“Shut up,” she told him and went back to compressions.
Breaths. Compressions. Breaths. Compressions.
She was thinking about the time she’d pulled a four-year-old boy out of a pool while she was on patrol. His little limbs had been purple. She and the officer who had trained her had worked on him for almost ten minutes before the ambulance came. Josie had been sure that the boy was gone, but then he took a breath. That was all she needed. A breath. A heartbeat.
Come on, she commanded the woman silently. Breathe. Just breathe.
Sweat poured off her face, raining down on the woman’s inert form. Her pink polo shirt and khaki pants were glued to her skin. Every muscle in her body clenched and ached. Josie had no idea how many minutes had passed until a rush of cool air hit her and footsteps drummed over the tile. The dark blue of the city’s EMT uniforms flashed in her periphery. She kept counting off her compressions as she looked up to see two emergency medical workers she knew well: Owen Likins and Sawyer Hayes.
Owen dropped down next to her, muscling her out of the way, and took over the compressions. Opposite them, Sawyer felt for a pulse. “Nothing,” he told Owen, removing a bag valve mask and placing it over her mouth, squeezing it to drive air into her lungs. He looked at Josie and then up at Patrick. “How long were you doing compressions?”
Patrick said, “At least ten minutes.”
Josie’s arms felt jellylike as she slumped, letting her rear end hit the tile.
Sawyer said, “How long was she in the water?”
Patrick looked at Josie and then back to Sawyer. “We don’t know. We just walked in and Josie saw her floating and jumped in.”
Patrick took Josie’s hand and pulled her upright, keeping one arm slung around her shoulders. They watched as Owen and Sawyer worked. Unzipping one of their bags, Sawyer took out a pair of trauma shears and began to cut through the woman’s shirt and bra.
Owen said, “If you’re using the AED, we gotta get her good and dry.”
Sawyer nodded and turned to Patrick. “I need towels. A lot of towels.”
“This way,” Patrick told Josie. She jogged after him into the men’s locker room. They each grabbed a handful of rolled white towels and brought them back to the poolside.
“Let’s lift her out of this puddle,” said Sawyer.
Josie, Patrick, and Sawyer quickly lifted the woman to a dry patch of tile while Owen continued to squeeze the bag valve mask. Sawyer dried off her chest and readied the portable Automated External Defibrillator. Fear squeezed Josie’s heart. The air was sticky all around them. Perspiration poured down her face. She wondered at the safety of using the AED in such a humid environment, but Sawyer and Owen managed it without electrocuting themselves. They were, of course, pros at what they did. When that didn’t work, Sawyer used a bone drill to inject epinephrine directly into the woman’s shoulder, its squeal just like that of a power drill. The noise sent a jolt through Josie’s body.
She felt a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched them try to revive the lifeless woman. Every minute that passed was like another nail in her coffin. Breathe! Came the silent shout in Josie’s head. But after twenty more minutes of valiant efforts, Owen sat back on his haunches and wiped sweat from his brow. “You wanna call it?” he asked Sawyer.
Sawyer looked up and met Josie’s eyes for a brief second. His short black hair was soaked and stuck up in spikes when he pushed a hand through it. He looked at his watch. “Time of death 9:12 a.m.”
Owen stood. Addressing Josie, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Josie said.
Patrick gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We don’t know how long she was in the water. It’s possible that reviving her was never going to work.”
“That’s true,” Sawyer said. He looked around them. The guard pushed through the doors, letting in a brief but welcome breeze. Following him was campus police chief, Hillary Hahlbeck and two of her officers. Then came Josie’s colleague, Detective Finn Mettner. Mett had started his career on patrol in Denton and moved up to a detective position. Of the four officers in investigative roles, Mett was the youngest and least experienced, but he had already taken the lead on some of the city’s toughest cases, and Josie had full confidence in him.
Chief Hahlbeck pulled up short when she reached them. Petite and compact with shoulder-length curly brown hair and pale blue eyes, Hillary had been hired by the university almost a year ago. She was at least fifteen years older than Josie, in her late forties, and had experience working for a large police department elsewhere in the state. “Oh lord,” she said in a regretful tone as she stared down at the woman on the tile. “This is not good. Not good at all.”
Josie took a good look at the drowned girl’s unlined face for the first time. Her olive skin had taken on a sallow hue, and her brown eyes were glassy, sightless orbs. She was obviously young, likely one of the university students, and she looked familiar, although Josie couldn’t place her.
Mettner had his phone out and Josie knew that his note-taking app was open and ready to go. “What happened?” he asked, joining them.
Josie said, “I met Pat here because I had one of his work shirts. We walked in from the lobby. I saw her floating in the water.”
Patrick said, “Josie jumped in, got her out, and did CPR until the paramedics got here.”
Mett raised a brow and pointed a finger at Josie’s shirt. “Is your shirt pink? Is that from blood?”
Josie pulled at the collar of the soaked shirt. Her sopping wet clothes hung heavy on her exhausted limbs. “No. No blood. This is from a laundry incident.”
Mettner gave her a raised brow and then began tapping away at his phone. “No blood,” he muttered to himself.
Hillary looked to the security guard. “Gerry?”
Josie turned to see that the guard’s pale skin was flushed pink and his brown eyes were watery, broken blood vessels snaking through the whites of his eyes.
He was crying.
“Gerry,” Hillary repeated, her tone firmer.
Gerry wiped at his eyes with the knuckles of his right hand. “That’s Nysa,” he choked out.
Hillary said, “I know who it is, Gerry. I recognize her from TV. What time did she get here?”
Immediately, Josie realized where she’d seen the dead woman before. Over the weekend, the local news station had run a story on Denton University’s swim team. They had highlighted two sophomores, one of whom was Nysa Somers. She’d been touted as the best swimmer on the team and the recipient of a large scholarship awarded by a very rich Denton University alumnus. Josie remembered the videos of her swimming, her strong, lithe limbs cutting the water effortlessly. At the end, the video had cut to her standing beside the pool with several other teammates, a red swim cap covering her long brown locks. Her head was thrown back in laughter. The image came back to Josie now, in stark contrast to the corpse at her feet. Sadness floated up from deep within her, but she pushed it back down, trying to focus on the scene at hand. They still didn’t know if this was some kind of horrific accident or a crime. Josie needed more information.
Patrick said, “I saw her on TV.”
“I—I can’t believe this,” Gerry stammered. “I’ve been here twenty-seven years and I’ve never had anything like this happen.”