Page 14 of Reading Between the Lines
“That’s better. Come on.”
Northumberland Hills Hospital was small compared to the hospitals in Toronto, but it contained all the imperative departments, including an emergency room and intensive care ward. Inquiring at the front desk got us nowhere since the Mandel teen—whatever his name was—was underage. The balding man in the volunteer vest was not inclined to help us out, no matter how high I cranked the charm.
Diem texted Delaney Mandel to let her know we had arrived. Since the mother was camped at her son’s bedside, she met us in the lobby a few minutes later. In her early forties, Delaney’s faded brown hair hung limply around her face. Ordinarily, I thought she must be an attractive woman, but grief and stress had wiped away beauty, leaving tired creases beside dull, slate-gray eyes. Old mascara clung to her lashes, drawing unwanted attention to swollen eyelids. Her concave cheeks and cracked lips were sure signs of dehydration. Although dressed in a blouse and slacks, both were wrinkled, coffee-stained, and wafting body odor. Her manicure was old and chipped.
If I had to guess, the woman hadn’t been home to shower or change since her son was admitted. Diem wasn’t big on details, so I wasn’t sure how long ago the supposed accident occurred.
Delaney Mandel glanced between us, seemingly processing on a lower level than most humans on a pre-caffeinated Monday morning. Before Diem could be Diem, I stepped forward and offered a hand in greeting.
“Mrs. Mandel? I’m Tallus Domingo, a junior partner with Shadowy Solutions. This is Diem Krause, the lead investigator and person you spoke to on the phone.”
She nodded and shook our hands listlessly, her grip as lifeless as her attempt at smiling. “Yes. Of course. Thank you for coming.”
“Is there a food court or somewhere quiet we can talk?” I glanced over her shoulder at the long length of the austere hallway. “A café maybe? Can we buy you a coffee or something to eat?”
Delaney shook her head and made a veiled attempt at straightening her clothes and smoothing down her hair. “No. I’m not hungry. Do you mind if we chat in Weston’s room? I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. I need to be close to him.”
“Um… sure. That won’t… disturb him?”
Delaney’s blank stare conveyed incomprehension for a few seconds before she shook her head. “No. My son is… not with us anymore. At least, that’s what they tell me. He’s alive because of the machines. He’s… There’s no…” She waved a hand at her head, eyes taking on a sheen. She didn’t continue. She didn’t have to. The message was clear.
“That would be fine.” I worked hard not to show any discomfort, but the last thing I wanted to do was sit in a tiny hospital room with a kid on life support. “Lead the way.”
The elevator ride was quiet. Diem’s discomfort and size took up a great deal of space, but Delaney didn’t seem to notice. I eyed him a few times, but he seemed to be working hard on keeping a passive expression as I’d requested, so I didn’t hassle him.
The air in the intensive care ward hung thick and oppressive. It moved like tar through my lungs every time I inhaled and exhaled. The moment I stepped inside the boy’s room, I wanted out, but Diem blocked the door. When I spun, urgent for an escape, his gaze took me in. Reading my mind, he tippedhis head in a subtle, reassuring nod, silently encouraging me forward.
For all my high talk about wanting to be an investigator, facing the realities of death—or the closest thing, as was the teen’s case—impacted me on a level I hadn’t considered.
Ex-cop Diem had been around the block a few times, so the boy in the hospital bed and his condition didn’t seem to affect the surly man.
Weston Mandel had been given a private room surrounded by machines, get well soon cards, and wilted flowers no one had bothered watering or discarding. The presence of decaying blossoms told me the kid had been a patient for at least a week.
The curtains over the window were drawn shut, so only a framework of morning sunlight bled around the edges and down the seam in the middle. Apart from a shaded lamp on a side table, whose illumination barely reached the opposite side of the bed, the room was deeply shadowed.
Machines breathed for Weston, their mechanical suck and release as unnerving as the ticking clocks back at Ivory Lace’s establishment. A steady beep sounded at intervals from one of the pieces of equipment. Numbers and line graphs filled the screens, providing feedback to the nurses in a language I didn’t comprehend.
The boy in the bed looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. His graying skin and slack muscles gave him the look of death. I focused on Delaney, who moved to her son’s bedside. A single chair occupied the room, but neither Diem nor I sat.
“This is my son,” Delaney said into the void. “The doctors tell me he’s gone, and it’s time to say goodbye. No brain activity. They want his organs for other children in need.” She shook her head. “I’m not ready. You see, I don’t believe my son suffered an accident, and maybe he can’t hear me and doesn’t understand anymore, but I swore to him I would do everythingin my power to discover the truth before… before giving them permission to…” She covered her mouth for a moment. “Before discontinuing life support.”
She turned to face Diem. “You promised me two days, Mr. Krause. You said you would listen. No snap judgments. If you decide to believe me and help find the truth, I will pay you handsomely. Are you still on board?”
Diem grunted and nodded, arms crossed tightly over his burly chest.
“Yes, we are,” I translated. “You wanted us to hear your side of things, isn’t that right?”
Delaney nodded and sniffled, stroking her son’s hand. No tears fell, but I assumed she’d cried them all out. “You may think I’ve lost my marbles or I’m conjuring wild theories where none exist. Maybe in the end, you’ll agree with the police, but I know my son, and Iknowhe didn’t have an accident. Call it mother’s intuition, or what have you, butsomeonedid this to him.”
She paused, and I waited without interrupting for her to go on, sensing she needed to tell the story in her own time. The only comfort I could offer was a sympathetic ear.
“Are you familiar with the Port Hope area?” she asked.
I shook my head.
Diem said nothing.
Delaney dabbed her nose with a used tissue she drew from a pocket. “Not many people from the big city are. It’s a decent place. A small enough town that I didn’t worry excessively over my son’s safety but large enough I didn’t feel the need to get neighborly and befriend everyone on my block.
