Katie didn’t know what disturbed her more: some of the patients wandering around in a type of fugue state, or the unpleasant odor of full bedpans. There was a faint hint of some type of air freshener, but its potency was no match for the stagnant space.
Katie kept her focus straight ahead as she followed the orderly into another area with minimum security, which housed the administrative and doctor’s offices.
The burly man stopped at the door and said, “Here’s Dr. Smith’s office.” Without a smile or another word, he left Katie at the closed door with cheap lettering displaying “Dr. T. Smith.”
Looking up and down the deserted hallway, Katie then knocked on the door and heard a male voice call “Come in,” from the other side. She turned the knob, unexpectedly cold in the stuffy heat of the hospital.
The office space wasn’t what Katie had expected at all. In her mind, she thought it would be similar to the police department with neutral government-funded desks and chairs. But Dr. Smith’s office was nicely decorated and quite tasteful with a dark mahogany desk and matching credenza and bookshelf. There were several potted plants and two pleasant seascape paintings that hung on the walls. Katie noticed that the two painting were originals, vaguely familiar, with the artist’s signatures. The doctor obviously came from money. It was curious to her why he was at a mental health facility and not a cushy private practice.
“Detective Scott?” said the man behind the desk. He also wasn’t what Katie had expected, dressed in dark jeans and a polo shirt. His dark features and light blue eyes—which made him appear to be looking through you, not at you—left Katie somewhat unnerved.
“Dr. Smith?” she said.
“So… tell me, what can I do for you?” He leaned forward on his desk with his arms crossed leaning on his elbows.
“I’ve been recently assigned to a homicide case at the sheriff’s office. A woman who claimed to have been kidnapped and held against her will—then she escaped. Now she is dead.”
“I see,” he said without a trace of recognition. “And where do I fit in here?” He squinted as he scrutinized Katie more closely.
“I know all about doctor–patient confidentiality, but…”
“But what, Detective?”
Katie took a deep breath and felt defeat creeping into her investigation. “Look, I want to be honest with you.”
“Please do.”
“The person I wanted to discuss with you is Amanda Payton. Her kidnapping was a cold case, but now it’s… it’s a murder investigation.”
“Okay,” he deadpanned. He leaned back in his big leather office chair. “I get the impression that there’s more to you than just police work—maybe you’ve been in the military?”
“Good guess.” She disliked being scrutinized like this, especially by a therapist.
“No, not a guess,” he corrected. “An educated deduction.”
“I see.” Katie managed a pleasant smile. “I can always go to a judge, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Katie remained silent.
“There’s really not much to tell—I reacquainted myself with her file after you contacted the hospital ahead of your visit. And I assume that you already know most of it.”
“I’d like to hear from you,” she said. “I’m sure there are things I’m missing.” She wanted to appeal to his expertise, pretend to be his subordinate.
“Well, she was brought in by two of your police deputies claiming she had been kidnapped and held against her will—but as luck was on her side she managed to escape.” He picked up a gold pen with his right hand and rubbed his thumb along the side of it, clearly an old habit. “Let’s see, she was highly agitated, coherent, fatigued. She was mildly dehydrated and needed a complete meal and fluids, but otherwise her physical health was satisfactory. We tended to her minor cuts and abrasions, but nothing needed stitches.”
“And her mind?”
“Well, as you can imagine, she was unstable because she had been through a trauma. She kept repeating the same word over and over…”
“Truth,” Katie said calmly.
“Yes! That was it. Ms. Payton whispered that word—truth.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, what we always do. I gave her a sedative and she eventually went to sleep. The next morning she had more cognitive ability and I didn’t think that she needed any further medication besides a mild sedative to take home. No use complicating things any more than they need be. I suggested that if she needed someone to talk to, she should come in for outpatient therapy.” He had a half-smile on his face as he watched Katie.
“I see. Was there anything unusual or something that alerted your attention?”
“I’m not sure what you mean—alerted my attention?” He toyed with her.
“Meaning… something she did or said that seemed out of the ordinary—under the circumstances, of course,” Katie said evenly.
He took a moment to think about it but Katie thought he was pausing for dramatic effect. “Nothing that needed to be notated.”
It was Katie’s turn to pause, but she thought about how it related to the perpetrator and not to Amanda. “One last thing.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“Has anyone else who has been admitted in the last six months claimed the same story as Amanda Payton, of being kidnapped and held against their will?” It was a spur of the moment question that popped into Katie’s head.
“None that I can recollect… wait, except…”
“Except?” Katie perked up.
“A woman that was brought in about two months ago shared a similar-ish story, but I don’t think she can help you much.”
“Why not?” Katie asked.
“She doesn’t know her own name and we still haven’t been able to identify who she is.”
Eighteen
Katie followed Dr. Smith down several hallways—each time he unlocked doors and then re-locked them behind him. She counted five in total, which made her edgy, feeling as though the walls were closing in around her. They passed several uniformed doctors and nurses who all seemed to avoid contact, not showing any curiosity about Katie’s presence. The farther they moved into the hospital the more patients Katie noticed; some watching television, while others worked at small tables with puzzles or games.
After making a quick left, Dr. Smith stopped at a door with a small viewing window, checked the clipboard on the wall and signed his initials.
“Well, here we are,” he said.
“Thank you.” Katie tried to force a relaxed smile.
“Of course, Detective, anything I can do.”
“What do you call her?” she asked.
“Jane, as in Jane Doe, until we find out her name.”
“Dr. Smith, where was Jane found and what was the approximate date?” she asked.
“It’s my recollection that she was found near South Lincoln. I don’t know the name of the street. And as for the date, it was about two and half months ago.”
“She was found near the Basin Woods Development?”
“I believe that’s correct. I’ll have to check my notes to make sure. I can email you some information. Would that be sufficient?” he said.
“Yes, please, that would be helpful.”
“Whatever you need, Detective.”
Katie thought that was a strange response, but smiled politely and hoped that he meant what he had said.
He called to an orderly. “When Detective Scott is finished, please escort her back to the main entrance.”
He nodded and took up position next to Jane’s door to wait.
“If you have any further questions, please don’t hesitate to call me directly,” the doctor said, not waiting for Katie’s reply before turning on his heel and heading back down the corridor.
Katie gave an apologetic smile to the orderly before giving the door a polite tap and twisting the handle.
&nb
sp; The room wasn’t as dreary as Katie had imagined. A large window with protective wire allowed for natural light to spill in even though it was overcast outside. A small writing desk and chair was in one corner, and a two-shelf bookcase sat across from it. There was a side table with a paperback with the cover torn off, a paper cup filled with water and a straw, as well as a torn pill packet.
The woman sat on a twin bed, feet on the ground, motionless, her head hanging forward. She wore light gray sweatpants and a white long-sleeved T-shirt that appeared to be two sizes too big on her slight frame. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her posture and downturned expression made her seem much older than she was—but she wasn’t really any older than thirty or thirty-five.
“Hello?” said Katie.
The woman remained still, dark-ringed eyes fixed on the floor, clearly heavily sedated.
“Jane, are you up for a visit?” Leaving the door slightly ajar, Katie looked around at the bookshelves and noticed that there were books about cats, gardening, and cooking; old and extremely worn, they were most likely donated. “I’m Detective Katie Scott from the sheriff’s department. I wanted to chat with you for a bit. Is that okay?”
No response.
“I’m working on a case that you might be able to help me with,” she continued.
Jane kept her head down and eyes averted.
Katie tried to think on her feet. “Do you like to garden? I wish I had more time to work in my garden,” she said. “I’m surprised everything hasn’t died, but I love my roses. My mom always loved roses. That’s probably where I get my love of them.” She sat gently next to her on the bed. “Jane, do you like roses?”
At last, just as she was thinking about leaving, Katie heard the woman speak.
“What color are they?” she quietly said.
“What?” Katie turned in surprise.
The dark-haired woman raised her head, staring directly at Katie, and asked again, “What color are your roses?”
Katie smiled and said, “Yellow.”
“Like Texas?”
“You mean the yellow rose of Texas?”
She nodded.
“Are you from Texas?”
She didn’t acknowledge one way or another and it was difficult to read her body language.
Katie tried a different approach. “Have you got roses in your garden?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Do you remember where that is?”
She shook her head, but Katie had a distinct feeling that she wasn’t being truthful. There was a spark of something in her eyes.
“What other flowers do you like?” said Katie.
She paused a moment, appearing to be thinking, and said, “Irises and peonies.”
“Yes, I agree. They are so beautiful and come in so many different colors,” said Katie. She casually walked to the window. “It’s nice your room has a big window. Nice lighting. Indoor plants would do well.”
Jane nodded and now watched Katie with tired, cautious eyes.
Katie glanced to the door to make sure the orderly was out of earshot and decided to change the direction of her questions. She said, “Do you know why I’m here? I’m working on a case of a woman who had been kidnapped and held against her will. Amazingly, she escaped.”
Jane’s hands began to fidget on her lap, averting her eyes so that Katie couldn’t see her expression.
“My case only has a few unsubstantiated clues, but the victim is extremely scared that her attacker might come back—in fact—she believes one hundred percent that he will come back.”
Jane remained quiet.
“I don’t want anyone to feel that way. Do you?”
Jane glanced at Katie, just for a moment, but long enough for Katie to see the truth in there—the fear.
“If you’re scared, we can protect you,” she whispered so that the orderly couldn’t hear her. “I can protect you.”
But Jane only sank further back into herself. Her eyes fixed firmly back on the ground, her hands now still and lifeless.
It was no use; maybe Jane wasn’t the link she needed, wasn’t a victim of a kidnapping like Amanda’s. Katie stood up to leave, but to her surprise, Jane grabbed hold of her wrist, hard, for a moment, and looked her directly in the eye in a way that could only mean please help me.
Katie didn’t react, fearful of losing the moment and bringing unwanted attention from the orderly. Very carefully, suddenly aware that there might be cameras in the room, she said, “I would like to come back for a visit. Would you like that?”
Jane nodded and said, “Yes, that would be nice.”
“Well, I’ll come back in a couple of days.”
The orderly poked his head into the room and said, “Detective, you ready yet?”
“Just a moment. It was nice meeting you, Jane. I wish I knew your real name.” Katie turned her back to the door and mouthed the words I will help you to Jane.
Katie left the room, Jane’s pleading eyes burning through her mind. She knew that there was more to her story, but there was nothing that she could do without a name and without a concrete link to Amanda’s death.
Weaving her way back through the layers of doors and indistinct corridors, Katie finally entered the administration area and retrieved her firearm. She looked at the time and only then realized that Jane Doe had pressed her thumb hard into its face, leaving a fingerprint behind.
Clever.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a small folded bag, slipped off her watch and deposited it inside for safekeeping until she got back to the forensic office.
Katie hurried out to the parking lot, her mind whirring over what she’d just encountered, and almost didn’t see the folded paper neatly tucked between the weather stripping of the driver’s window. She cautiously pulled out the message, instinctively only holding it by its edges. The note was written with a blue ballpoint pen with heavier blotting on some of the words in slanted cursive writing:
You’re on the right track.
Nineteen
Friday 1300 hours
Katie returned to the office with more questions than answers. Pulling up a chair in front of her computer, she rebooted it to search for anything related to Jane Doe. Even with no ID, there had to be a police report. She quickly keyed in the search parameters from two months ago for a person who had been picked up and transported to the psychiatric hospital.
Her first computer search was unsuccessful.
Damn…
Katie tried again and this time used “Jane Doe” as part of the search parameters and opening out the date bracket. There was a hit. A Deputy Curtis had picked up a woman near South Lincoln and Second Street at 0200 hours a little over two months ago.
That was on the southern edge of the Basin Woods Development, which was the same approximate area where Amanda had been found. There wasn’t much written in the report, so she would have to speak with the deputy. It was unclear from the report if fingerprints had been taken at that time. And if they were, the results were not in the file.
Katie printed out the report, firing off an email to arrange at least a phone meeting with Deputy Curtis as soon as it was convenient.
She stood up and walked to the counter, where she laid out her watch and the anonymous letter from her car next to the box of Amanda’s clothes. She quickly filled out a chain of custody report and made sure that the new evidence was bagged properly. Everything was to be done by the book and she wanted to deliver these items to John in the forensics lab in person.
Katie watched intently as John’s steady hands first removed the watch and laid it on an exam table, careful not to touch the band. He then opened a small round container with dark fingerprint dusting powder and swirled his circular brush into the mixture before dusting the watch all over.
“Is that a full print?” she asked, amazed by John’s expert handling.
“It’s a good clear image, but it’s about sixty percent of the
entire print of what looks like the left index finger.” He prepared the sticky tape to transfer the print to an index card.
Katie was a bit disappointed. “Oh,” was all she could say.
“Not to worry, Detective. There’s more than enough to search the databases. Have patience.” He smiled.
“That’s great.” She glanced at her copy of the short report filed for Jane Doe to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
“It may take a while. And there’s no guarantee we’ll find a hit if she hasn’t been arrested or fingerprinted before.” He finished the transfer and admired the print like a piece of art.
“I’ll take anything I can get,” said Katie, meaning it.
“This was no accident. Your Jane Doe knew what she was doing. It’s not the natural angle of a finger when grabbing someone’s wrist,” he said. “You see, it would be like this if it was a normal grab.” He took Katie’s wrist and demonstrated, then turned his grip, pressing his index finger on the top of her wrist where her watch face would be. “And not like this.” It showed Katie that Jane did indeed understand that she was leaving a print, just as she had suspected.
“That helps a lot—thank you.”
“The result time will vary. It could be a few hours or days, and in some instances weeks.”
“Would you know why her prints weren’t originally processed?”
John went to his computer. “When was she picked up?”
“A little over two months ago.”
“Jane Doe was the victim’s name on record?”
“Yes.”
John clicked through several layers of software until he found what he was looking for. “Oh, I see what happened.”
Katie waited for his explanation.
“We unfortunately have a backlog for fingerprints. I’m embarrassed to say that they are a couple of months behind. It’s the hazards of having a small forensic department with two employees—not enough hours in the day.”
“That’s only two months. She was picked up more than two months ago.”
“Well, we didn’t print her; the South Street Psychiatric Hospital did and they sent them to us. Since there wasn’t a rush on the prints, they took their time. It looks like we received them six weeks ago.” He kept reading. “And, it looks like there were also two garments sent for processing, a bra and panties.”
Her Last Whisper: An absolutely unputdownable crime thriller (Detective Katie Scott Book 2) Page 8
