Tracy tapped her fingers against the steering wheel while she stared at Kim and pondered his request. Her first thought was to say no and to tell him that he was just being selfish again. But then she reconsidered. Although she didn’t want to make the arrangements by herself, she knew that the service itself was far more important than making the arrangements. She also recognized that at the moment she was probably more capable than he was.
“You won’t mind what day I pick?” Tracy questioned. “Or where a service might be?”
“Not at all,” Kim said. “Whatever you decide.”
“All right,” she said. “But you have to promise to call me as soon as you get home.”
“I promise,” Kim said. He reached over and gave Tracy’s forearm a squeeze before getting out of the car.
“I’ll wait to make sure your car starts,” Tracy said.
“Good idea,” Kim said. “And thanks.” He shut the door. He waved before heading over to his car.
Tracy waved back and wondered if she was doing the right thing.
Kim opened his car door, but didn’t get right in. He looked at Higgins and Hancock and shuddered at the memory of the previous night. The terror he’d felt running from the man with the knife came flooding back. It was an experience he knew he’d never forget.
Kim started to get into the car but hesitated again. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of talking with the guard on duty to find out how to get in touch with Curt, the guard from the previous night. But Tracy’s admonition immediately came to mind, and Kim decided she was right. If Curt were willing to lie to the police about Marsha’s presence, he certainly wouldn’t be apt to tell the truth to Kim. And the fact that he probably was lying meant there was more to this affair than might appear on the surface.
Kim’s car started with ease, and he waved at Tracy who waved back before preceding him out of the parking lot. Kim followed at a distance, rethinking their recent conversation. He thought it was ironic that the awful events of the last few days-Becky’s death and his having come close to being murdered-could end up making him feel closer to Tracy than he had in years, maybe even ever.
They parted company on the freeway. Kim beeped his horn in farewell. Tracy beeped back as she sped away toward her neighborhood. Kim took the exit appropriate for the med center.
On Sundays the doctors’ parking lot was almost empty, and Kim was able to park close to the front entrance. As he climbed out of his car he told himself the first order of business was for him to go directly up to the surgical locker room. He wanted to clean up, shave, and change into the street clothes he’d left there Friday morning.
Martha Trumbull and George Constantine were both in their early seventies, and both had been faithful volunteers at the University Medical Center long enough to have been awarded the prestigious Friends of the Hospital service pins. Martha proudly wore hers on the front of her pink volunteer smock, whereas George wore his on the lapel of his cerulean volunteer blazer.
Martha and George’s favorite assignment was manning the information desk in the hospital lobby. They particularly liked to work there on Sunday when they had it to themselves. On the other days of the week, a paid hospital employee was in charge.
Taking their roles seriously, they not only knew the layout of the hospital with the same detail as the floor plans of their own homes, but they also knew the names of the entire hospital professional staff. When Kim came through the door on his way to the elevator, they both thought they recognized him yet they weren’t a hundred-percent certain.
Martha glanced at George. “Is that Dr. Reggis?” she whispered.
“I think so,” George said. “But I can’t imagine what he’s been doing in that white coat, unless he had to change a tire.”
“I think the beard looks worse than the coat,” Martha said. “Someone should tell him, because he’s such a nice-looking man.”