“It’s one way to pump a stomach. Keep him walking.”
He moaned now, staggered a bit, as she took a sample of puke into evidence.
“The MTs are coming,” Nadine called out.
“About damn time. Walk him into the bedroom—and Roarke, stay with him. They can work on him in there, keep clear of my crime scene.”
She pulled out her communicator. Time to call in the team. As the medics rushed in, she pointed to the bedroom door, shook her head at Nadine.
“You don’t want to be in there. It’s not going to be pretty and I don’t want him talking to you yet, if he starts to talk. Roarke? Stay with him.”
“Do you think he’s going to make it? I thought he was dead when I finally got that tight-assed bitch to open the door.”
“I think he’s going to make it. I know if you’d gotten here a half hour later he’d have been dead. You saved his life.”
Nadine swiped at her damp eyes. “I didn’t make him puke.”
“I have that effect on people.”
Sniffling, Nadine found a seat, peeled off her ruined shoes. “Do you think I can get a drink—a real drink? From room service.”
“Fine with me. Just don’t drink anything
from in here.”
Nadine limped over to the ’link. “Yes. I want a vodka martini, dry as the Sahara, three olives. And I want it pronto.”
She sat again. “How did Steinburger get him to take the pills?”
“Let’s hope Julian’s able to tell us. Got some blisters working there,” Eve noted.
Nadine winced, continued to rub her feet. “Shut up.”
“Since you earned them in the line, let’s see if the MTs have something for them.” Even as Eve spoke, one of the medics stepped out of the bedroom.
“Status.”
“Cleaned him out good. He’s conscious, feeling like serious crap, and stabilizing. We got him hooked up to an IV, get some fluids back in him. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”
Eve glanced over as Peabody and two uniforms came in. She gestured toward Nadine, turned back to the MT. “Does he need to?”
“Guy downs a buncha downers with his Cabernet or whatever, he needs some help. That’s auto into Psych for eval and observation. Twenty-four hours.”
“It wasn’t attempted suicide.” She tapped her badge. “It was attempted homicide.”
The MT looked dubious, but shrugged. “You say so.”
“I say so. Is he recovered enough, physically, to stay here?”
“Guy hadn’t barfed most of it up before we got here, you wouldn’t be asking. He needs to have somebody with him to monitor, but he’s stable enough. Pretty fried, but stable.”
“Somebody will stay with him, and I’ll have a doctor examine him.”
The MT looked around, glanced over to where Peabody took Nadine’s official statement. “Guess that’s it then.”
“Thanks for your help.” Eve stepped into the bedroom. Roarke sat on the edge of the bed with Julian propped up on a mountain of pillows. His face remained nearly as white as the linens as they carried on a halting, murmured conversation.
“You can tell her,” Roarke said. “She’ll help you.” Roarke rose. “The MT said clear liquids would be fine, for now. I’m going to go order him something up.”