Do No Harm

Zeke seemed to have too much confidence to have committed the attack on Nancy. His aggression, David guessed, would be more direct and muscular. Fists and kicks. If he assaulted someone, Zeke would want them to know it was he who was punishing them. From what David knew of the alkali throwing, it was pathetic and cowardly. Repressed, somehow.

David studied Zeke closer. His right eyelid drooped, and the pupil was constricted. There was a decided lack of sweat on the right side of his face. Ptosis, miosis, and anhidrosis. The probable diagnosis came to David, quick and gratifying. He pushed his medical thoughts aside. "What time do you guys start?" he asked.

Zeke crossed his arms, his thick forearms flexing. He studied David for a moment. "A lot of you guys are doctors, huh? Doctors and bankers. Crafty bunch."

"Did you not hear my question?"

"Cops already came through here, stirred the shit, asked for alibis. The way I see it, I don't have to answer to a smart-ass doctor."

David felt suddenly foolish about his hunch. Of course the police would have thought to interrogate the construction workers to find out if they saw anything. He was glad they were covering their bases; it wasn't his place to be out here beating the bushes.

"You're right." David turned to go, then stopped. "You've had a recent trauma to your neck."

Zeke rocked the sledgehammer on his shoulder. "How the hell do you know that?"

"What's occurring in your face, I'd bet, is Horner's syndrome. It's a result of disruption of the sympathetic nerves in the cervical neck."

Zeke studied David long and hard, then broke eye contact. "I got whacked by a falling 2-by-4. About two weeks back. My face has been kinda messed up since."

"It might resolve on its own, but why don't you come into the ER so we can take a look. You'll probably need a referral to see a neurologist, just to be safe." David reached in his coat pocket for a business card. "Don't worry-if you're uptight about it, we'll be happy to find you a doctor of whatever ethnicity you prefer."

Zeke's smile was surprisingly soft, despite the sharp edges of his facial hair. The card looked minuscule in his palm. Zeke folded it and shoved it in his back pocket.

David headed back to his idling car.

He zipped around the kiosk and into the parking lot for the Center for Health Sciences, a tiered outdoor structure that stepped its way down from the medical plaza to Le Conte Avenue. Walking through the concrete maze of stairwells and levels, he emerged from the lot and headed along the sidewalk that curved down into the underground ambulance bay and ER entrance. Checking his watch, he saw he was five minutes late to be twenty minutes early.

Halfway down, he paused and regarded the small strip of grass and plants to his left. A waist-high light stuck out from a row of bushes. He realized he was standing in precisely the same spot that Nancy Jenkins had been when assailed with the alkali. What had she seen? A movement in the bushes, a flash of a face? And then a sudden, blinding pain.

A hand clutched David's arm, and he jerked violently around. Ralph took a quick step back, his bleached-white security shirt pulling free from his pants on one side. He wore a polished pin on his shirt-an eagle clutching the American flag in its talons. A former marine who'd done two tours of duty in Vietnam, Ralph had come back to the States and found himself, like so many other veterans, with few options. He'd spent several years living between the streets and the VA on Wilshire before taking control of his life again. After slipping and breaking a finger at a UCLA football game, he'd come into the ER, where he'd impressed David with his gruff, determined nature and no-bullshit honesty. David had put out feelers for jobs throughout the hospital. A trainee security position had quickly led to a full-time job, and now Ralph was one of two chief security officers.

"Whoa!" He smiled. "Shit, Doc. Didn't mean to scare you."

David placed a hand on his stomach. "I think I'm just a little on edge, with all the… " He gestured to the bushes.

"We amped up our patrols," Ralph said. "Eight security officers instead of five."

"That's good to know. Do you think this person is planning another assault?"

"Looks more like a personal vendetta thing to me." Ralph thumbed his belt and leaned forward, his voice lowered. "The word is, Nancy told the detectives she saw a tattoo on the guy's arm. Didn't see his face. Just an arm with a tattoo and then the stuff all in her eyes." He shook his head, blank-gazing at the bushes, as if the assailant were suddenly going to reappear. "I can't imagine Nancy had any enemies, but who the hell knows. I seen stranger things, that's for sure."

David fingered his stethoscope absentmindedly. "Did the person shout anything at her? Interact with her in any way?"

"Not from what I heard." Ralph's eyebrow dipped in a curious squint. "Why?"