“Pillows and blankets on the bed, all in a pile, big pile on the bed. The sheets had blood and dirty pee pads. I threw those away and put the sheets and blankets in my bin. I put on clean ones.” She held the packet in one arm and used her free arm to demonstrate what she remembered.

“Was that curtain open or closed?” I pointed to the aqua-colored privacy curtain that separated the two twin beds.

“I don’t know.” Marti tore open the cellophane packet and tossed the wrapping in a clear plastic garbage bag hooked onto her cart.

“Was there any food on this table or cups? Any notebooks or phone book?” I pointed to the table between the beds where the phone was.

“No.” She shook out the sheets and let them billow down onto the bed. “Maybe there was trash I threw away.”

I glanced at the trash container on Marti’s cart.

“It’s not there. I emptied that already.” She preempted my next question.

“Anything in the bathroom or the closet?” I opened the bathroom door and switched on the light.

“I don’t think so.” She straightened as if to think more clearly. “No, because if I saw something in there, they’d put it in the lost and found.”

“Uh-huh, and where is that?” I said.

“Excuse me.” A nurse walked in. “What’s going on here?”

Marti said nothing. I said nothing.

“Can you give us a minute?” the nurse said to Marti as she opened the door wide, and noise from the hallway spilled in.

“I’m sorry.” Marti lowered her head and pushed her cart to the door.

“It’s fine. Just come back in a few minutes, please.” The nurse stood leaning on the rail of the bed closest to the door, with the other hand on her hip.

Marti nodded and left the room.

“Thank you, Marti,” I called to her.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said the nurse when we were alone.

“My name is Ruth Olson, and I am a reporter for the Minneapolis Star.” I reached out to shake her hand and noticed her name badge. “Actually, Rebecca, can I ask you some questions?”

“You’d have to call our media department.” Rebecca walked to the bathroom and switched off the light. “I’m not authorized.”

“How many nurses work on the night shift?”

“Well, that varies,” said Rebecca, crossing her arms.

“How many were working last night?” I turned to a blank page and wrote Rebecca’s name at the top.

“I’m not sure, and even if I knew, I wouldn’t feel comfortable disclosing that kind of information.”

“Let me ask you this: do you screen the visitors, or do you just let anyone in?”

“That’s not our job as nurses, Miss . . .”

“Olson, and it’s Mrs.”

“Mrs. Olson,” said Rebecca, sighing and shifting her weight to one side.