Chapter 4

The first two checks of the detective after Rose and the others left came and went with little change. I thought that she was breathing easier, but it was just an impression; I had no way to be sure.

I went in a little early for the 3 PM check, wanting to get it done so I could call promptly at three. Up until then the detective had been lying on her back, bathed in covers. When I looked in on her this time, she was on her side, one arm outside the blankets.

I shook her shoulder gently. I had long since put a pair of jeans and a long t-shirt on top of the dresser. Eventually I psyched myself up to the face that I was going to have to dress her, but this was better. She was facing away from me and after the second shake her hand went to her forehead and she groaned as she rolled onto her back.

"My God! What a hangover!" she said, groaning again.

Suddenly, the hand on top of the blanket vanished. "My God! I'm naked!"

She turned green and without a word, I rushed over next to the dresser and grabbed the empty wastebasket. A second later she was being ill into it.

After the heaves finally stopped, I saw her eyes fix on me. "Do you remember anything?" I asked, my voice soft.

"I had headaches all day long yesterday; I couldn't get rid of them. This morning I woke up with a monster headache; I'd let the engine idle all night to keep warm. It hit me then -- carbon monoxide. I unrolled the window, but tons of snow cascaded in, covering me up. A second later the engine stopped and the next second I was soaked and shivering uncontrollably." She gestured at the basket. "I was sick out the car window. After that ... nothing.

"What have you done to me?"

"You were wrong a second ago; you're undressed, not naked. Naked means unprotected -- all that's happened here is that I took off your wet clothes, dried you off and covered you with blankets. Then I called your boss in Texas and talked to him and a Doctor Jimenez. I got medical advice; I'm supposed to call back in a few minutes."

"How did you find me?"

"Do you remember the snow?"

She made a rude gesture, something Italian, I thought. "Well, a couple of times it slumped off the roof. I went outside to look around. The last time was one of the few times it had cleared much. I saw a strange lump in the snow down the road and I was afraid it was someone like you. I got snow gear on and went and found you."

"You have a phone?"

"Yes," I told her.

"Where's mine? It should have been in my purse."

"I didn't see a purse. There was a wallet in your lap when I pulled you out of the car."

"And you didn't see my weapon?"

"No, I didn't see a weapon."

"I need to retrieve those items."

I sniffed in derision. "Detective Grace, it's been another five hours since I found you. The snow has been coming down at the rate of four to six inches an hour and sometimes more. That's another two to three feet. Make that five to seven feet of snow out there, with drifts four or five times that. If I hadn't had a GPS with me, we wouldn't have made it back; the weather closed down again."

"Could I use your..." she got that far, and had to heave again.

"Detective, please, I'm supposed to call a Dr. Brad Cooper now. I'd like to do that. You weren't barfing before; I'm concerned."

I pulled the phone off my belt, turned it on, and then called the number I'd been given.

"Dr. Cooper, this is David Strom, I was told to call you now."

"That's right. How is Detective Grace?"

"She woke up a few minutes ago, sir. She hadn't been throwing up before and now she is. She says she has a bad headache."

"Let me talk to her."

David handed the detective the phone. She was pale and shaking again, clearly weak. She answered some questions, and then handed the phone back to David. "He wants to talk to you."

"David Strom here again, Doctor."

"I don't know if the retching is a good or bad sign Mr. Strom. Let me be blunt -- Detective Grace almost certainly has a degree of brain damage. It would be hard at this point, even in a hospital, to quickly characterize how much."

"Sir, I believe her problem may be even worse than I thought. She says she was having the headaches all day yesterday; she may have had a carbon monoxide leak into her car the entire day, made worse by stopping."

There was silence for a moment. "Mr. Strom, hang on, I'm going to try to conference in with Mr. Sheffield and Dr. Jimenez. If I lose you, we'll call right back, I swear."

I nodded, even though there was no way the man could see me. It was quick, though and he didn't lose the connection. "This is Dr. Brad Cooper, Mr. District Attorney. I assume this conversation is being taped?"

"It is. This is District Attorney Steven Sheffield, Sequin County Texas. With me is Dr. Hank Jimenez, the county coroner and our local medical expert."

"Gentlemen, Mr. Strom reports that Detective Grace told him that she was suffering headaches all day yesterday; like Mr. Strom I'm forced to conclude that her exposure to dangerous carbon monoxide levels may have been more prolonged than we'd first thought.

"She awoke this afternoon, suffering a headache and now nausea and vomiting. I'm concerned that she may have suffered some degree of brain damage."

I was pretty sure the sharply indrawn breath belonged to the DA. Doctor Cooper went on. "What I'd like you to do, Mr. Strom, is tell Detective Grace that you have to step away for a few moments to confer with us. I'll cover some simple tests that you can perform that will give us a rough idea of what the extent of the damage might be."

I was outraged. "Is that how you people work? You work in secret so the person involved doesn't know? How is that good?"

"We don't want to unduly distress the patient, Mr. Strom," Dr. Cooper told me. He sounded like a pompous snot.

I turned to Detective Grace, who was watching with bright eyes. I noticed her breathing was much faster and deeper than before. Roughly I told her, "They want me to go in the other room so that they can give me some tests to give you to see how much brain damage you've suffered."

She blinked. "You tell that asshole Cooper that the only thing wrong with me is a classic PM headache; that and I can't catch my breath."

I remembered something from the day before.

"Dr. Cooper, yesterday it took me an hour to unload all of the supplies I brought with me."

"For what? Fifteen people? I imagine so!"

I growled to myself. "Doctor, there's only me. I would never have brought those young women into the high country with me when it looked like it was fixing to storm. I left them in Camp Verde."

"Detective Grace said you had more than a dozen young women of the Hope in Zion church with you."

"And when did she say that? I dropped them off early yesterday afternoon in Camp Verde. Sir, there's another factor you will want to add to your possible diagnosis. When Detective Grace was unconscious, her respiration was slow and shallow. Now that she's awake her breathing is very rapid and much deeper. Doctor, this ranch, according to the GPS, is at 7249 feet altitude. I backpack, and I know what altitude sickness feels like. That was what I felt yesterday unloading.

"Oh, and I told Detective Grace what you wanted to test for. I'm afraid her comments were rude."

Dr. Jimenez was the first to laugh. "Mr. Strom; have Detective Grace take two aspirin and call us in the morning."

The District Attorney was more focused. "Mr. Strom, would you please give the phone to Detective Grace and then leave the room? Stay close, though."

"Sure." I handed the phone to her. "They want to talk to you. Look, your clothes from yesterday are hanging on the shower curtain rod, in the bathroom through there. On the other hand, there is a clean pair of jeans and a large t-shirt on the dresser. If you can, you should dress -- they wanted me to dress you if you didn't wake up."

The detective snorted. "I'm not feeling anything like a hundred percent -- but I assure you, I can put on some clothes, all by myself." She held out her hand for the phone and I gave it to her. I walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me and then moved to stare at the fireplace.

It was about ten minutes the door opened again, and the detective called me back. The jeans fit well, and the t-shirt fit snugly. I didn't stare, but I did marvel at why I wasn't more excited by two nice mammaries on an entirely more suitable woman than any of those waiting for me downstairs. The fact was she didn't excite me at all.

"They want to talk to you again. Ask about food -- I'm starved."

I took the phone, now quite warm to the touch from the continuous use. "We need to wrap this up," I warned. "The battery on this has just so much life and then it'll be dead. Detective Grace has expressed an interest in food."

Dr. Jimenez chuckled. "I do believe altitude sickness is looking better and better as a diagnosis, Brad. Still, keep it simple for a couple of hours. Soup, preferably chicken or turkey, beef in a pinch. Add a bit of extra salt the first time."

"Right."

"This is Steven Sheffield, Mr. Strom. Please look after Detective Grace. It will go a long ways towards offsetting any other problems you might have."

"What problems?" I asked innocently. "A friend of my mother's asked me to drive some young women to meet with their families. The storm intervened. I knew nothing about them being wanted -- in fact, I still haven't heard anything about that. I left them with friends and relatives in Camp Verde."

"Detective Grace says otherwise."

"And Detective Grace, by her own admission, said she was suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning yesterday. One of the symptoms of that is anoxia, and one of the symptoms of anoxia is hallucinations ... those symptoms appear long before there is any brain damage."

"He's right there," Dr. Cooper said.

Dr. Jimenez chimed in. "Steve, you know I frequently appear as a medical expert in Judge Katzenbaum's court. If a defense attorney asked me how reliable the recollections of someone suffering from prolonged exposure to carbon monoxide were I'd have to say 'Not very reliable at all.'"

"I will take all of this under advisement. Mr. Strom, please be careful."

"I assure you, I will."

I closed the phone and put it back next to its charger, sitting forlornly on the dresser.

"You're destroying me," the detective said forlornly. "You are ruining my professional reputation."

"Am I?" I asked. "Are you able to do a quick tour?"

"Yes."

I waved at the bathroom. "You've been in the bathroom?"

"Of course."

I led the way out into the hallway, and turned towards the other two bedrooms that opened off the other side of the corridor. The doors were open, and I waved at each. "The other two bedrooms." I reached the third door and opened it. "Another bathroom."

I retraced my steps to the living room. "The living room, the kitchen is this way." I went straight to a cupboard and pulled out a can of chicken soup and showed it to her. "Is this okay?"

"Yes. It's not my favorite, but..."

I ignored her and poured it into a saucepan and turned on the stove.

"There's no power, but the stove works?" she asked.

"Somewhere around is a propane tank," I told her. She nodded. "That's why there's hot water for a shower ... but I don't know the source of the water. Like as not, it's well water, which means it's pumped into a holding tank. How big that tank is, I have no idea, so until I can find out, best to go easy on the water."

I pointed to the door to the walk-in pantry, and had her look inside. "This is the pantry."

She nodded. "Lots of stuff, for one person."

"Lucky, isn't it? Enough for two -- but not fifteen."

She blinked and looked around again. There was plenty for one person; barely enough for two and nothing like what would be required for more than a dozen.

I gestured at the last door in the kitchen. "Through there is the laundry room and then the garage. They told me that hot air or cold air would hurt you a lot. Still, if you're up to it, I have two more things to show you. The laundry will be chill; the garage is very cold. If you can deal with it, I'll open the garage door and let you look outside. The last time I checked the garage door was the only place you could actually look outside."

"I can deal with anything," the detective said with finality.

I led the way through the door into the laundry and handed her the coat I'd used that morning; the other cold weather gear was gone. "Put this on."

She did, and a moment later, they were in the garage. "Are you up for me to raise the door?"

"You're saying it'll be cold."

"Cold, but not frigid. The last I saw, it was snowing heavily, which means the temperature was likely in the mid-twenties."

"I told you, I can deal with it," she told me, her voice a little angry.

She donned the coat and I went into the garage. As soon as she had a chance to glance around, I hoisted on manual rope to lift the door.

It lifted up ... and up ... and up. Until it was eight feet off the ground, there wasn't anything but snow to see. After eight feet, there was the thinnest sliver of gray sky visible.

"On the far side of six feet, maybe eight or nine feet," I told her.

"It's too cold," the detective said hastily, heading for the door to the house. "I have to go back."

The snow was already sifting into the garage and I set the door to close. It took a bit to settle, but it finally did. Once back in the house, she settled on the couch and I fetched her soup.

"Okay, I've had the grand tour, what's your point?"

"The point, Detective, is like in Sherlock Holmes. Why didn't the dog bark in the night?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

I chuckled. "You must not be very good at what you do. Tell me, Detective, what didn't you just see on the grand tour?"

"The girls ... maybe you killed them and left them in the snow."

"In that case, why would I rescue you? There is another, simpler explanation."

"That I was hallucinating? It might be simpler for you, but I know what I saw."

"Did you? How many times did you pass out, Detective?"

That hit her hard; she turned away.

"It looked real," she murmured, confused.

"I was a baseball player in Little League, junior high, high school and college. I swam a lot, ran a little track and field. While I wasn't a competitive swimmer, I know the basics. I've been scuba diving off Cabo San Lucas; I've heard the lectures on hypoxia. It seems real. It takes the strongest, smartest person who is suffering from hypoxia to wake up to the fact, fight off the effects and get good air. When you're not expecting it; when it sneaks right up on you ... you don't have much of a chance."

I changed tacks. "I've only been diving a couple of times. Once we ended up in a bar, another time we had a weenie-roast around a fire on the beach. Both times, the experienced divers would tell stories about their adventures diving. Most always, each of them had a hypoxia story."

She looked away. "I've done some diving in the Gulf. Yeah, the divers all had stories."

"One last thing, Detective, and them I'm going to let this go. Did you have a warrant for me or any of the young women I took to Camp Verde?"

"No, I was supposed to observe and report."

"Was I doing anything illegal? Were those young women doing anything illegal?"

"No. We just wanted to know where they were going."