Daddy's Girl by Lisa Scottoline Page B

the C.O.’s death grip.
    “What could I have done better, or different? You’re an expert. What could you have done?”
    “There was nothing I could have done.”
    Tell my wife. Nat tried to block out the words. The whisper.
    “Don’t blame yourself.” The paramedic eased back onto the black-padded bench seat across from the gurney, and he gazed at her in a steady, centering way. “Believe me, I’ve had to let a lot of really nice people go. Old people. Someone’s mom. Or kids, really little ones. You’ll never get used to it. Natural deaths I can deal with. But violent death, it’s the worst. Car accidents are the worst. Pool drownings, the worst.” He shook his head. “It’s all the worst.”
    Nat knew what he meant, now. It was the carnage. Human beings, butchered like so much meat. The C.O. and the inmate, lying dead.
    “We don’t get a lot of this out here, not as much as Philly. But we get some business from Chester, that’s for sure. Considering the knife wounds that man had, it was a miracle he was alive when you found him.”
    Tell my wife. “He…talked to me.”
    “You heard his last words?”
    Nat nodded. She couldn’t speak. Maybe the C.O. was waiting to tell somebody. Maybe that was why he hadn’t yet died when she got to him.
    “Now I understand. Now I get it. Okay.” The paramedic sighed, leaning over on his haunches in his bunchy jacket. “That’s happened to me more than a few times, and it’s tough.”
    Nat struggled to remain in control. For a minute she felt as if she were talking to a priest. Or Dr. Phil.
    “This is how I look at it,” the paramedic said after a moment. “What happened to you, it’s sacred. You heard a man’s most personal, intimate words. But it’s kinda goofy because you’re a stranger.”
    Nat nodded.
    “That’s how you feel, right? It’s goofy?”
    Random , her students would have said.
    “Listen, once a man dying in a car wreck told me he had a daughter no one knew about. He wanted to keep it secret but he had to unburden himself. To someone, even a stranger.” The paramedic paused, his forehead creased with the memory. “Sometimes they give you a message for someone they love. For their wife, or their son. I used to feel like I wished I hadn’t heard it, like it was a burden. I almost quit this gig.”
    Tell my wife.
    “But I was talking to one of my buddies, and he said, ‘just flip it.’ Think about it different, because there was a reason they told it to you. It wasn’t a burden, it was a gift.” The paramedic patted her arm again. “Okay?”
    “Okay,” Nat said thickly.
    “If he gave you a message for someone, deliver it. You can’t avoid it, anyway.” The paramedic smiled, almost ruefully. “In my experience, the loved one will seek you out and give you the third degree. Be prepared for that. They’ll want to know, ‘What were his last words?’ ‘Did he say he loved me?’ ‘Was she thinking of me?’ ‘Did she suffer?’ They’ll ask you everything.” He shook his head. “My last piece of advice? Don’t pretty it up. Don’t tell ’em what they want to hear. You’re just the messenger. Tell the truth.”
    Tell my wife.
    “I got a question from one widow, after her husband died in a car accident. She wanted to know if he’d said the name Sonya. I told her, ‘No, I’m very sorry, he didn’t say your name.’ She said, ‘Good. My name’s Lillian. Sonya’s his girlfriend.’” The paramedic laughed, and Nat managed a smile, because he was trying to cheer her up.
    Tell my wife. The words were still there when she stopped laughing. They weren’t going away anytime soon.
    “If you go to the hospital, they can give you something to calm you down a little. Help you with the pain, too.” The paramedic gave her a final pat. “Drugs, I can’t dispense. Advice, you don’t need a license for.”
    “I’m fine, thanks.” Nat looked out the window to see Angus striding to her ambulance, ahead of the two state