04-09-2026, 11:37 AM
CHAPTER 12: THE SECOND CASUALTY
SEPTEMBER 26, 2005 -- 12:30 P.M.
They had already checked me out. A young doctor and an old doctor had given me the results of all the tests that they’d tormented me with for 48 hours. Boiled down, they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. Other than a lingering headache and a slight ringing in my ears which they said was to be expected when someone fired a high powered pistol at your head from a few feet away, bouncing the bullet off your head.
The headache would probably go away in a day or two and the ringing might last a week or two but it would go away, said the older balding doc with a fringe of white hair running around the back of his head between his ears making him look like a wise old Greek philosopher.
The tall dark-haired young doc, who the nurses couldn’t keep their eyes off, had stepped in after the old doctor and warned me, “Apparently you’ve managed to avoid all of the bad effects of having your brains rattled twice in a lifetime. You could have died 20 years ago and there’s evidence on the CAT scan of some residual scarring from that old injury, but nothing serious. And you got past this one.”
“But,” he said, stepping close to me and lowering his voice as if we were the only two people in the room, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that anytime you start shaking up the brain you’re messing with things you shouldn’t mess with. I was told that you’ve been doing some amateur boxing.”
I thanked him and asked him in passing how Officer Howser and James were doing. I knew they’d both been admitted, but I hadn’t heard anything about either one since Saturday.
I knew in the instant that I asked the question - I just didn’t know which one it was, but his face closed up. The old doc stepped forward. I guess he’d had more experience at it than his younger colleague.
“Sergeant Howser appeared to be responding well to treatment. His system suffered stress from the bullet wound and the collapsed lung was a strain on his heart. He had some problems that had never surfaced but they would have responded to medication. His physicians expected he’d been able to leave today.”
“Apparently, his wound resulted in a blood clot forming in his lung and it made its way to his brain last night. There was no warning - no way to really anticipate it or take action until it was too late. He suffered a major stroke at 2
a.m. It was....quick....if that makes a difference. I hope it did, for his sake. It is possible that it happened in his sleep and he was never aware of what was happening.”
I felt myself sitting back on the hospital bed. The young doc stepped forward and grabbed my shoulder.
“Are you alright, Mr. Maitland? Sit back and take a few deep breaths. You can lay back on the bed for a moment if you’re dizzy.”
Phil Howser was gone. Why the hell had I agreed to meet with him, when I knew I was never going to change my mind about Shawn Smith. He’d still be alive today if I hadn’t agreed to help him with a little internal politicking to keep his members happy.
It wasn’t my fault, I knew. None of us had any idea what Shawn Smith was going to do. But, yet - he had saved my life, and it had cost him his.
“I’d like to see his room.”
“His body was removed early this morning.”
“I’d still like to see it. Is another patient in there?” “No,” said the old doc.
I stood at the entrance to the semi-private room where Phil Howser had breathed his last. The hospital bed he had died in was fresh and the sheets were tight and starched. I remembered the way he’d looked in the last moments before Shawn had burst in, relaxed and happy and holding court with his buddies.
“He liked you, you know.”
I didn’t want to turn and face her, but I made myself. She was a little shorter than me, a heavy set brunette with brilliant blue eyes and a normally ruddy complexion. Now she was pale and bloodless.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Howser. God, but I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Maitland,” she said, looking around the room with the same expression I’d probably had. As if we neither one could believe that he still wasn’t around here somewhere.
“He knew Shawn was wrong. He needed to pay for what he did. He just couldn’t say it because they were both cops. But...he told me a few times that guys like you were the only good thing about those ‘candy assed pencil pushing shysters in the SA’.”
“That sounds like Phil. Are you...are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” She looked back at me and licked her lips.
“No, I’m not okay. Both our kids are out of town. Bert is in the Army on a tour in Iraq and Molly is working at Jackson Memorial in Miami. She’s an
I was going to go by and visit James anyway, but I found that I had a bad feeling about him because of what had happened to Phil. I found out where he was and went up to his floor, in the intensive care unit. I know a gut shot is dangerous, but I wasn’t sure why they’d have him there three days after the shooting.
As I approached the room a nurse moved to intercept me. “I’m sorry, visitors aren’t being allowed to see Mr. James.”
“My name is Maitland. I’m the Assistant State Attorney who was shot Friday. James saved my life. Could you let me in there for just a moment to say hello?”
An older nurse stepped toward us and had heard me.
“You can go in, Mr. Maitland. His wife is in there with him, but we can bend the rules for just a moment. But. ”
“Resistant? That means-“
“Only that it’s going to be hard to knock down. We’re hitting him with super doses of antibiotics. It will kill every bacteria in his body, hopefully, which will leave him vulnerable to anything around him for a few days or weeks until his natural resistance builds back up. If we can keep him alive, and if he’s tough enough, he’ll make it.”
SEPTEMBER 26, 2005 -- 12:30 P.M.
They had already checked me out. A young doctor and an old doctor had given me the results of all the tests that they’d tormented me with for 48 hours. Boiled down, they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. Other than a lingering headache and a slight ringing in my ears which they said was to be expected when someone fired a high powered pistol at your head from a few feet away, bouncing the bullet off your head.
The headache would probably go away in a day or two and the ringing might last a week or two but it would go away, said the older balding doc with a fringe of white hair running around the back of his head between his ears making him look like a wise old Greek philosopher.
The tall dark-haired young doc, who the nurses couldn’t keep their eyes off, had stepped in after the old doctor and warned me, “Apparently you’ve managed to avoid all of the bad effects of having your brains rattled twice in a lifetime. You could have died 20 years ago and there’s evidence on the CAT scan of some residual scarring from that old injury, but nothing serious. And you got past this one.”
“But,” he said, stepping close to me and lowering his voice as if we were the only two people in the room, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that anytime you start shaking up the brain you’re messing with things you shouldn’t mess with. I was told that you’ve been doing some amateur boxing.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t tell you that you can’t keep doing it, but I’d strongly suggest that you ALWAYS wear headgear. And if you ever drive a motorcycle, never, ever get on one without a helmet. You’ve been a very lucky man, Mr. Maitland, and you might stay lucky, but I wouldn’t bet it all on staying that lucky. Understand me?”I thanked him and asked him in passing how Officer Howser and James were doing. I knew they’d both been admitted, but I hadn’t heard anything about either one since Saturday.
I knew in the instant that I asked the question - I just didn’t know which one it was, but his face closed up. The old doc stepped forward. I guess he’d had more experience at it than his younger colleague.
“Sergeant Howser appeared to be responding well to treatment. His system suffered stress from the bullet wound and the collapsed lung was a strain on his heart. He had some problems that had never surfaced but they would have responded to medication. His physicians expected he’d been able to leave today.”
“But?”
“Apparently, his wound resulted in a blood clot forming in his lung and it made its way to his brain last night. There was no warning - no way to really anticipate it or take action until it was too late. He suffered a major stroke at 2
a.m. It was....quick....if that makes a difference. I hope it did, for his sake. It is possible that it happened in his sleep and he was never aware of what was happening.”
I felt myself sitting back on the hospital bed. The young doc stepped forward and grabbed my shoulder.
“Are you alright, Mr. Maitland? Sit back and take a few deep breaths. You can lay back on the bed for a moment if you’re dizzy.”
Phil Howser was gone. Why the hell had I agreed to meet with him, when I knew I was never going to change my mind about Shawn Smith. He’d still be alive today if I hadn’t agreed to help him with a little internal politicking to keep his members happy.
It wasn’t my fault, I knew. None of us had any idea what Shawn Smith was going to do. But, yet - he had saved my life, and it had cost him his.
“I’d like to see his room.”
“His body was removed early this morning.”
“I’d still like to see it. Is another patient in there?” “No,” said the old doc.
I stood at the entrance to the semi-private room where Phil Howser had breathed his last. The hospital bed he had died in was fresh and the sheets were tight and starched. I remembered the way he’d looked in the last moments before Shawn had burst in, relaxed and happy and holding court with his buddies.
“He liked you, you know.”
I didn’t want to turn and face her, but I made myself. She was a little shorter than me, a heavy set brunette with brilliant blue eyes and a normally ruddy complexion. Now she was pale and bloodless.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Howser. God, but I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Maitland,” she said, looking around the room with the same expression I’d probably had. As if we neither one could believe that he still wasn’t around here somewhere.
“He knew Shawn was wrong. He needed to pay for what he did. He just couldn’t say it because they were both cops. But...he told me a few times that guys like you were the only good thing about those ‘candy assed pencil pushing shysters in the SA’.”
“That sounds like Phil. Are you...are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” She looked back at me and licked her lips.
“No, I’m not okay. Both our kids are out of town. Bert is in the Army on a tour in Iraq and Molly is working at Jackson Memorial in Miami. She’s an
emergency room nurse. She’s flying home tonight. I think Bert will be coming in in a couple of days. So it’s just me.
“Used to be me and him. “Now it’s just me.
“It feels... wrong.”
“If there’s anything I can do.... ”
“There’s nothing anyone can do, nothing.”
When she turned away and began to shudder silently, I stepped away from her and left the room. I could hear her crying as I walked to a nurse’s station and rang up Cheryl. Two of our female ASAs would be at the hospital within a half hour and would stay with her until her children showed up. She wouldn’t have Phil, but she wouldn’t be alone.I was going to go by and visit James anyway, but I found that I had a bad feeling about him because of what had happened to Phil. I found out where he was and went up to his floor, in the intensive care unit. I know a gut shot is dangerous, but I wasn’t sure why they’d have him there three days after the shooting.
As I approached the room a nurse moved to intercept me. “I’m sorry, visitors aren’t being allowed to see Mr. James.”
“My name is Maitland. I’m the Assistant State Attorney who was shot Friday. James saved my life. Could you let me in there for just a moment to say hello?”
An older nurse stepped toward us and had heard me.
“You can go in, Mr. Maitland. His wife is in there with him, but we can bend the rules for just a moment. But. ”
“What?”
“He’s not well. He’s running a high fever right now. He might not be too coherent.”
“Why?”
“I won’t bore you with the full name, but it looks like he’s infected with one of the two or three super-resistant strains of bacteria that you find in a lot of hospitals today.”“Resistant? That means-“
“Only that it’s going to be hard to knock down. We’re hitting him with super doses of antibiotics. It will kill every bacteria in his body, hopefully, which will leave him vulnerable to anything around him for a few days or weeks until his natural resistance builds back up. If we can keep him alive, and if he’s tough enough, he’ll make it.”
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