Sunday, November 3, 1985

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1985

Around eight o’clock the nurse came back and she had the chief with her. She checked a few things and then left us alone.

“How are you doing, Dave?” he asked.

“Honestly?” I said. “I have to say I’ve been better.”

Chief Hayes’s mustache curled up in a smile. He pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. “This was bad business all around. No two ways about it,” he said. “But it’s over. You put an end to it. You’re alive, and that boy’s alive because of you.”

“The nurse said he was in a coma,” I said.

“He was,” said the chief. “He came out sometime last night.”

“I need to see him,” I said. I tried to sit up, but the pain convinced me to lay back.

“You will,” he said. “Just not for a while. They airlifted him to Iowa City. University Hospitals’ got specialists. Kid’s got pieces of that rifle slug embedded in his heart, and they aren’t equipped for that kind of thing around here.”

“What about Roberts?”

“What about him?” asked the chief.

“Did you ge