Clouded Rainbow (9 page)

Nurse Ann took to Detective Cleveland as soon as he had phoned that he was on his way. She wanted to do whatever she could to help this helpless woman. Nurse Ann found it particularly troubling that someone out there was looking for the fallen angel, and the compassionate nurse had no idea of the emotion consuming that lost individual.

As Det. Cleveland followed Nurse Ann into Lois’ room, he filled it with confidence and decisiveness. Nurse Ann sensed it from the moment he had stepped off the elevator and asked for her by name. She could tell that he was a genuine man deep down and one that acted with respect and never arrogance. All her subordinate nurses were female and envious of Nurse Ann assisting handsome police officers during an investigation. Then again, they seemed to warm up to anyone whose masculine cologne tickled their senses.

Det. Cleveland held a notepad and pen as he prepared to takes notes from his commencing investigation. He was old school with certain things. While he used a modern cell phone and laptop to assist his work, he reverted to good old fashioned ink on paper instead of a sometimes-unreliable Personal Digital Assistant. As he walked to Lois’ side, his first request was not to look at her unconsciousness body, but her personal belongings retrieved with her lifeless frame. Nurse Ann’s quick steps, however, were tough to persuade as he followed the nurse to the woman they knew only as Jane Doe.

“She arrived in the E.R. last night badly injured from the crash on the bridge. It was about ten o’clock. The interesting thing is we don’t know who she is. No identification. She was pulled out of the water. Must have been thrown over the bridge from impact,” Nurse Ann explained as the detective gravitated to her side.

Her last words made her quiver, as startling flashes of speculative terror on the bridge filled her mind. Det. Cleveland remained detached and aloof. He jotted some keywords down in his notepad, “E.R. ten o’clock” and “No identification.” He underlined the latter because it was a troublesome fact of the case. He momentarily pondered his ability to solve the case, but images of his many detective awards quickly reassured him.

If I can solve a missing child’s case, surely I can figure out who this woman is and where she belongs
, he reasoned.

Confidence was the number one asset any good detective needed and Det. Cleveland was full of it, but in a pure, respectful way—never to the point of pretentiousness.

“What was the subject wearing when you brought her in?” Det. Cleveland asked.

“Just what was left of her black dress. We have it with her personal items…” Nurse Ann responded, but ended the sentence short. She tried to think if Jane Doe had arrived with anything as most unknown patients were admitted with at least some identifiable items—usually enough to jumpstart a pursuing officer. However, she realized this sleeping woman entered the hospital with nothing—as if she were from an unknown world.

Nurse Ann finished her sentence, “…actually that’s all we have for her. She had nothing else on her.”

Det. Cleveland lifted his pen, as he had nothing to write down. He hoped the dainty nurse would’ve said that Jane Doe arrived with a purse filled with unique perfume, a movie ticket stub, or even a dry cleaning receipt. Unfortunately, she didn’t mention any such items that could possibly have shed light on the dark situation. Det. Cleveland tried to turn the bad news around and use the lack of clues as a clue itself.

“Hmm, must have been at a party…or nice restaurant for dinner. She probably was with a date,” he deduced aloud.

Det. Cleveland took another moment to formulate his thoughts. “A fancy dress would certainly not have pockets, which therefore only allowed a handbag for her personal belongings,” he added.

With the jarring accident on the bridge, who knew where the small item was in the rubbish or even the water? The one thing his gut told him was that she was most likely not alone in the traveling car, as her slimming dress would most probably be to delight the senses of a date. With statistics in favor of a heterosexual relationship, he calculated the person accompanying her was male, a boyfriend or husband, and this person was most likely her chauffeur. This was his first piece to the freshly cut jigsaw puzzle.

“Okay, thank you for the information. I have enough for some leads,” he said.

Det. Cleveland jotted down some of his conjectures into his notepad as Nurse Ann focused on Lois. She took her warm hand and compassionately caressed the skin of Lois’ cheek. It was cold at first, but the heat from Nurse Ann quickly heated the spot. Det. Cleveland clicked his pen and put his notepad and writing utensil into his trench coat. He knew that Nurse Ann was having a moment, and he didn’t want to make eye contact. In fact, he couldn’t because he knew that keeping the nameless woman a variable in the overall equation was the best way to maintain his success at detecting. Having no emotional involvement would be the best approach to solving the case, and he knew this was going to be a much harder one to crack. This mentality kept the brazen man fresh and probably explained why he rarely had any time to date, let alone find someone who could put up with his particular way of thinking.

Nurse Ann didn’t let up from her empathy, which made Det. Cleveland uncomfortable. He wanted to end the conversation, but was respectful enough not to simply walk away. He knew he had to say something.

“Will the woman be okay?” he finally said, ending the silence.

“I guess you could say the worst is behind her. She just needs to pull through this coma.”

Nurse Ann turned as Det. Cleveland grinned at her, not looking at the sleeping beauty. Finally, she led him out of the room as he eagerly followed. They stepped into the hall as the door to Lois’ lair closed, sealing her inside until another visitor.

“Thank you, again. Please let me know if her status changes. Here is my card with my direct cell number. I hope she awakens to solve this conundrum,” Det. Cleveland said as he handed the nurse his business card.

Nurse Ann graciously accepted it. She trusted Det. Cleveland even though he showed no emotion, the way one trusted a surgeon to remove a brain tumor.

A focused man is a man who gets things done
, she thought. The thing that needed to be done needed to be done quickly, accurately, and brazenly.

“You’re welcome, sir. I am the fifth floor head nurse. Please let me know how I can help,” she responded as she offered her hand.

“I will certainly let you know of any updates,” Det. Cleveland replied cordially.

Both departed, going separate ways on the floor. A sudden silence engulfed the hallway. Faintly, the sound of Lois’ beating heart resonated through her room’s closed door.

After a few minutes, Det. Cleveland walked off the busy elevator into the lobby. Thoughts of his best approach to the case were racing through his logical mind. He was trying to sort things out like a computer sorting a jumbled array. Det. Cleveland knew the first step was to check for Jane Doe’s potential mate from the accident. Hopefully, he thought, the man was alive and could shed light on the puzzling situation. Det. Cleveland stopped in the hallway on his way to his parked car. He was anxious to check with his research assistant back at his precinct. The young man’s name was Charlie, and he was a great tool in Det. Cleveland’s toolbox, providing wonders with database query searches and cross-department interviews. When Det. Cleveland tasked Charlie with an action item, the researcher gave his heart to accomplish the task, and above all, was loyal to the venerable detective. Det. Cleveland lived by the adage “actions speak louder than words” and this proved Charlie’s trustworthiness during the early part of their relationship. In the middle of a heated murder investigation, the precinct’s captain grilled the entire office about Det. Cleveland’s methods of interrogating a murder suspect. Det. Cleveland knew the man was the culprit and pressed him during the heated examination. Charlie had been taking notes through the one-way glass and, when asked by the captain, he covered for Det. Cleveland and simply said, “I didn’t see anything against policy.”

The side hallway was secluded as Det. Cleveland speed dialed Charlie.

“Yello,” Charlie slanged as he sat at his desk consumed with mountains of paperwork.

“Hey, Charlie. I stopped by Southern General to follow up on that Jane Doe. She’s still in a coma and unconscious. Uh, can you pull up all cars involved in yesterday’s crash? I’m looking for a man involved. Could be her boyfriend or husband,” the detective asked as he glanced in his notepad.

The police station buzzed with the evening shift holding down the fort. The night seemed to bring out the worst in a city; the petty criminals, drunks, and hoodlums all crawled out of the woodwork. Being low on the totem pole, Charlie sat near the front of the building, which was a frequently traveled path for entry by the front line police force to the rear of the cramped station. This was where the leadership hung their hats, but even their offices were not much bigger than a poor family’s broom closet.

Charlie leaned in to the seclusion of his desk and confided, “Actually, we had the strangest thing happen. Saint Peters North had a Roger Belkin who was injured in the crash. He had some pretty bad head trauma. Well apparently, he just got up and walked right out of the hospital, nobody even stopped him. He stole a car from the lot, and was last seen at his home.”

Det. Cleveland widened his eyes as his heart rate incited.

“Oh, really. What’s his address?”

Charlie knew Det. Cleveland was anxious to trek forward on the case. He focused on his computer screen and managed the mouse and keyboard like an artist using a brush and palette to paint his masterpiece. An incident report popped up on the screen with a plethora of investigative data. The title of the screen read “Belkin, Roger – Incident.” Charlie scrolled toward the bottom to find the needle in the haystack.

“One Thirty Three Dietrich Road,” Charlie replied.

Det. Cleveland marked the information in his notepad, and then thanked Charlie.

Just as he was ready to close his phone, Charlie quickly interjected, “Anything for you, man. Mr. Workaholic. We gotta get you out on the town and hit the bar district.”

The twenty-seven-year-old was always trying to break the focused detective’s seemingly impenetrable shell. Det. Cleveland thought about having a few drinks with Charlie and the crew from time to time. Maybe it would do him good. However, when he had finished a case or even part of a case, something else always arose which kept the detective incapable of finding any time to socialize, even if he contrived this something else.

“Bye, Charlie,” Det. Cleveland responded as he shook his head smugly.

“Call if you need anything,” Charlie responded.

Det. Cleveland closed his cell phone and took a moment to collect his thoughts. He thought about this man named Roger Belkin, a man who just walked out of a hospital and took matters into his own hands to get home.

Why did he do such a thing?
he thought.
Was it out of disregard for the law, complete arrogance, or a repercussion from the accident on the Pleasant Place Bridge?
Det. Cleveland could not fathom how it must have been to experience the turmoil from the fiery crash last night. He could not answer these questions, even with all of his focused skills as a detective. The next step was clear to him—find the man with some answers.

I wonder what this Belkin is up to,
he pondered before he exited the hospital.

10

The sky was dark and the road was full of life. Lois’ big sister, Carol, drove her modest sedan toward the city. She was going to do some shopping at a quaint organic food store downtown. Carol was a homemaker. While some may have looked at the job as second-rate, she looked at it like a career. Carol enjoyed tending to the home, washing clothes, dusting, and preparing dinner. She liked a clean habitat and enjoyed sharing it with her husband, Robert, who respected Carol’s choice in their marriage. However, no lives were perfect. The one thing hers lacked was a child, a little person to care for, to teach, and to love. It was not by choice, as she and her husband had spent almost a year of old pregnancy wives’ tales, but she soon received the terrifying truth. Her doctor explained it was a genetic defect in her ovary and the bottom line was that she could not conceive a child. Even with modern medical science, drugs, or surgery, there was nothing possible to change nature. That was about ten years ago. Carol and Robert considered adopting, but after a long, hard discussion, they chose to adopt a newly born beagle they named Lucy. The playful canine was their “child” and it filled the void. This left Carol even more protective of her younger sister, Lois. Carol was almost like another parent, not in the least bit condescending, but in a shielding way. Since their parents were retired and lived out of state, Carol made sure that she was there whenever her baby sister needed her.