Chapter 70

SEPTEMBER 21 — EARLY MORNING

The phone jarred him from a sound sleep. Glancing at the caller ID as he quickly sat up hoping to answer before the ringing awakened his wife, Sheriff Tate grabbed the phone.

"Tate," he answered with a sinking feeling. Lieutenant Waldrop (the night shift commander) handled any problems on the night shift, seldom asking for guidance. He made his own decisions and they were usually good ones, consequently, the department never called at night unless there was a homicide — calling Tate was standard procedure so that the sheriff wouldn't be blindsided by the news media when he came to work the next morning.

A short conversation with dispatch, and Tate was hurriedly pulling his uniform on.

Tate sighed and looked toward his sleepy wife, the bedside lamp now on. "Looks like I've got a deputy shot. This was Cramer's first shift on her new assignment."

"Maybe it's not bad," his wife said, sitting up.

"I hope you're right," Tate answered sitting down on the bed to put on his boots. "But she had an open mike for several minutes prior to the shot. Then nothing but a woman screaming in the background. Dispatch is certain that the screaming was the complainant. Everybody is practically on the other side of the county, but Goodman lives fairly close. Somehow he heard and is on his way in his private vehicle. We should know something soon."

His wife slid over to the side of the bed. "Quinton, don't you go out there and take risks tonight. You come back to me, and I don't mean in a box. I know how you are. If that deputy has been shot, you'll go after whoever did it. I can't live without you," she finished, tears sparkling her eyes.

Tate slid a little closer and hugged his wife for a moment. "I'm not going to get my ass killed, but you know that nobody is going to shoot one of my deputies and get away with it. If I can find him, he'll be in jail or the coroner's."

Kissing her quickly, he stood. "I've got to run. Wait about an hour and call dispatch. Things should be calmed down a little and we should know more. Marlene can fill you in on the details."

Standing at the living room window a couple of minutes later, she watched the flashing lights of her husband's patrol car grow fainter with distance. Time to fix a pot of coffee. As soon as she found out what was going on she would make her decisions. She didn't know if Cramer was married or not. If it had been one of the male deputies shot, she would soon be on the phone calling deputies' wives to get a support group together. What did she do about this?

Goodman gave up and answered the insistent ringing of his cell phone, even as he continued to hover over Cramer making sure that Turcott maintained pressure as he monitored his friend's shallow breathing, hoping he wouldn't have to start CPR.

"Goodman," he growled.

"This is Diana Matthews. Can you tell us anything?"

Trying to keep from snapping at her, he said, "She's been shot in the chest with a .44 Magnum. The vest stopped the bullet like it was supposed to, but there's a big place right over her heart. She fell and hit her head on a concrete block. She's unconscious. The helicopter is coming to carry her to the trauma center in Denver."

"Caitlin is with us," Diana quickly got in, afraid he would hang up before she could tell him.

"All right. I've got to go. Meet you in Denver. The paramedics are coming in now." He snapped the phone closed with a bloody hand, the conversation already forgotten.

The two paramedics came through the door like gangbusters. "What have we got?" Crosby said glancing across the room at the obviously dead man before totally focusing on Deputy Cramer.

Goodman quickly told what he thought had happened as Crosby set his case down, put his stethoscope to his ears and began listening to her heart.

After a moment, he turned to Turcott and gently moved her hand away from the makeshift pressure bandage. "Oh crap," Crosby said as there was a gush of blood. Quickly pressing the plastic back against Cramer's skull, he motioned for Turcott to move as the other paramedic handed him a gauze roll and several four by four inch gauze pads from the kit.

"I'm going to leave what they've started," Crosby said to his buddy. "There's a big hole under that plastic." Quickly, Crosby put the gauze pads over the plastic, then put the big gauze roll on top of them for leverage. The two paramedics designed and applied their pressure bandage.

"Ringers or NS?" Neuman asked as he knelt by Cramer trying to find a vein.

"Let's go with Normal Saline," Crosby answered. "Usually I would say LR (Lactated Ringers) because of the trauma, but we'll have to go with NS in this case since she'll get blood as soon as she gets on the copter, and LR isn't compatible."

As Crosby grabbed the Normal Saline IV, Neumann said, "Shine that MagLite on her arm for me, Goodman. I can't see a vein."

"Why can't you see a vein? She's young. I thought it was just old folks that didn't have good veins," Goodman said shining the light on Cramer's arm.

"Move the flashlight closer, almost against the skin."

Goodman rotated the lens ring changing to a narrow focus on the one hundred thousand candlepower light.

A moment later Neumann saw the trace of a vein under the powerful beam, "There's one," he exclaimed. "Hold the light right there," he finished, running a fingertip up and down the barely-visible vein, slapping her arm over the vein a few times.

Quickly he slid the catheter into the vein. "Yeah. I've got flash. Now if it will just thread." A moment later, "Yeah, got it. We're good to go. We need to get some fluid in her."

"Sometimes it's hard to find a vein when someone has bled a lot," he said, absently as he secured the catheter with Tegaderm. Then, "Take that roll of tape in the top tray and tear me several strips about four inches long," he continued as he attached the IV line to the catheter and turned it wide open.

As Goodman handed him the strips of tape, Neumann put them over the Tegaderm. "I'm going to make sure this baby isn't going anywhere. That vein was too hard to find."

"Here, hold this," Neumann said, handing the IV bag to Goodman. "Just..."

"I know," Goodman interrupted. "I've done it before."

While they had been working on the IV, Crosby had put a cervical collar on Cramer. "We need to get this vest off," he said pulling out his scissors.

"Wait," Goodman said, handing the IV to Neumann. "You guys and those damned scissors. Here, look," he said, pulling the rest of the Velcro tabs and sliding the vest away from Cramer. "The department is going to want that vest for evidence, and eventually Cramer will have it for a keepsake. Besides this is a lot quicker than trying to cut that Kevlar." With the remaining panel of the vest out of the way, Goodman took back the IV bag. He had to admit that the scissors were sharp though, because they quickly destroyed Joyce's tee-shirt and bra. But none of the men were interested in Joyce's assets just then.

They quickly put a bandage over the welt on Cramer's chest while Goodman wondered why they bothered.

"We've got to rock," Cosby said snapping his kit closed and moving it out of the way. "The copter is going to be at the school before us if we don't hurry."

Turning to Goodman, Cosby asked, "The field beside the school parking lot is the best bet, isn't it?"

Goodman thought for a second. "Yeah, it's one of our designated evac spots. I think that the only wires are on the side next to the parking lot."

"Well, your dispatch told me that they had given that to the pilot. Supposed to be number 318 on the county emergency evac sheet."

Goodman backed up pushing the screen door partially open with his body. Holding the IV up as he made room for the paramedics to get Cramer onto the stretcher, he bumped into someone.

"Take the IV Robertson," the sheriff said as he took the bag from Goodman and handed it to another deputy.

"Give your keys to Iverson," the sheriff said, motioning to another deputy that had just come running up.

"Iverson, get someone to go with you and get Goodman's truck home. Leave the keys in dispatch."

"Yes, Sir," the deputy said as he accepted Goodman's keys.

"Go easy on her," Goodman said. "I think I almost slung a rod over-revving that old engine. She was knocking by the time I got here."

Goodman and the sheriff moved out of the way on the porch as the two paramedics hurried past carrying Cramer to the ambulance. Two more paramedics arrived. After conferring briefly with the first two, they ran up to the porch with another stretcher for Turcott who had sat on the porch floor. As she leaned forward holding her face in her hands, one of the paramedics gently tapped her on the shoulder.

"We think you need to get checked out, Ma'am."

Turcott looked blankly at him and motioned to her ear. The paramedic repeated himself, louder.

"Ma'am, we think you have a concussion and a ruptured ear drum. Come on. Go with us and let's get you some medical help."

A little more coaxing, and they were strapping her into the stretcher.

Not hearing what the paramedics said, Tate asked Goodman, "What's wrong with her?"

"She's got blood coming out of her right ear from that .44 going off by her head. One of the paramedics said she was in shock and probably had a concussion. She helped me with the pressure bandage, but there was a time or two when I thought she was going to faint."

The sheriff turned to look for someone and almost bumped into the patrol sergeant.

"I'll see she gets taken good care of, Sheriff. You guys go on. The lieutenant has already called the captain and he's getting some people from day shift to help out. LT also told the dispatch sergeant to answer only emergency calls until everything is settled down. We'll catch up with the report calls later, or the day shift can do it."

Tate didn't argue with him, just agreed and turned to Goodman. "Come on, you're with me," the sheriff said picking up the paramedic's case to save him a trip back to the porch after he put Joyce into the ambulance.

Crosby nodded his thanks as Tate set the case in the back of the ambulance. They heard the paramedic say into his phone, obviously talking to the doctor aboard the helicopter: "Pulse about 160 and erratic, pressure 76 over 42, blunt trauma to her chest directly over her heart from being hit on her bullet-proof vest with a large caliber handgun round. Round did not penetrate. Massive loss of blood from a wound to the back of her head caused from falling and hitting her head on the corner of a concrete block..."

Neumann closed the door on the back of the ambulance cutting off Crosby's voice, then ran to the driver's door.

Five minutes later, the ambulance barely beat the helicopter to the school. Knowing the routine, the deputies used four patrol cars with their emergency lights flashing to form a big square away from power lines and obstacles. Although the helicopter pilot usually circled checking with his spotlight for wires, he barely hesitated this time.

Cramer was soon transferred to the copter. The paramedics and the doctor and nurse conferred briefly before the door was closed. The paramedics sprinted away and the engine revved. As the chopper lifted and glided away in the darkness, its giant light shining downward, Goodman felt the energy seemingly drain from his body.

On board, the nurse had already attached a unit of O negative (O negative is the universal donor blood type) blood and was manually squeezing the IV pump pushing the life-giving fluid into Cramer's vein as fast as was possible.

Everyone involved, Goodman, the paramedics and the helicopter crew had done and were doing everything they possibly could to give Cramer basic life support and to get her to a trauma unit within her golden hour — and they were skating close to the edge. (Golden hour: In cases of severe trauma, the best bet for patient survival is the specialists who are most often found at a trauma unit. Complications such as shock may occur if the patient is not managed appropriately and expeditiously. Because some injuries can cause a trauma victim to decompensate extremely rapidly, the lag time between injury and treatment should ideally be kept to a bare minimum; over time, this lag time has been further clarified to a now-standard time frame of no more than 60 minutes, after which time the survival rate for traumatic patients is alleged to fall off dramatically.)

As the helicopter's light was lost in the darkness Tate slapped Goodman on the shoulder. "Let's go," he said, turning to jog toward his patrol car, Goodman close behind.

Buckled in, Goodman tried to clear his mind as the sheriff hit the lights and siren — and the accelerator.

Tate snatched the microphone from its mount. "200."

"200," dispatch answered.

"200. Deputy Goodman and I are 10-73 to Denver. He will be relaying for me." With that he tossed the microphone to Goodman.

"10-4, 200," dispatch acknowledged.

"There are some Handy Wipes in the glove compartment. You might want to wipe some of that blood off your face and hands," Tate said as he braked for a curve before slamming the accelerator down again.