Ghost Road Blues (Pine Deep 1)

“Oh. ”

The doctor glanced at Terry. “Christ, you look like shit. ”

“Been a long couple of days, Saul,” Terry said. “So, where do we stand?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question. Which do you want first, the good news, the so-?so news, the bad news, or the really bad news?”

“How about in that order?”

“Okay, the good news. ” Weinstock had a clipped but affable voice. “Officer Rhoda Thomas is an exceptionally hardy and fit young lady. We removed two 9-millimeter bullets from her last night, and she is doing very well. She’s conscious and aware. ”

“Prognosis?” asked Ferro.

Weinstock shrugged. “She’ll be fine. No truly life-?threatening damage, except for the collapsed lung, and we fixed that. She gets the right P. T. and she’ll be playing tennis in the spring, no problem. In a couple of months, you’ll have to be a damn close friend to even see the scars. ”

“Good,” Terry said. “And Crow?”

“Oh, also good news there. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself for taking up bed space. Pissant little wounds both of them. If he didn’t eat at McDonald’s so much he probably wouldn’

t have had big enough love handles for the bullets to graze. He’ll be out of here tomorrow. ”

“What about his face?”

“Jeez, have you seen it?” Weinstock asked with a malicious grin. “Looks like something out of a Frankenstein movie, but that’s just bruising, couple lacerations. Piddling stuff. He’ll have a couple of scars, sure, but nothing that will spoil his looks. ”

“What about his girlfriend?” asked LaMastra.

“Val? Well, that’s the so-?so news. She has a couple of cracked ribs, some torn cartilage, a helluva lot of facial bruising, and assorted minor lacerations. Her shoulder was wrenched, but that’s just a sprain, nothing to worry about. We shot her up with some cortisone, and I had our sports med guy take a look at her and he said she’d be doing cartwheels in a few weeks. In short, the body trauma is in no way debilitating, so all that will heal. ” He blew across the surface of his cup and then took a careful sip. “The real issue is the emotional and psychological trauma. I mean, she was threatened by a madman, was injured while fighting for her life, she more or less saw her father get gunned down, and saw her boyfriend get shot. That’s one hell of a lot to take in one night. ”

“Val’s as tough as iron, Saul,” said Terry.

The doctor nodded. “I agree. I’ve known Val forever. Hell, my uncle David delivered her…she used to babysit my sister and me. I know she’s tough, and I think if anyone could recover from the psychic trauma of this, then she’s the one. This morning I had a long talk with her, and she’s tearing herself up with guilt. ”

“Guilt?” asked Gus. “For what?”

“For leaving her father to die out in the field while she went to help her brother and sister-?in-?law, then for being too traumatized to help him after all the fireworks were over. No, no, don’t say it. We all know that that’s just grief talking, but grief coupled with this kind of trauma can really do a number on a person. Seen it too many times. ”

“So,” asked Terry slowly, “will she recover? I mean, in your medical opinion?”

Weinstock sipped the steaming coffee, then paused and stared into the middle distance. “It is my considered medical opinion that it beats the hell out of me. She’ll need a good therapist, probably. ”

“Swell,” grunted Terry. “What about Connie?”

“Now we come to the bad news. She is physically unharmed. In fact, she is the only one that really went through this relatively unscathed. Some minor bruises from rough handling and from a few hard slaps, but none of the brutal bashing the others experienced. Nevertheless, her trauma is even deeper and more dangerous than that of Val Guthrie. She was nearly raped, but in her own mind she actually was raped. Or at least violated beyond her capacity to endure. You have to understand, gentlemen, that this is a very old-?fashioned, very modest woman. Probably a little naive, too, one of those people who just isn’t prepared for this kind of visit to the real world. Her kind isn’t made for a night in the swamps with all the alligators. Will she snap out of it? Probably yes. In most ways, yes, but can she put the event behind her and not let it haunt her and warp her like it does to so many of the innocent ones?” He just shook his head. “I don’t know, fellows. I’m a doctor, not a shrink. And she is going to need a very good shrink. ”

“So’s her husband,” said LaMastra. “I had a talk with him, or tried to, but he just keeps saying that he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s on some kind of denial trip, thinks his father’s death is his fault somehow. He’s tearing himself to pieces because, while Ruger was ripping his wife’s clothes off and running his hands all over her, all young Mr. Guthrie could do was sit and watch and scream. ”

Weinstock nodded. “Yeah, Ruger hurt him by making him watch. If the rape had actually happened, with Mark watching and unable to do anything…well, I don’t even want to speculate. ”

LaMastra made a sour face. “I’ve seen cases like that. Poor bastard’s held down by one guy with a knife or gun or whatever, and has to watch the other guys take turns with his wife or girlfriend. What man could take that?”

“I sure as hell couldn’t,” Weinstock said grimly.

The room grew quiet as the men stared down at the floor and down at the dusty bottoms of their hearts, thinking of loved ones, trying to imagine what Mark Guthrie had felt, putting themselves in his place. It was a terrifying and sickening thought, as was the speculation, however distorted, of what it must have felt like for Connie Guthrie as well. It was harder for these men to relate to her trauma and her pain, but even from a distance, the feelings burned holes in each of them.

Gus blew out his cheeks. “Well, if that is the bad news, I just can’t wait to hear what the really bad news is. ”

Weinstock sipped his coffee and considered the darkly rippling liquid for a long five seconds. “I just finished the postmortem on our friend Tony Macchio. ” He heaved a long sigh. “You know, fellows, I never signed up to do this kind of shit. I’m essentially a country doctor. My patients are upscale suburbanites who get expensive conditions and rare and glamorous diseases. When they die, they die in bed of very old age, or they have heart attacks on the back nine, two under par, and still smiling when they’re wheeled into the morgue. But this crap…this body you brought me last night…ahh, I just don’t know. I mean, God knows I’ve been doing this long enough not to be squeamish from blood. I’ve pieced together high school kids after the paramedics peeled them out of wrecked Lexuses. That I can deal with, but this…man, this is nightmare stuff, you know?”