Chapter 2
As the doctor—with the nurse’s assistance—removed the covering over his wound, Trev asked, “How long have I been here?”
“You were brought in, unconscious, around eight last night. You are a very lucky man, Mr. Eldridge. As it turned out, the bullet passed millimeters above the clavicle, so what you have is your basic flesh wound—painful, but not life-threatening. You also sustained a blow to the side of your head that didn’t break the skin, although—” he smiled, “—there’s a nice lump and an abrasion. I suspect it was the result of falling after you were shot and hitting your head on something. You’ll be glad to know it didn’t cause a concussion. The attending in the ER cleaned both wounds then ordered a CAT scan, just to be certain there was no damage to the clavicle or your skull. There wasn’t, so he sutured the shoulder wound. You’ll stay here until we’re sure there won’t be any infection, something that can happen with a bullet wound, no matter how minor. You’re on a morphine drip for the pain and an antibiotic IV.”
Trev sucked in a hard breath. “I’m going be in debt forever to pay for this.”
Doctor Kendall frowned. “You don’t have insurance?”
“As if.” Trev sighed. “How soon can I get out of here?”
“Not until we know there’s no infection. Even when you do leave, regaining use of your shoulder isn’t going to happen overnight.”
“There goes my illustrious career as a waiter and a sculptor.”
“You’re an artist?”
“So I’ve been told.” Trev glanced at his shoulder and grimaced. “Looks like shit.”
The nurse smiled, patting his good shoulder. “Fresh wounds usually do.”
“It actually looks fairly good,” the doctor added, as he began applying a new dressing. “As far as payment goes, DH is a teaching hospital. If you meet the criteria, you’ll be eligible for assistance, meaning you’ll only have to make a small co-payment.”
Trev breathed out a heartfelt sigh of relief that ended seconds later when he realized he might end up in jail if the detective really thought he’d killed John and…And what? Shot myself to make it look like we were attacked?
“All right. That should be it for now,” Doctor Kendall said, stepping away from the side of the bed. “I have a feeling the detective is going to want to talk with you some more. I can say you’re not up for it, if you want time to regroup.”
“Thanks, but no. I suppose I might as well face him now as later.”
* * * *
Quint looked up when he heard Doctor Kendall leave Trevor Eldridge’s room, asking when the man approached, “Is he up for more questions?”
The doctor replied dryly, “Physically, yes. He’s on morphine for the pain, so he’ll probably go back to sleep fairly soon, but until then, he’ll be able to answer your questions. Emotionally?” He shrugged. “His friend was murdered. He thinks youbelieve he did it. Between those two things, he’s probably not in a very good place, if you get my meaning.”
“Damn it, I’m not planning on beating a confession out him. I just need to question him while things are relatively fresh in his mind.”
“Then go ahead. But…Hell, never mind.” The doctor turned and quickly walked away down the corridor.
“I meant it,” Quint said under his breath as he entered Eldridge’s room. The young man eyed him warily when Quint retook the seat he’d used a few minutes earlier. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. You said you’ve only been in the city for three months. Right?”
“Yes. I was in Cleveland before then, after we graduated. We roomed together there. Then John came out here about a year ago when he got a job offer from an advertising firm.”
“Ultra Ideas,” Quint said, after consulting his notes.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you move here?”
“Denver’s got a thriving art community. I was hoping I’d have better luck here than back east.”
“You’re an artist?”
“A kinetic sculptor.”
“Okay,” Quint said doubtfully.
“You have no idea what that is, do you?”
Quint shook his head. “Kinetic means motion, so I’d presume you do sculptures that move.”
Trev managed a weak smile. “Very good. Mostly mobiles actually.”
“The one in the living room of the apartment is yours?”
“Yes.”
“It’s interesting. Next question. You said two men broke into the apartment. You didn’t have the security turned on?”
“No. When we were both home, the last one to bed did that. I mean, come on. Who’d try to force their way in when all the lights are…” Trev’s voice faded out when he apparently realized that, according to his story, someone had.