“The point I’m making is that I wasn’t warned. The nurses may have been warned, but no one warned us doctors.”
“Well, you should have known better,” Robertson said.
“Are you trying to imply that this attack was somehow my fault?”
Robertson ignored her question. “What kind of club was he holding?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” Angela said. “I told you it was dark.”
Robertson shook his head and looked at his deputy. “You said Bill had just been up there in his cruiser?”
“That’s right,” the deputy said. “Not ten minutes before the incident he’d made a routine sweep of both parking lots.”
“Christ, I don’t know what to do,” Robertson said. He looked down at Angela and shrugged his shoulders. “If you women would just be a little more cooperative, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“May I use the phone?” Angela said.
Angela called David. When he answered she could tell he’d been asleep. She told him she’d be home in ten minutes.
“What time is it?” David asked. Then after a glance at the clock, he answered his own question. “Holy jeez, it’s after one. What are you doing?”
“I’ll tell you when I get home,” Angela said.
After she’d hung up, Angela turned to Robertson. “May I leave now?” she asked testily.
“Of course,” Robertson said. “But if you think of anything else, let us know. Would you like my deputy to drive you home?”
“I think I can manage,” Angela said.
Ten minutes later, Angela was hugging David at their door. David had been alarmed not just by the late hour, but the sight of his wife coming from the car with a briefcase in one hand and a shotgun in the other. But he didn’t ask about the gun. For the moment, he just hugged Angela. She was holding him tightly and wouldn’t let go.
Angela finally released David, removed her soiled coat, and carried the briefcase and the shotgun into the family room. David followed, eyeing the shotgun. Angela sat on the couch, embraced her knees, and looked up at David.
“I’d like to stay calm,” she said evenly. “Would you mind getting me a glass of wine?”
David complied immediately. As he handed her the glass he asked if she’d like something to eat. Angela shook her head before sipping the wine. She held the glass with both hands.
In a controlled voice Angela began to tell David about the attempted assault. But she didn’t get far. Her emotions boiled over into tears. For five minutes she couldn’t speak. David put his arms around her, telling her that it was his fault: he never should have let her work at the hospital so late at night.
Eventually, Angela regained her composure. She continued the story, choking back tears. When she got to the part about Robertson coming in to talk to her, her anger kicked in.
“I cannot believe that man,” Angela sputtered. “He makes me so mad. He acted as if it were my fault.”
“He’s a jerk,” David agreed.
Angela reached for the briefcase and handed it to David. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “All this effort and the slides didn’t show much at all,” she said. “There was no tumor in the brain. There was some perivascular inflammation, but it was nonspecific. A few neurons appeared damaged but it could have been a postmortem change.”
“No sign of a systemic infectious disease?” David asked.
Angela shook her head. “I brought the slides home in case you wanted to look at them yourself,” she said.
“I see you got a shotgun,” David commented.
“It’s loaded, too,” Angela warned, “so be careful. And don’t worry. I’ll go over it with Nikki tomorrow.”
A crash and the sound of breaking glass made them both sit bolt upright. Rusty started barking from Nikki’s room, then he came bounding down the stairs. David picked up the shotgun.
“The safety is just above the trigger,” Angela said.
With David leading, they made their way through to the darkened living room. David flipped on the light. Four panes of the bay window were smashed, along with their muntins. On the floor a few feet away from where they were standing was a brick. Attached to it was a copy of the note they’d received the night before.