Pieces of a Whole

by: Betsy J. Bennett

CHAPTER 7

“You want the story?”

“Why not? I’m not going home tonight. That guy of yours can’t be moved, and it would be a sin to waste all that beautiful work you did, so I guess I’m spending the night. There’s not much I can do for him here, but check to be sure he makes it through until morning, keep him drinking if he regains consciousness and offer pain meds. I’ll move them in together so I can keep an eye on them.”

“As much as I could determine, and as far as my ability, the stitches and the wounds were clean. There shouldn’t be an infection.”

“I can see that, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be, and he could still die from any number of other things associated with blood loss.”

“I agree. He needs to be watched, specifically to keep him from jerking around and pulling out those stitches. He’s going to be sore as hell for a good long time, but he should be alright.”

“Sore? You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Yeah.”

“How many times have you been stabbed?”

“More than my fair share, I suppose, and in case you’re wondering, I’ve been shot at more times than I care to remember. I have reason to thank the poor aim of policemen.”

“Swell.”

“After I go, I’ll come back with a sandwich. It’s the least I can do. It’s going to be a long night for you.”

Her smile was far more sincere than his had been. “I’m used to it. This won’t be the first time I’ve kept watch on someone too terrified to go to a regular hospital. So tell me why I shouldn’t call the police.” There really wasn’t much for her to do, the floor was clean, the bloody garbage dealt with, but she took blood pressure and noted it on her chart. She would fill in the rest of the details during the night.

“I gave you my real name. Trust me when I say for a lot of years I used an alias.”

“I believe that. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Dr. Olivetti sat on the one stool in the room, and the patient took the exam stretcher, that left Richard to sit on the floor, his back against the wall. “You must not watch tv or read the newspapers or any number of magazines.”

“I don’t have time. In med school there was no opportunity, and since I finished residency, I’ve been here. I don’t even own a television.”

“I gave you my real name. I’m Richard Kimble. I was a doctor, a pediatrician. Six years ago my wife was murdered by a one-armed man that I saw leaving my house and I couldn’t prove. After a short, succinct trial I was convicted of first degree murder.”

She chewed her apple thoughtfully for a while. “That must have been a fun time.”

“And given the death penalty.”

“What?”

He shrugged again, and she continued. “For a first crime, with no past history? For what was probably non-premeditated? What were you doing, knocking her around for years before she died?”

“No. For what it is worth, for the most part my marriage was happy. I never hit her and I did not kill her. Prosecution argued I killed her because she could not give me a child. When she miscarried, to save her life, Helen needed a hysterectomy.”

“Your work?”

“No. I was the father. In the waiting room. In case you’re wondering, I have about a dozen witnesses to that. I didn’t know until it was over, both that I lost a son, and a chance to have any more children.”

She got up, tossed her apple core into the garbage, spoke with her back to him. “Killing a woman because she couldn’t have children sounds barbaric.”

“We argued. I didn’t deny that. It was taken as an admission of guilt. I wanted to adopt. I like children. Always have. Helen didn’t want another woman’s child. That night I didn’t have an alibi. Hell, to show you how isolated I was in my practice, I wasn’t sure I knew what an alibi was. I’d never spent much time with the police.”

“Murder One.”

“And an appointment with the electric chair. On the way, my train derailed and I was able to escape. I kept on the run for four years. There was some goodness in those years, and I met a lot of people who were kind to me, but it was hell.”

“And you were caught.”

“Yes, but thankfully by a policeman who was starting to believe my statement of a one-armed man. He helped me catch him. There was a witness I didn’t know about, and a confession I was sure wouldn’t hold up in court, but I was exonerated forty-eight hours later.  A long forty-eight hours in a cell surrounded by guards who wanted a front row seat to the execution.”

“More fun.”

“Loads. But doctor, whatever you believe about me, I have been completely exonerated. I have the paperwork. I can go anywhere a free man for the first time in six years. They took my license, and with today and a few other incidences as an exception, I haven’t practiced medicine since Helen died.”

“I believe you.”

“I’ve proof.”

“I don’t need it. Before I came in here, Maggi said, and this is an exact quote, “He didn’t kill his wife.””

“Front page news for over six years. I’ve been recognized, and hunted, in almost every state. I’d like a chance to settle down, catch my breath, learn to live with fate.”

“I was—am—impressed with your work. I meant what I said, Billy here should have died.”

“I swore an oath. It doesn’t mean much to the state of Indiana, but it means everything to me. I could have stood here, pinching off the bleeder, or I could help him.”

“And then write prescriptions for syphilis.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, she had a mother-of-a-boil that needed lancing. I doubt she would have come in simply because she had a near-fatal case of a communicable disease. ”

“Yeah, I’ve enough experience with this community to know that’s true. When are we ever going to educate these people the benefits of safe sex?”

“So what can I bring you for dinner?”

He was back within the hour with sandwiches, soft drinks and coffee. As soon as he put them down, Olivia started rooting through the bags. “There’s enough food here for six people.”

“Your patients are going to wake up and they’re going to be hungry. I doubt they’ll touch pabulum, they don’t seem the type. If they eat, it will keep them from trying to walk out of here.”

“Good point. I’m starving.” She pulled open a bag of chips, started eating while she continued digging in a second bag. “Sky bars!” she said, holding up the chocolate bar.

“When I worked graveyards, I had to have something to keep me going. Every few hours I’d reward myself with candy. I preferred Turkish taffy, but since I’ve got the bridge, I opted for chocolate.”

“Bridge?” They were in Michigan, a state that touched four out of five Great Lakes. There were some fantastic bridges in the state.

“False teeth. I had two teeth pulled.”

“Banana Turkish taffy?” she asked, pulling it out. “I hope you’re not possessive, because this one’s mine although honestly I can say I can’t remember when I had any last.” She wacked it, then opened the wrapper and closed her eyes enjoying the flavor. “I think I’m in love.”

He bit back a comment which was his first thought and said, “With the candy?”

“Yes, indeed. Such a simple pleasure. It reminds me of long car trips every summer to Martha’s Vineyard, riding in the back of the station wagon. Those were fun times.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Like I said, I can’t eat it.”

“If you can’t eat it, why did you buy it?”

“Because I love it.”

“There’s enough food here for you, if you want to stay.”

“I thought you wanted me out of here.”

“If I said your job was still available, and I only needed a janitor, would you stay?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I need the work.”

“So besides being a physician, what else can you do?”

He found a sandwich for himself, then resumed his position against the wall. While he had been gone, she moved the other two stabbing victims into the room, all three were still asleep.

“What else can I do? I can bartend. I can drive a big rig, be a superintendent for a large collection of apartments. I can teach riding lessons and go out on a fishing trawler for months at a time. I can do just about anything needed in a hotel, from taking reservations to cleaning the rooms, to being the porter.”

“A man of many talents.”

“I had to be, to stay alive. I worked repairing furniture and as a mechanic fixing cars. I’ve learned how to roll cigars.”

“Roll cigars. There’s a career path.”

“Don’t knock it. They were nice to me. I’ve been a chauffeur and a dishwasher and probably a dozen other odd jobs. Anything that didn’t need a serious background check.”

Richard watched while she polished off a ham and cheese sandwich. “This sandwich is really awful.”

“It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I couldn’t find anything else open. I could have driven further, but I doubt I would have found any better.”

“No, I was going to say, why does it taste so good? Don’t tell me, something about hunger.”

Richard crumpled the wax paper the sandwich had come wrapped in. “Doctor, you go get some sleep. I’ll watch them for a few hours, then you can take over.”

She stopped rubbing her eyes, as if embarrassed at being caught acting human. “You must be exhausted.”

“I don’t need much sleep. Basically for the past four years I learned to live without any.”

“You’ll wake me if they start bleeding again or the blood pressure bottoms out?”

“I’ll wake you for anything suspicious, you have my word.”

“Well, while these three guys are sleeping, if you need something to occupy your time, you can chart what you did for the six patients you treated. You do remember how to chart?”

“I’m sure it will come back to me.”

“I’ll sign the charts, if you’re worried. Even in downtown Detroit, I can’t get away from the paperwork.”

“Nope, I guess not.”

She left and he was pleased that before she did, she left the stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff. While he kept watch, he also paced the small clinic, going to the window to search the empty streets for something that wasn’t there, and should never be there again. And it surprised him that in the quiet of a medical clinic on a forgotten Michigan street, that he felt good, for the first time in a long time, almost as if the dark, empty places inside of him were starting to fill.

He had found a medical journal in her office on one of his routes around the building, and looked up from reading when she appeared in the doorway. “You should have woken me hours ago. It’s almost three.”

“You need your sleep because this clinic has to open in the morning, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever taken a day off?”

“Few and far between.”

“You should put a cot in your office.”

“Yeah, another thing I’m planning on. You want to go get some sleep or return to your apartment?”

“Not yet. I’ve noted the blood pressures I’ve been taking.”

Olivia held the chart. “I see that.”

“At one time I had all three of them awake. They ate, as you can see. And I got them to the john.”

“Medication?”

“You didn’t leave the narcotics key, but they didn’t need it. All three of them are out again. And Dr. Olivetti, even if you had left the key, I wouldn’t have touched your drugs. That’s not a line I’m willing to cross just yet.”

“Liv,” she said, “or Livi. And while I’ll never get tired of hearing Dr. Olivetti, I always think of my father when I hear it.” She rummaged through the bag of food he’d brought, and came back with a second bag of chips. The clinic was absolutely quiet, after a while she spoke, he assumed, only to break it. “So, Dr. Kimble, did you always want to be a physician?”

“Yes. My father was a doctor. It was always assumed I’d join his practice, and I was glad to do so. I dropped out of med school long enough to go to basic training and see the world in the form of the Korean war, but as I mentioned it officially ended about a week after I got there. The army didn’t much need me after that, and other than a short stint in the Army reserves, which also served as my honeymoon, I went back to school to finish. We bought the house in the suburbs as soon as we could afford it. I planned on staying put for the rest of my career.”

“Why don’t you get your license reinstated?”

“I’ve been trying. I write to the Board in Indiana about every three or four weeks. I’ve never done anything to get disbarred. I’d like to get it back, especially now that I’m working here. Before this I didn’t think I’d ever return to medicine. I’ve got nightmares and I’m still a bit jumpy, so I haven’t been able to concentrate. Generally my hands shake, but amazingly, not this afternoon while I was working. Besides, my old practice is gone, and I very much doubt any mother in Stafford would take her kid to Richard Kimble, even if I had my certifications. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire is a proverb they live by.”

“So you left Indiana?”

“Nothing for me there. That’s not true. My sister and her family still live in Stafford, and my brother lives close enough. I stayed with Donna for a couple months after the exoneration, but I was becoming a burden. No family needs an uncle with nightmares intruding for long periods of time.” He had brought coffee with the sandwiches, and while he had drank one, his three patients had not been interested in coffee.

“God, don’t drink that. That coffee has to be five hours old and room temperature.”

“Still better than a lot I’ve had. Before I was arrested, I’d never known hunger. A couple of long shifts in med school does not create a true appreciation of what hunger means. And I’d never known fear. I’ve learned I can get by with almost nothing.”

“And you were chased by dogs and police in twenty or so states and lived in fear.”

“More than that, actually. I moved around a lot. So how about you? Did you always want to be a doctor?”

“Yes, of course. Every now and then I’d say something stupid like I want to be a ballerina or a princess, and my parents were clever. They’d say, “I think you should be a nurse. Med school is hard. You’ll never make it. Be a nurse. It’s a career for a woman.”

“And every single time you heard that, you became more convinced to get your MD and show them you could excel on your own.”

“Absolutely. It took me years to recognize what they were doing. And in their defense, they paid for med school. I wasn’t stuck with a debt I’ll never pay off.”

“Is your family upset you’re working here?”

“No, I think my dad is kind of envious. This is the kind of nitty-gritty medicine he wishes he could practice, but he’s got a solid upper East Side clientele, and has gotten used to the penthouse and the museum openings. My mom is upset only in that she thinks it’s not safe.”

“It’s not, even with the pitbull on the front desk.”

“Pit bull? Dora Ann?”

“Yes.”

She laughed, finger combed her hair. “Such an apt description. I’ve been thinking of her as a banty hen, but pit bull works better. I’ve heard it said in a fight between a trained police German shepherd and a wild Canada goose, to put your money on the goose. That’s the way I feel about Dora Ann. Nobody crosses her.”

“Speaking from experience, one day someone will, especially if they know you keep morphine in here.”

“Every now and then someone tries to shake me down, or break in after hours. In case you’re wondering, someone watches this place day and night.”

“I noticed movement in the upstairs window in the boarded up buildings across the street.”

“The local hoodlums decided they need a doctor in the area more than whatever they’d get for my morphine and they realize if I go, it’s no one. It’s the reason your car is still in one piece when you leave here. That will be doubly true when it gets out who did the needle work on this guy. I’m fine. You go to sleep, doc. You’ll need your wits about you in the morning. Tomorrow’s going to be another busy day, even if I only need you mopping.”

Link to Chapter 8