Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [185]
"Mom?" His voice quavered now, and he was ashamed of it, fearful also that his siblings would hear. He turned the knob and opened the door slowly.
The shades were open, flooding the room with morning light. And there she was, lying on the bed, still wearing her black mourning dress. Not moving.
Dave just stood there, the tears streaming down his cheeks as the reality of his personal nightmare struck him with physical force.
"… Mom?"
Dave Wolfe was as courageous as any teenager, and he needed all of it this morning. He summoned what strength he had and walked to the bedside, taking his mother's hand. It was still warm. Next he felt for a pulse. It was there, weak and slow, but there. That galvanized him into action. He lifted the bedside phone and punched 911.
"Police emergency," a voice answered immediately.
"I need an ambulance. My mom won't wake up."
"What is your address?" the voice asked. Dave gave it. "Okay, now describe your mother's condition."
"She's asleep, and she won't wake up, and -"
"Is your mother a heavy drinker?"
"No!" he replied in outrage. "She works for the FBI. She went right to bed last night, right after she got home from work. She -" And there it was, right on the night table. "Oh, God. There's a pill bottle here…"
"Read the label to me!" the voice said.
"P-l-a-c-i-d-y-l. It's my dad's, and he -" That was all the operator needed to hear.
"Okay - we'll have an ambulance there in five minutes."
Actually, it was there in just over four minutes. The Wolfe house was only three blocks from a firehouse. The paramedics were in the living room before the rest of the family knew anything was wrong. They ran upstairs to find Dave still holding his mother's hand and shaking like a twig in a heavy wind. The leading fireman pushed him aside, checked the airway first, then her eyes, then the pulse.
"Forty and thready. Respiration is… eight and shallow. It's Placidyl," he reported.
"Not that shit!" The second one turned to Dave. "How many were in there?"
"I don't know. It was my dad's, and -"
"Let's go, Charlie." The first paramedic lifted her by the arms. "Move it, kid, we gotta roll." There wasn't time to fool around with the Stokes litter. He was a big, burly man and carried Moira Wolfe out of the room like a baby. "You can follow us to the hospital."
"How -"
"She's still breathin', kid. That's the best thing I can tell you right now," the second one said on the way out the door.
What the hell is going on? Murray wondered. He'd come by to pick Moira up - her car was still in the FBI garage - and maybe help ease the guilt she clearly felt. She'd violated security rules, she'd done something very foolish, but she was also a victim of a man who'd searched and selected her for her vulnerabilities, then exploited them as professionally as anyone could have done. Everybody had vulnerabilities. That was another lesson he'd picked up over his years in the Bureau.
He'd never met Moira's kids, though he did know about them, and it wasn't all that hard to figure out who would be there, following the paramedic out of the house. Murray double-parked his Bureau car and hopped out.
"What gives?" he asked the second paramedic. Murray held up his ID so that he'd get an answer.
"Suicide attempt. Pills. Anything else you need?" the paramedic asked on his way to the driver's seat.
"Get moving." Murray turned to make sure he wasn't in the ambulance's way.
When he turned back to look at the kids, it was plain that "suicide" hadn't yet been spoken aloud, and the ugliness of that word made them wilt before his eyes.
That fucker Cortez! You 'd better hope that I never get my hands on you!
"Kids, I'm Dan Murray. I work with your mom. You want me to take you to the hospital?" The case could wait. The dead were dead, and they could afford to be patient. Emil would understand.
He let them off in front of the emergency entrance and went off to find a parking place and use his car phone. "Get me