“Put it on speaker.”
I checked my watch.
It was seventeen hundred hours.
“I need to see my daughter first,” I said.
The pediatric wing at Chesapeake General Hospital smelled of floor wax and rubbing alcohol.
Hard plastic chairs lined the walls of the main waiting room.
I sat in a blue chair near the double doors that led back to the intensive care unit.Marcus stood a few feet away by a big potted fern, his arms perfectly still at his sides.
He had insisted on following the ambulance and staying until a detective could take over the case file in the morning.
A young nurse with tired eyes had come out ten minutes earlier to give me an update.
Lily was asleep on a slow IV drip to replace the fluids she had lost.
They were running a full panel of blood work to check her kidney function.
