"Rosetti, are you there? Ro, if you're there, please pick up. Rosemary...Rosemary..." When there was no response, I started to panic. My hand shook as I hung up the receiver. I called Sean, hoping that perhaps he'd know more.

"Hello?" Sean answered.

"Sean, it's Mina. Did you hear about the shooting?"

"Yes. I saw it on the news."

"Do you know if Rosetti was involved?"

"I don't know for sure, but it sounds like that was her unit out there. I called the chief, but he's keeping things pretty tight-lipped until the families are notified."

"Did he say anything about who the officers were?"

"He didn't. Like I said, he's not talking about anything. I've got the feeling that somebody screwed up somewhere, and that screw-up cost someone's life."

Oh, God. The fear set in, the fear that no one talks about but is always present when you are the spouse or loved one of a police officer.

"I'm going over to the hospital," I said to Sean, unable to hide the panic in my voice.

"Let me know what you find out," Sean said. "And if I find out anything, I'll call you."

I shut down the Mister Coffee, threw on some clothes, and headed to the hospital to find Rosetti.

The ER was chaotic. Alarms going off, doctors, nurses, technicians, and paramedics running about trying to attend to the sick and wounded. I caught sight of Amy.

"Amy!"

"Hi, Dr. Caselli."

"Did you guys treat the police officers that were shot in the drug bust this morning?"

"Yes, two male officers, both with gunshot wounds. One got hit in the chest. The other was a shoulder injury. Both are up in surgery now," Amy said, brushing back loose strands of blond hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Do you know their names?"

She shook her head. "Everything was so crazy. We were just trying to get them stable enough to move them to the OR."

What about the third officer?

Amy looked down. "She was DOA."

"She?" My knees buckled and I felt faint.

"Are you okay, Dr. Caselli?" Amy lunged toward me and guided me to one of the desk chairs.

"I'm okay," I said. "It's just...a friend of mine was working last night...and I can't find her." My voice trailed off. "Did you see what she looked like...the DOA?"

Amy shook her head. "No. They took her to the morgue as soon as Dr. Morrison pronounced her." She paused, looking at me with obvious concern. "Doc, you don't look so good. Why don't you sit here for a few minutes? I'll go get you a glass of water. Okay?"

I nodded. As soon as Amy went to the kitchen to get the water, I ducked out of the ER and over to the service elevator. My body shook as I rode the elevator down to morgue in the basement. In my heart, I feared that I would find Rosetti lying there, cold and lifeless. All the things I never told her were racing through my mind. Why did I waste so much time? I loved Rosetti, why didn't I ever do anything about it? What if it was too late? How would I tell her mother? The news that her daughter was shot and killed in a drug bust would surely kill Teresa Rosetti, as well.

The hallway leading to the morgue was stone quiet. The only sounds were my footsteps and wildly beating heart. The closer I got to the morgue, the harder it became to breathe. Finally, I stood in front of the gray steel doors that led into the morgue. There was no attendant on duty, so I swiped my ID card through the electronic security system and punched in my number code. The metal doors unlocked with a click. My hand trembled as I turned the latch and opened the door, letting myself into the frigid vault. There in the middle of the room was a solitary gurney containing a body shrouded with a green surgical sheet. The bare feet were exposed, and a toe tag had been placed on the right foot. I walked over to gurney. I felt as if I was suffocating. Tears welled up in my eyes, and my throat closed off as I read the vital statistics off the tag: date of death, time of death, and gender of the deceased: female.

The anguish of fear over losing Rosetti hurt like a physical pain. Like someone reached into my chest and ripped out my heart and lungs. Tears streamed down my face as I finally found the courage to lift the green sheet from the body.

Grief and relief crashed into each other. When I saw the blood-clotted blond hair that cascaded over the green pillowcase, I knew in an instant that it wasn't Rosetti. The fatal gunshot wound was visible, in the right temple of the victim's head. By the distribution of powder tattooing, the shot looked to be fired at close range, possibly an execution-style killing.

The body under the sheet was Pam Grier. Detective Sergeant Pamela Grier was a six-year veteran of the drug task force. She worked undercover most of her career and was responsible for bringing down some of the biggest drug operations in the area. All I could think about was that she was so young, not even thirty, and that she would be deeply missed by her family, her friends, and her colleagues in the department.

I gently touched Pam's face, then respectfully covered her body with the sheet and tucked it in around her tightly. As I walked out through the gray metal doors, the morgue attendant arrived with the chief of police and an elderly woman who walked with a cane. I nodded my hello to the chief, knowing that the woman with him was probably Pam's mother.

My heart ached for her. The thought of losing a child, no matter how old they were, was just devastating. Pam was the youngest of four children and the only girl. Pam's brothers were much older than her. They were very protective of her, as well. As the metal doors slowly closed behind me, I heard the woman's sobs echo in the hollow halls of the morgue. I broke down, as well. I cried for Pam. I cried for her mother, too. No one should have to bury their child, no matter how old they are or how heroic the circumstances of their death.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

It was two thirty in the afternoon and still no word from Rosetti. I called her home again but got the machine. I had just enough time to call Sean before I had to leave for work to let him know the wounded officers were still in surgery but were going to be fine. He took it pretty hard when I told him Pam Grier was the officer who was killed.

"Pam was a good cop. I'd worked with her on a few cases. Very professional and a nice person, too," Sean said, his voice practically a whisper. "Our dads were on the police force together. Her dad retired when he was sixty and died of a massive coronary at sixty-two. It's funny, but Pam was the youngest of four kids, the only girl, and the only one that went into law enforcement."

"I was in the morgue when the chief brought her mom in to identify her. It was the saddest thing I ever saw," I said as feelings of grief came flooding back.

"The funeral will probably be on Tuesday."

"Are you planning on going?"

"I'd like to. I need to get someone to stay with Ed, though."

"Hospice should be able to get someone for a few hours or maybe my mom would be up to it."

"Your mom?" Sean asked, surprised.

"Yes. Anyway, she owes me. I got her out of a jam last week."

"What kind of jam could your mother get into?"

"Don't ask," I said. "It's much too complicated and bizarre to even think about."

Sean let it drop, so I continued. "I'll call her and see if she's free. She took care of my dad all those years, I'm sure she won't have a problem with it."

"Okay. Let me know. Did you want to go to the funeral with me?"

"I'm scheduled to work the dayshift on Tuesday, but I can see if I can trade with someone or take it off all together."

"You know, those two guys are still out there," Sean said.

"I know. I hope they find them soon. Seeing one dead police officer was enough for me. They have to stop them before we lose any more."

"Oh, they'll find them. I wonder what shape they'll be in when they bring them in," Sean said. "Cop killers don't fare well in the streets or in prison."

When I got to the hospital, I was disappointed to find that Page was off and Dr. Morrison was filling in. Morrison stuck me in pediatrics again, and he took the easier assignment of caring for the adults. The ER had cleared out considerably since I'd been here earlier that afternoon. Delores, our ward clerk, handed me the chart for my first patient of the day: Courtney Blakeman, a seven-year-old who had fallen off her bike and suffered a broken arm. I read the chart, then reread it. It was difficult to concentrate on work when all I could think about were Rosetti's whereabouts.

I went though the motions and examined the girl who pulled away from me each time I tried to touch her arm. The girl's mother, dressed in Armani from head to toe, wasn't much help and seemed totally put out about having to be here.

"I need to make a phone call," Courtney's mother said, fishing around in her Louis Vuitton purse. She excused herself and stepped outside of the exam room curtain.

I asked Amy to step in and give me a hand with the examination. Amy comforted the shy girl by stroking her platinum blond head while I examined her.

"Doctor, look at this," Amy said, holding Courtney forward, exposing two huge bruises on either side of the girl's neck.

The bruises were old, probably about a week or two.

"Courtney, did you fall...another time...not off your bike like this time?"

She looked down and shook her head.

"Did someone hurt you or hit you on your neck?"

No response.

"You have another boo boo here," I said, touching the area on her neck where the bruises were. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Courtney shook her head.

I stepped out behind the exam curtain to speak with Mrs. Blakeman.

"Mrs. Blakeman, Courtney has two large bruises on her neck. Any idea how that happened?"

"Probably when she fell off her bike," Mrs. Blakeman said, annoyed that I'd interrupted her phone call.

"These bruises are old...maybe a week or two. Do you remember anything happening then?"

"Not especially, she gets hurt a lot...kids...you know."

I ordered X-rays of Courtney's arm, neck, back, and chest, and sent her off to radiology with Ricky, the orderly. The girl's mother followed behind the gurney, her stiletto high heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

"Was that your friend...in the morgue this morning?" Amy asked as she pulled clean table paper down on the exam table to ready it for the next patient.

"No...no it wasn't," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed at my behavior earlier. "She was from my friend's unit, though." After a pause, I added, "She was only twenty-nine."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks...and thank you for-"

"Dr. Caselli," Delores interrupted. "You have a call on line one." Delores stood at the desk holding the receiver out to me.

"Hello?" I said, anxiously praying it was Rosetti on the other end of the line.

"Meen, it's Sean."

My hope slowly deflated.

"Hi, Sean, everything all right?"

"I just thought you'd want to know I found out where Rosetti is."

"Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's out on special undercover assignment with her unit. They're trying to track down the guys who killed Pam. There aren't a lot of details because they're undercover, but I thought you'd want to know."

"Thanks. It means a lot to me," I said, feeling a little better, but then realized Rosetti was out there tracking down the cop killer.

"Do you think she'll be all right? I mean, this is a pretty dangerous situation, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's dangerous, but Rosetti is a good cop. I gotta tell ya, if I was out there in that situation, I'd definitely want her there with me," Sean said. "She's smart and doesn't take chances."

Sean's comment made me proud of Rosetti, but it didn't help me to worry less. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Morrison approach the desk like he was on some sort of mission.

"Sean, I better-"

"Dr. Caselli...." Morrison cut in.

"I've got to go...thanks for the info. If you hear anything else, let me know."

"I will," Sean said and hung up.

"Caselli? Everything all right?" Morrison asked.

I nodded. I didn't want him to know what was going on; I knew he wouldn't understand or even care for that matter.

"All the nurses are busy with other patients, and you're the closest thing to a nurse that's available. I need help doing a spinal tap on a heifer of a woman in exam room one."

I hung up the receiver and followed Morrison into exam room one. On the table, lying on her side was a three hundred-pound woman. Her color was gray and ashen. She didn't look good. I was fuming inside. Not only was he disrespectful toward me, he was disrespectful to his patients, as well. If one of us residents spoke that way about a patient, we'd be out of the program before we knew what hit us. But because this guy was the head honcho, his behavior went unchecked.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Caselli. I'm going to help Dr. Morrison with your spinal tap." I tried to conceal my anger at Morrison.

The woman nodded and clutched the thin white sheet that covered her rotund abdomen.

"Can you hold her on her side while I prepare the site?" Morrison asked.

I nodded, still fuming over his condescension. I took my place on the side of the gurney. I helped the woman stay on her side, then pulled the woman's neck and knees forward and held her in the C position, to open up her lumbar vertebrae and allow Morrison to slide in and get his spinal fluid sample without hitting a bone or piercing a nerve. Morrison sat on the exam stool and wheeled over to the table. He gloved up and cleaned the woman's back with disinfecting solution. I watched over the woman's fleshy hip as Morrison put the syringe and needle together and palpated the woman's back to find the correct anatomical structures to insert the spinal needle.

"Fuck..." Morrison muttered as he withdrew the needle. The wheels on the stool screeched as he pushed himself away from the patient, holding his right hand with his left. Morrison opened his left hand and exposed a bloody right index finger. Apparently, the idiot had stabbed himself with the spinal needle.