Blind Spot (2010)

by Nancy Bush

  Fuck ’em all. She was important, and they were miserable larva.

  “Hurry up,” she told the production crew at large. “They’re only giving us a few minutes.”

  “We’re ready,” Darrell said as he hefted the camera on his shoulder. He, at least, could get the job done.

  Pauline led Darrell through the front doors; all she needed was one cameraman for the interview. She’d been granted access, but still needed to bully her way past all the hospital security. To that end, she smiled at the woman at the desk, who pressed some button and opened the doors. She looked slightly alarmed, gazing through the glass doors to the van outside, then back again to Pauline and Darrell as they entered.

  “Doctor Freeson invited us,” Pauline said. “He wants to get your Jane Doe’s face on camera, try to find her family members.”

  The girl nodded, slowly, like the news was taking a loonngg time climbing up that neuron. “I’ll call him,” she finally said and picked up the receiver.

  “We’re only here for a few minutes. We have places to be,” Pauline pressed. She glanced around quickly. Entry room. Straight ahead a main room with tables, a gathering place. Several hallways branching off north and south. Stairs sweeping grandly to an upper gallery and more hallways.

  “Dr. Freeson, some newspeople are here…?”

  “Pauline Kirby, thank you,” Pauline said tautly.

  “Pauline Kirby,” the girl responded dutifully, but the little bitch apparently had no idea who Pauline was.

  There was a brief interchange and the girl hung up, eyeing Pauline warily. “Dr. Freeson will be right here.”

  “Stat,” Pauline said. “Good.”

  They moved away from the desk and Darrell said in her ear, “Play nice.”

  “Playing nice is for amateurs.”

  “And you’re no amateur.”

  Pauline shot him a look but Darrell wisely didn’t respond. They were both diverted by the arrival of Dr. Freeson bustling down the grand staircase. He was a slight man with a Vandyck beard and a fussy style that made Pauline smile internally.

  He looked suitably starstruck as he came up to her and stuck out his hand. “Ms. Kirby, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you want to do the interview here?” He gestured toward the gathering room.

  “Can you take us to see the patient, please?”

  “I’m sorry. That’s against hospital pol—”

  “Has anyone contacted you about her? Our station received a number of call-ins after our first story, but we didn’t have a good picture, if you recall.”

  “I do. I know. That’s why we wanted more exposure.”

  “We need a picture. Can’t we just take our cameras to her? We’ll be out in less than ten minutes.”

  “I’m sorry.” He shook his head and looked like he really was very sorry. He could see his fifteen minutes of fame blowing to dust.

  “Then can you bring her to us?” Pauline motioned to the general area surrounding them.

  Dr. Freeson hesitated. Pauline’s upper white teeth bit into her lower lip while she was smiling. A shark’s look. One she’d perfected without even being aware of it. “One quick shot, and then maybe we can go into that room with the chairs and talk with you a while.”

  Freeson’s eyes slid a look to Darrell and the television camera he balanced on his shoulder. Bingo, Pauline thought, but she kept her expression pleasantly neutral.

  Everything was going swimmingly until a slim brunette in a lab coat with surprisingly good legs entered from one of the hallways. Pauline recognized her vaguely. Someone…oh, yes…the patsy for that throat-slitting by the youngest Marsdon…Heyward Marsdon III or IV. Poor woman. Marsdon was a real psycho if Pauline had ever seen one. Pauline automatically straightened her posture, sensing a battle about to brew.

  The woman exchanged a chilly glance with Dr. Freeson. She said, “Lori called me.”

  Freeson glared at the receptionist, the hapless Lori, apparently. “I was going to call you,” he stated stiffly. Then to Pauline, “I’ll have one of the nurses see about our Jane Doe.” He walked away abruptly.

  Amused, Pauline watched the brunette stare at his retreating back with a grim expression. She then turned toward the news crew duo and said, “Our patient isn’t speaking.”

  Pauline nodded. “Not responding to stimuli of any sort. We know. It’s a human interest story. There must be someone out there who’s missing her.”

  “I’m Dr. Claire Norris. We’ve met before.” She didn’t extend her hand.

  Pauline nodded. “Yes, over the murder here. How are you doing, by the way?”

  “Fine. I didn’t like your reporting of the so-called facts at the time. Think you can keep it less lurid this time?”

  Pauline felt a tingle of surprise and Darrell made an amused sound that sounded like a half gasp. “One patient slitting another’s throat in front of his doctor is kind of lurid, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Today’s patient, the one you say you want to help, has retreated, owing to shock and fear.”

  “Someone tried to cut out her baby. I’m sure she is traumatized.” Pauline wanted to hurry this along. She hated wasting time.

  “She is.” Dr. Norris was firm. “She’s not talking. She’s recovering slowly.”

  “In case you missed it, the point is, we’re trying to help. We want a story and when we have it, maybe we’ll find someone to identify your little mommy in the process. It’s good for all of us. I’m sorry for her. I truly am. But being mad at me for doing my job isn’t helping any of us. Am I coming through?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  Her tone irked Pauline. She was so calm and cool and there was an itsy-bitsy little judgmental part of her—the stuffy doctor part whereby she had a rod up her ass—that she couldn’t quite hide. “All right, let’s get this little lady teed up and do our thing. We’ll be out in no time. Ah!” She grinned as the blond woman in question was wheeled from the hallway by a mousy-looking aide of some kind. Freeson was hovering behind.

  Pauline’s focus changed to the sweet-faced victim in the wheelchair. She was so fragile seeming. Too young to be a mommy, but then, some people just didn’t see the advantage to ending an inconvenient pregnancy. Not that Pauline was pro-abortion. Not that she would admit publicly, anyway, but c’mon! This girl was a child. Barely looked old enough to breed.

  She would make absolutely great television.

  With an almost imperceptible motion to Darrell, who never needed cuing anyway, she leaned down toward the patient and said, “Jane Doe is no name for someone as special as you, honey. Can you look at me?” The girl’s head was tilted so all you could see was her crown, her eyes downcast.

  “Dr. Freeson?” Claire Norris said in a frigid tone.

  “Can you just take a picture?” Freeson said anxiously. “A still.”

  “Sure. It’d be better if she looked up, though.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want the spotlight.” Norris looked around, as if searching for security.

  Pauline touched the girl’s hand. “Hey, there,” she said. “We’re going to help you find your people, but we need a picture, honey. Could you lift your head?”

  Freeson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Pauline gave him her sweetest look. “Maybe you could just put your hand under her chin?”

  “Dr. Freeson, if you can’t get them out of here, I will,” Dr. Norris snapped furiously, her feet tap-tapping toward the front desk.

  The bitch was was going to ruin the whole thing. “We’ll go,” Pauline said.

  “My interview?” Freeson said vaguely as they turned to leave.

  “Your little friend kinda took that away from you, honey,” Pauline told him as she turned aside. Darrell followed on her heels. They walked out the door and toward the van, climbed inside. Pauline wasn’t happy as they settled into their seats. She really hated women. They got in the way at every turn.

  A gray truck came up the long drive from the highway followed by a sheriff�
��s Jeep with Winslow County Sheriff’s Department written in white on its black sides. Both Pauline and Darrell examined the newcomers with interest.

  “Who called the cavalry?” Pauline murmured, then motioned the driver to wait. “The guy in the black leather jacket. I know him. Who is he?”

  “Last week’s booty call?” The driver sniggered, but no one else in the van dared such a one-way ticket to you’re-fired-ville.

  Pauline sent him a scathing look, mentally reminded herself to can his sorry ass, then said, “Detective Langford Stone. Or something.” She snapped her fingers a couple of times. “Langdon.”

  “The guy whose sister was killed by Marsdon,” Darrell said on a long whistle.

  “Kill that engine, moron,” Pauline snapped to the driver. “We’re sticking around.”

  Chapter 5

  As Lang pulled into a spot in front of Halo Valley hospital, he could feel the tightening in his chest. He didn’t like anything about this place. He couldn’t.

  Detective Tanninger was following in his department-issue Jeep. He pulled in a couple of slots over from Lang’s truck. Since their first meeting, Lang had checked with Curtis about the man and had learned a few interesting facts.

  “About a year ago, remember that pedophile guy with the van and ropes and stuff?” Curtis told him. “The guy that was run down by some woman?”

  “Yeah. He ended up at Laurelton Hospital.”

  Curtis nodded. “Tanninger was on that case. Worked it hard. A lot of pieces to it that I forget the details, but the woman he’s seeing now? She was someone he met during the investigation. A suspect.”

  Lang turned the wheels of his brain backward, trying to remember what he knew about the case. There were pieces of information before Melody’s death, and pieces after. Sometimes the answers were there, but sometimes they weren’t. Like he’d suffered some kind of memory leakage that he didn’t care to stop. “Was she the one who ran him down?”

  “Winslow County says no. Tanninger’s a straight arrow. Doesn’t seem like he’d be with someone who tried to kill a man, even if he deserved to die.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s so eager to give me this case,” Lang mused. “Doesn’t want the drama.”

  “Maybe. And thanks for the beer.” Lang had been the first one to see Curtis at Dooley’s.

  Now as he watched Tanninger stride toward him, he thought, You never know about people. Seeing Tanninger’s attention was diverted, he followed his gaze to the Channel Seven news van parked on the far side of the hospital’s front portico.

  “Shit,” Lang said as they met up.

  Tanninger chuckled.

  Claire had barely returned to her office when her intercom buzzed. “The police are here,” Lori said, her voice hushed. “I already called Dr. Freeson again.”

  “Did he tell you to call me?”

  “I did that on my own. Like with Channel Seven.”

  “Thanks, Lori.”

  “No problem.” She hung up.

  Annoyance. That’s what Claire felt. And a little bubbling anger. Being the hospital’s receptionist, Lori was attuned to the inner workings of the hospital and had landed firmly on Claire’s side when the shit had hit the fan, so to speak. It was still a surprise and a pleasure to learn members of the staff felt she’d been given a raw deal and wanted to support her. And all Claire wanted now was to protect Cat, and though the authorities wouldn’t learn anything from her, this apparently was part of the procedure and needed to be done. A box to check. A report to file.

  Fine.

  Lori saw Claire arrive and motioned outside where the Channel Seven news van was still loitering. She realized they’d probably seen the police arrive and were curious about what was going on.

  “The officers are in the private room,” Lori said, her gaze, like Claire’s, still focused outside.

  “Thanks.” Claire pulled her attention away from Pauline Kirby and company and headed to the private room around the corner, a room with low chairs and tables done in tasteful grays and tans. It was staged to resemble a den and mainly used as a meeting area for family members who wanted updates on their loved ones’ conditions. Better than an office. More warm and intimate. Was it the best place to meet the police? Maybe not. Claire would have preferred the barrier of her own desk.

  She pushed through the French doors, the glass currently shuttered by mahogany-stained plantation blinds. The room was dark inside, dimly lit, and Claire automatically slid the button for the dimmer up a couple of notches.

  Freeson was already there, talking about the hospital as if he owned it personally, his chest pushed out, his beard quivering, his lips pulled into a smile. He glanced at Claire but didn’t stop his speech. “—the finest in the region. Our care is exemplary, and funding provided by private donors has made it possible for Halo Valley Security to go toe to toe with larger institutions with our state-of-the-art equipment and top personnel.”

  The two men standing in the room definitely looked like The Law. One wore the tan shirt and slacks of the sheriff’s department. Not Tillamook County, she realized. Winslow County. Of course. Where the attack had occurred. His hair was dark brown and he had a quiet demeanor, slightly intense, slightly careful. Claire’s gaze slid from him to the other man, who, in a rain-dampened black leather jacket and jeans, looked almost rumpled compared to the first. The second man’s hair was even darker, his expression grimmer. He gazed at Claire with razor intensity and her breath caught.

  She knew him. Melody Stone’s brother. Portland P.D.

  What is he doing here?

  Freeson was going on: “The state hospital’s beds are full, and Halo Valley takes patients from them, as well as our own, such as Jane Doe, who cannot offer financial remuneration—”

  With an effort Claire quickly schooled her face, hoping the muscles weren’t as tense as they felt. Too little, too late. Stone had seen her momentary shock.

  “—at least not yet, since no one knows who she is. In cases like hers, Halo Valley absorbs the costs, sometimes with no expectation of reimbursement.”

  “I’m Langdon Stone,” the rain-dampened man cut in flatly, causing Freeson to stop with his mouth open.

  Claire said, “Yes, I recognize you. I’m—”

  “I know who you are.”

  His partner turned to look at him momentarily, then, slightly bemused, reached out a hand to Claire. “Will Tanninger, detective with Winslow County Sheriff’s Department. I don’t know who you are.”

  “Dr. Claire Norris.” She shook his hand. There was a spreading cold in the small of her back. Langdon Stone? “You’re here to see our Jane Doe. I’m not sure how that can help.”

  “She communicating yet?” This from Stone.

  “She hasn’t spoken, no.”

  “But she’s communicated,” he pressed.

  “She’s in a catatonic state,” she responded tightly. “She stares straight ahead and doesn’t react to conversation or even loud noises. She’s also pregnant. Seven, eight months.” She turned to Freeson, who was staring at Langdon Stone in wide-eyed silence. “Dr. Freeson is her primary doctor, but anyone under the hospital’s care is looked after by all members of its staff. I personally don’t believe this meeting’s necessary, but it wasn’t my decision to make.”

  “As long as you’re respectful of her condition,” Freeson bubbled back in, “you’re certainly welcome to see her. It’s true, she hasn’t spoken yet, but she’s made great progress.”

  What progress is that? Claire wondered. “We’re ignoring hospital policy again,” she said for Freeson’s benefit, wondering why she felt like the prig when she was just trying to follow orders.

  “Let’s see her,” Stone said.

  Claire resented his tone. Wanted to remind him that Cat was a person and should be treated like one, and his attitude sucked, blah, blah, blah, but decided it wouldn’t change anything. She nodded curtly and swept out ahead of them, the chill in the small of her back radiating throughout her sp
ine and down her arms and legs. What the hell was Langdon Stone doing here? All he’d done was badmouth Halo Valley and every member of the staff since Melody’s death. It wasn’t like she didn’t have sympathy for him. He’d lost his sister at Heyward Marsdon’s hands. But, even more than her colleagues, he seemed to blame her personally for what happened. She’d heard him on an unscripted television interview.

  Detective Stone, do you blame Halo Valley for the death of your sister?

  I blame Heyward Marsdon. Halo Valley just aided and abetted. They were the ones who ordered his release.

  Anyone in particular?

  Doctor Norris. The one he held at knifepoint. Glad she’s not hurt, but what does it take to recognize a psycho? Especially when it’s your damn job?

  He’d been in jeans then, too. Dark brows slammed over intense blue eyes. He looked downright mean, and Claire had wondered straight up if he was one of those cops that could have just as easily walked the other side of the law. Probably. If she had half an hour with him alone, she thought she would be able to tell.

  They caught up with her as they headed down the hall. Freeson had recovered himself a little, though he was clearly wary of Stone. He seemed to be deciding whether to say something about Melody or not. Detective Tanninger broke in before he could speak. “What do you think about Jane Doe’s condition?” he asked Claire.

  “Physically, she’s recovering well,” Freeson answered for her.

  “Did you put her in front of the cameras?” Stone accused.

  “They wanted a picture to broadcast in case someone recognizes her,” Claire said.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “We need to find out who she is, and the media is a good route. Yes.”

  “If she’s catatonic, will she even know we’re here?” Stone asked.

  “If?” Claire repeated.

  They stared at one another, sizing each other up.

  “Well, there’s a question,” he drawled. “Could she be faking it?”

  He was baiting her. She’d been baited by the best of them. “What would be the point of it?”