whole ordeal, not uttering a sound of fear or discomfort. He answered no questions.
Mitch hoped the last would be a temporary condition. This was already a case with too many questions and not enough answers. While Josh's reappearance was cause for celebration, it added to the Q column. With Garrett Wright sitting in a jail cell, who had brought Josh home? Did Wright have an accomplice? What few clues they had pointed to Olie Swain. Olie had audited some of Wright's classes at Harris. Olie had the van that fit the witness description. But the van had yielded them nothing, and Olie Swain was dead.
"There's no sign of penetration," Dr. Ulrich said quietly, keeping one eye on Josh, who seemed to be asleep sitting up. "No redness, no tearing."
"We'll see what the slides show," Mitch said.
"I'm guessing they'll be clean."
The doctor had conducted the standard rape kit, searching Josh literally from head to toe for any sign of a sexual assault. Oral and rectal swabs taken would be tested for seminal fluid. Mitch had overseen the exam as a matter of duty, watching like a hawk to be certain Ulrich didn't skip anything, well aware the doctor had little in the way of practical experience with this kind of procedure. Just another of the challenges of law enforcement outside the realm of a city, where rape was not an uncommon crime. Deer Lake Community Hospital didn't even own a Wood's lamp—a fluorescent lamp used to scan the skin surface for signs of seminal fluid. Not that a Wood's lamp would have done them much good in Josh's case. The boy appeared scrubbed clean, and the scent of soap and shampoo clung to him. Any evidence they may have got had literally gone down a drain.
"What about his arm? You think they drugged him?"
"There's certainly been a needle in that vein," Ulrich said, gently pulling Josh's left arm toward him for a second look at the fine marks and faint bruising on the skin of his inner elbow. "We'll have to wait for the lab results on the blood tests."
"They took blood," Hannah murmured, stroking a hand over her son's tousled sandy-brown curls. "I told you, Mitch. I saw it."
He gave her a poker face that told her he was politely refraining from comment. He probably thought she'd finally cracked. She couldn't blame him. She had never put much stock in the ravings of people who claimed they saw things in dreams. If she had been asked to diagnose a woman in her own situation, she would have probably said the stress was too much, that her mind was trying to compensate. But she knew in her heart what she had seen in that dream Friday night: Josh standing alone, thinking of ler, wearing a pair of striped pajamas she had never seen before. The same striped pajamas he had been wearing tonight, which Mitch Holt had bagged to send to the BCA lab.
Mitch leaned down to Josh's eye level. "Josh, can you tell me if someone took blood from your arm?"
Eyes closed, Josh turned to his mother, reaching for her. Hannah slid off the stool and gathered him close. "He's exhausted," she said impatiently. "And cold. Why is it so damn cold in this hospital?"
"You're right, Hannah," Ulrich said calmly. "It's after two. We've done all we need to for tonight. Let's get you and Josh settled into a room."
Hannah's head came up as alarm flooded through her. "You're keeping him here?"
"I think it's wisest, considering the circumstances. For observation," he added, trying to take the edge off her panic. "Someone is watching Lily, right?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"Josh has been through a lot. Let's just keep an eye on him for a day ar so. All right, Dr. Garrison?"
He added the last bit to remind her who she was, Hannah thought. Dr. Hannah Garrison knew how things were done. She knew what logic dictated. She knew how to keep her composure and her objectivity. She vas strong and levelheaded, cool under fire. But she had ceased to be Dr. Hannah Garrison. Now she was Josh's
Mitch hoped the last would be a temporary condition. This was already a case with too many questions and not enough answers. While Josh's reappearance was cause for celebration, it added to the Q column. With Garrett Wright sitting in a jail cell, who had brought Josh home? Did Wright have an accomplice? What few clues they had pointed to Olie Swain. Olie had audited some of Wright's classes at Harris. Olie had the van that fit the witness description. But the van had yielded them nothing, and Olie Swain was dead.
"There's no sign of penetration," Dr. Ulrich said quietly, keeping one eye on Josh, who seemed to be asleep sitting up. "No redness, no tearing."
"We'll see what the slides show," Mitch said.
"I'm guessing they'll be clean."
The doctor had conducted the standard rape kit, searching Josh literally from head to toe for any sign of a sexual assault. Oral and rectal swabs taken would be tested for seminal fluid. Mitch had overseen the exam as a matter of duty, watching like a hawk to be certain Ulrich didn't skip anything, well aware the doctor had little in the way of practical experience with this kind of procedure. Just another of the challenges of law enforcement outside the realm of a city, where rape was not an uncommon crime. Deer Lake Community Hospital didn't even own a Wood's lamp—a fluorescent lamp used to scan the skin surface for signs of seminal fluid. Not that a Wood's lamp would have done them much good in Josh's case. The boy appeared scrubbed clean, and the scent of soap and shampoo clung to him. Any evidence they may have got had literally gone down a drain.
"What about his arm? You think they drugged him?"
"There's certainly been a needle in that vein," Ulrich said, gently pulling Josh's left arm toward him for a second look at the fine marks and faint bruising on the skin of his inner elbow. "We'll have to wait for the lab results on the blood tests."
"They took blood," Hannah murmured, stroking a hand over her son's tousled sandy-brown curls. "I told you, Mitch. I saw it."
He gave her a poker face that told her he was politely refraining from comment. He probably thought she'd finally cracked. She couldn't blame him. She had never put much stock in the ravings of people who claimed they saw things in dreams. If she had been asked to diagnose a woman in her own situation, she would have probably said the stress was too much, that her mind was trying to compensate. But she knew in her heart what she had seen in that dream Friday night: Josh standing alone, thinking of ler, wearing a pair of striped pajamas she had never seen before. The same striped pajamas he had been wearing tonight, which Mitch Holt had bagged to send to the BCA lab.
Mitch leaned down to Josh's eye level. "Josh, can you tell me if someone took blood from your arm?"
Eyes closed, Josh turned to his mother, reaching for her. Hannah slid off the stool and gathered him close. "He's exhausted," she said impatiently. "And cold. Why is it so damn cold in this hospital?"
"You're right, Hannah," Ulrich said calmly. "It's after two. We've done all we need to for tonight. Let's get you and Josh settled into a room."
Hannah's head came up as alarm flooded through her. "You're keeping him here?"
"I think it's wisest, considering the circumstances. For observation," he added, trying to take the edge off her panic. "Someone is watching Lily, right?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"Josh has been through a lot. Let's just keep an eye on him for a day ar so. All right, Dr. Garrison?"
He added the last bit to remind her who she was, Hannah thought. Dr. Hannah Garrison knew how things were done. She knew what logic dictated. She knew how to keep her composure and her objectivity. She vas strong and levelheaded, cool under fire. But she had ceased to be Dr. Hannah Garrison. Now she was Josh's
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