The Trouble With Murder by Catherine Nelson Page A

but in moments of
inactivity, some of those thoughts consistently veered to Stacy. As I sat waiting,
I wondered how she was doing. Guilt pulled at me. When the light changed, I
buzzed down to Mulberry and made a left. The hospital was only a short distance
away.
    I knew I needed to let the whole
thing go. I knew I’d done all I could, given the circumstances, and that I
couldn’t go back and change anything. But the feelings persisted all the same.
The police were looking into her case, and if the way they picked apart the
crime scene was anything to go by, they appeared to be taking the attack
seriously. There should have been no doubt on my part that they would discover
the assailant. But someone needed to answer for what happened to Stacy Karnes.
I wanted to make sure that happened.

4
     
    Traffic from the front door of Poudre Valley Hospital is
funneled down a long hallway to a desk manned by purple-shirted volunteers
during regular business hours. Today was no different; a hunched-back volunteer
with blue hair and thick glasses sat there. A sign told me this was the place
to ask about patient room numbers.
    “Can I help you?” the volunteer
asked from her chair, her voice warbling with age.
    “I’m looking for patient Stacy
Karnes.”
    “Do you know which floor?”
    “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” Though I
guessed she’d be in ICU. That seemed appropriate given her injuries. I said as
much to the volunteer, who had turned her steadied attention toward the
computer hulking before her small, fragile frame.
    With fingers knotted from
arthritis, she tapped out a few keys and clicked at the computer. I felt the
Earth move under my feet in the time I stood there waiting.
    “All right,” she finally announced
with such victorious pride I couldn’t help but smile. “5608. Fifth floor,
Medical. Do you know where that is?”
    “Yes,” I lied. I thanked her for
the information and hurried away from her desk toward the elevators. The line
had grown behind me, and I didn’t want to spend any more time there.
    I crowded into the first available
elevator car with a large Hispanic family, a young couple I guessed to be newly
dating, and some teenagers. I was pretty sure at least one of the teenage boys
was wearing the same scent as me: Axe Phoenix. The couple and I got off on the
fifth floor, the last stop. The couple knew where they were going and quietly
made their way down a hall to the left. I followed the posted signs until I arrived
at the Medical Unit. Then I navigated by room numbers, counting off doors until
I arrived at number eight.
    I glanced up and down the hall, but
there was no one in sight. And I saw no one at the desk. I wanted to ask if Stacy
was up for visitors, but I didn’t have the patience to wait for any more
information.
    The door was open an inch or two
and I heard voices inside. I knocked and pushed the door open slowly,
listening. A sure voice rang out.
    “Come in!”
    Whoever this woman was, it was
clear she was used to being in charge.
    Some instinctual part of me was
compelled to obey. Another, more familiar, part wanted to rebel. In the end, I
pushed the door open.
    “Okay,” the voice was saying. “This
will be Carrie with those pain meds. Last cold wipe here. Good. Now, take a
deep breath and try to relax. You’ll feel some pressure.”
    I saw two people dressed in scrubs
standing on either side of the bed, which had been elevated to waist-height. I
saw bare feet on the end of the bed. Bare, hairy feet. And they seemed
too big.
    The woman on the far side of the
bed, a brunette in her forties wearing clear gloves, pulled a beige-colored,
flexible tube out of a white plastic container positioned on the bed between
the feet. She glanced up at me briefly as she gripped the tube. I noticed there
was something clear and jelly-like dripping from the end.
    “Oh,” she said, having realized I
was not the person she was expecting. “Can I help you?”
    After a couple steps, I saw