leave.”

  Chapter 2

  Peter Hill was critical but nowhere near as bad as the six others in the latest batch of soldiers wheeled into the bustling triage area. Brightly lit, it was anchored by a circular station where a doctor, dressed in green scrubs, scanned reports and directed specialized teams to each of the incoming.

  Peter’s gurney was quickly intercepted, and he was taken for an MRI before being wheeled into an operating room.

  Revitalized after grabbing two hours of shut-eye on a cot, Tony took a shower, wolfed down lunch and grabbed a ride to Landstuhl hospital. He stepped out of the car and scanned the buildings that comprised the sprawling facility. Uncertain of where the neurosurgery unit was, Tony stopped what looked like a doctor.

  “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for the neuro building. My buddy Peter, he’s got a bad head injury.”

  “Your friend’s in the right place. It’s just ahead on your left. It’s the one with the big glass front.”

  “Thanks. Say, you said he’s in the right place. What do you mean?”

  “Just that we’ve got a lot experience dealing with the injuries from IEDs over in the Mideast—head injuries, dismemberment, you name it—and we’ve had them more times than I care to talk about.”

  “Must be tough.”

  “Sometimes it is, no doubt. But you know what, with all the things we learned from treating our soldiers, we can give our boys a much better shot at recovering.”

  Tony nodded.

  “Anyway, good luck to your buddy. He’ll get a couple of days of intense treatment here, and then we’ll fly him back to the States.”

  It was just shy of two o’clock when Tony checked in at the reception desk.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. Here to see Pete Hill.”

  A civilian tapped on a keyboard.

  “Hm. Not in a room yet. That’s H I L L?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, here we go. He’s still in surgery.”

  “What? He was taken in, like, at eight this morning.”

  She offered a red plastic pass. “Take the Eisenhower elevators to the third floor. You’ll see an info desk and waiting zone for the recovery area. They can help you up there.”

  After being buzzed through a pair of doors, Tony learned that Peter had been in surgery for five hours and that the doctors were finishing up. He grabbed a copy of the latest Stars and Stripes and sat in a row of wooden chairs.

  An hour passed before Tony was called up to the desk.

  “Private Hill has been brought into the recovery area.” She cocked her head toward a nurse who appeared in a doorway. “Susan will take you in, but no more than ten minutes, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  The nurse smiled at Tony and handed him a paper smock. “Put this on, and sanitize your hands, please.”

  “Sure.”

  They stepped into a cold, brightly lit room lined with beds hooked up to banks of equipment that emitted streams of beeps. Nurses scurried across its gleaming floor, administering dosages and checking patients’ readings, numb to what Tony felt was an overpowering, antiseptic smell.

  Tony scanned from bed to bed and paused when he saw a young woman crying at a bedside. He stared a moment before putting his head down.

  “How’s Petey doing?” />
  “Good, he’s been out fifty minutes or so. He’s still under, you know.”

  “How long for the anesthesia to wear off?”

  “Normally, two, three hours, but with the brain injury he’s sustained, they’ll probably keep him under for, ah, I really don’t know. These things get pretty complicated.”

  “But he’s going to be all right?”

  “Sorry, I really don’t know much about the case other than the TBI and leg injury.”

  “TBI?”

  “Traumatic brain injury.” She pointed. “He’s the last one on the right.”

  Tony stopped at the foot of the bed, spreading his legs for support. He barely recognized Peter’s face, it was so swollen. Tony was taken aback at seeing the breathing tube down Peter’s throat, the three blood-filled tubes coming from his gauze-wrapped head, and the small forest of poles holding bags with lines to both arms. Pete’s right leg was elevated by a sling hanging from a winch. A urine catheter dangled from his leg.

  A nurse breezed in and logged onto a bedside laptop. She added a piece of tape to an IV and looked at Peter. She shook her head, whispering, “Goddamn IEDs.”

  “It wasn’t a roadside bomb or nothing like that. Believe it or not, he was hit by a damn car.”

  “Oh my God. You know, I thought it was strange there were no shrapnel wounds.”

  “And the thing is, it happened at the airport right when we were going to board a flight home.”

  “Boy, what bad luck.”

  “Wait, it gets worse. He was hit by one of our State Department cars.”

  “What?”

  Tony shook his head. “If Petey didn’t have bad luck, he’d have none at all.”

  “Hit by one of our own.” She frowned. “Look, I’ll be back in a bit. Gotta make a round. You can come closer. He won’t bite you.” The nurse left with a smile.

  Tony inched up to the bed, next to the mass of beeping and blinking machines. He stared at his buddy, and when a tear slipped out, he focused on the respirator’s baffle and on trying to decipher the medicinal smell in the air.

  When the nurse came back, he asked how he could get a prognosis on Pete. She jotted down the number of a Dr. Brown and hurried off. Tony took a long look at Pete, gently patted his good leg, and left.

  Dr. Brown’s evasiveness made Tony angry. However, when Dr. Brown mentioned Pete would be kept unconscious for two days and be transferred to Walter Reed Hospital in a week or so for rehab, Tony brightened.

  “That’s better,” Tony said to the doctor. “Pete’s brother, Vinny, will be here soon, and I’ll be able to see Peter in the hospital. It’s about a three-hour drive from where I live in New Jersey to Washington.”

  Tony left Vinny a message, letting him know he had seen Peter. Tony then called his mother to tell her he’d be home in two days.

  ***

  Vinny was a year older, had hazel eyes, and was three inches taller than Pete. He’d left New Jersey when their mother got sick and bounced around the country before ending up in Texas. He rarely came back to Jersey. An upper-level manager for FedEx in Dallas, Vinny pulled strings to avoid leaning on the military’s offer to help him. Instead, he hitched a ride on a FedEx freighter to Frankfurt, where he picked up a company car. Then, Vinny drove through a wicked lightning storm to Landstuhl Hospital.

  Pleasantly surprised at the civilian feel, Vinny was taken aback when he was shown into a quiet room housing eight bedridden soldiers. A quick scan of the room left a lump in his throat, then he zeroed in on Pete’s bed. Sandwiched between a legless soldier and another with an arm and a lower leg gone, his unconscious brother looked intact.

  The nurse hovering over Pete met Vinny’s eyes as he approached.

  “Must be family coming, Peter, maybe a brother? He looks a lot like you.” The nurse noted that they could be twins, except that the visitor’s ears didn’t stick out at all.

  Vinny nodded somberly, wiping away a tear before it fully formed. He stood at Pete’s bedside, silently cursing the war, when the nurse dragged a gray, metal chair over. The scraping sound seemed to stir Pete, and his head lolled a bit. Vinny shot a glance at the nurse, who shook her head.

  “It’s nothing. He’s out like a light.”

  The nurse checked the hanging IV bags as Vinny sat statuelike, arms crossed, staring in disbelief.

  “It’s okay to touch him, you know. Contact helps them recover. They know you’re here.”

  Vinny shifted closer and reached through the side rail to touch his brother’s hand.

  “He’s cold as ice. Get him another blanket, for Chrissakes!”

  “Easy. Don’t worry about his body temperature. It’s fine. He’s a tad below normal, which is right where we like him to be with a TBI.”

  “Look, before this happened, I’d never heard of a TBI, and I still don’t know what the hell it means.”

  “It stands for a traumatic brain injury.”

  “I know that, dammit, but what does it mean for my brother? What the hell’s happening with him?”

  “You need to take it easy. I know this is difficult, but we believe Peter can hear you, and yelling may cause him stress, which certainly won’t help his condition.”

  Vinny stood, looked at his brother, and leaned toward the nurse. “I just need to understand what’s going on. Is he gonna be all right?”

  “I’ll ask the doctor to speak with you.”

  While Peter was getting a sponge bath, Vinny sat in a small area by the nurse’s station. Rain pelted the windows. He sipped what passed for coffee and watched the chaos as patients were rolled in and out for tests and treatments. A reed-thin doctor in green scrubs and pink clogs made a beeline for Vinny as he pulled off a surgical cap.

  “Mr. Hill? I’m Doctor Molanari.”

  Vinny started to get up, but the physician didn’t offer his hand and sat on the edge of a coffee table.

  “The surgery yesterday went well. I repaired the fracture, removed the skull fragments, and installed a ventricular drain to relieve the cranial pressure. Even patched up the nasty tear in his meniscus.”

  Vinny nodded. “So what’s the prognosis? Is he going to be all right?”

  “It’s too early to tell just yet. The head trauma he suffered is a complicated thing to gauge. We need to allow three to five days to let the fluids drain. Then we’ll take some clearer scans that’ll give us a picture of the damage to the brain.”

  “Brain damage? He’s going to be vegetable or something?”

  “I highly doubt he’ll be in a vegetal state. We see way too many TBIs here, and frankly, Peter’s is not as bad as many."

  “Doc, cut the bullshit. Give it to me straight, okay?”

  The doctor stood abruptly. “Like I said, it’s too early to tell the extent of any damage. That said, the brain is a complex organ that we don’t fully understand, and from what I saw, I believe he’ll have to undergo extensive rehab but will likely recover most functionality.”

  The doctor turned on his heels, leaving Vinny to struggle with what functionality really meant. Suddenly finding it difficult to think and breathe, he headed for a dose of fresh air.

  Eyes riveted on the floor, Vinny trudged back into Peter’s room and sat at his bedside. He stared at his brother’s comatose body, lamenting that he didn’t really know his brother. Vinny shifted in his chair as tears trickled down his cheek. He vowed to help Peter if he made it out. The guilt of taking off and leaving Peter alone to deal with their sick mother began to weigh on him. He cursed his father, who’d been in the reserves for years, for going AWOL when he was in Grenada. Vinny still couldn’t believe he left their mother and shacked up with some girl and had died shortly afterward. When the thought crossed that he’d been no better, he pushed the memory aside.

  Vinny scanned the monitors projecting colored, squiggly lines and cursed the people who put his brother in uniform. Then he stared at his shoes, tuning out the cascade of beeps, and closed his eyes.

  “How we doing tod
ay?” A short nurse, whose blonde hair was piled on her head, was pulling the privacy curtain around Pete’s bed.

  “Huh, uh? I guess I fell asleep.”

  She smiled and turned her attention to her patient.

  “Hello there, Peter.” She stroked his face. “You’ve got a visitor here. Come on now, don’t be rude.”

  Vinny craned his neck to see if the good-looking nurse could get a reaction. “Hope you got some magical powers. He hasn’t budged at all.”

  “Poor thing, it’s pretty normal, though.” She turned around. “And who would you be?”

  Vinny scrambled to his feet, putting him inches away and wishing he’d shaved.

  “Vinny, I’m Pete’s brother.” He kicked the chair back and held out his hand.

  “Thought so, both of you have the same almond-shaped eyes. I’m Angela. Nice to meet you.”

  She turned and reached for an IV bag, hiking her skirt and Vinny’s interest.

  “You or Petey need anything, just let me know.”

  He stared at her with glassy eyes.

  “I know it’s tough on you now, but let’s give it time. He’ll get better, you’ll see.”

  “I don’t know, nothing’s changing.”

  “Well, he’s breathing on his own now, and he’ll make more progress.”

  “I guess so, but I’ve only been here a day, and already I’m going out of my mind.”

  “You don’t have to be here twenty-four by seven, you know. But when you’re here, let him know it. Talk to him. Make contact. It’ll help him.”

  Vinny nodded. “When will these tubes come out of his head? I mean, it gives me the creeps.”

  She frowned. “Most of ’em will come out when the draining is done. They let the fluids out, keeping the pressure off his brain.” She pointed to the tubes. “You see, it’s a reddish gray now. A good sign will be if it turns clear. So keep an eye on it, okay?”

  “Sure, Ang, sure. So, how long you been working here?”

  “See you later. He’s not the only one I’m watching, you know.”