Blind Spot (2010)

by Nancy Bush

  “We’ve already discussed that,” Freeson said witheringly. “You cannot get egress without a keycard and code.”

  “Egress,” Lang repeated, lifting an eyebrow in Claire’s direction.

  Her heart twisted uncomfortably in her chest. She liked it that he included her in this odd little war with Avanti and Freeson. He was undeniably attractive, undeniably male, and it just killed her that she noticed.

  “So someone had to help her get egress,” Lang said. “Who would that be?”

  “We don’t know that she’s left. It would be practically impossible. I don’t think we really need you here, Detective,” Avanti said, trying to wrap the words in a smile and failing. “This is an internal problem, not really a job for the police.”

  Lang ignored him and turned to Claire. “Did she have a friend on staff? Someone who could help her? Or, maybe this Gibby person?”

  “We need to do a more thorough search of the hospital before we assume she’s outside the building.” Avanti couldn’t bear someone usurping her authority.

  “But you don’t want us to wake any of the patients,” Claire pointed out.

  “Gibby couldn’t help her get past the doors,” Maria said. “Only a staff member could.”

  “But he could hide her in his room? If he thought she wanted that?” Lang suggested.

  “This is ridiculous!” Freeson’s goatee quivered. “Bradford Gibson can’t hold one idea in his head longer than two seconds! He can’t know anything.”

  “He likes Cat,” Maria said softly. “A lot.”

  “You’re turning this into a circus, Claire,” Avanti accused.

  “I don’t think talking to Gibby qualifies as a circus,” Claire responded.

  “If we don’t wake him up, I’ll just hang around till morning so I can talk to him then,” Lang said.

  “You have no authority!” Freeson could hardly get the words out.

  “It just seems like you’re trying hard to be obstructive rather than helpful. But then…” Lang almost smiled. “I already knew that about this place.”

  Avanti ran a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath. Annoying as he was, he didn’t appear to be his usual self. Claire wondered why he seemed less in control. Where was his big personality? His overbearing surety in all things Avanti?

  Then she caught a whiff of alcohol. Scotch, maybe. He’d been drinking, she realized, though it was a no-no when you were on call. He wasn’t drunk per se, but he didn’t want anyone to know.

  But Lang was really pissing him off. “Fine. You want to talk to Bradford Gibson? Go right ahead,” Avanti snapped. “I’ll make sure Dr. Radke knows just whose idea it was,” he added, glaring at Claire.

  Lang drawled, “I’m sure you always do.”

  Claire felt as if she were standing in a play where everyone knew their lines but her. She moved toward the hall that led to Gibby’s room and Maria and Lang followed after her.

  “Is it always like this?” he asked quietly. “The cold war between you and them?”

  Claire didn’t answer, and after a moment, as if she couldn’t help herself, Maria squeaked out, “Yes!”

  “They don’t trust me,” Claire said, her eyes straight ahead. “Seems to be the effect I have on people.”

  Lang didn’t rise to the bait, which was just as well because Claire was feeling a little out of control about everything. The whole evening had a surreal quality to it, starting with standing outside the gates of Siren Song, to drinking wine with Lang and Dinah, to meeting with Dinah’s father, to learning about Cat’s disappearance, and now this.

  Maria entered Gibby’s room first, and there was a faint beeping sound from an electronic receiver in her pocket. She pulled it out and punched in a code and the sound stopped. There might be no locks on the doors, but when the alarm was tripped, only a staff member with the proper equipment could nullify it.

  There were night-lights in the room and Gibby’s prone form could be made out in his twin bed. He was sleeping soundly, his breathing deep, not quite a snore. Maria turned on a bedside wall lamp and said softly, “Gibby? It’s Maria. Gibby?”

  He blinked several times but was still in the land of dreams.

  She gave him a little shake. “Gibby!”

  He snorted to wakefulness, his eyes flying open in fear. “Ohhh! Ohhh!” he cried.

  “Gibby, it’s Maria. I’m here. I’m here.”

  “And Dr. Norris,” Claire said in a calm voice. “We’re sorry to wake you, Gibby.”

  “Wha…?” He sat up, wearing a flannel pajama top that buttoned down the front, and looked around in a daze. “It’s still night-night time.”

  “Gibby, Cat’s missing,” Claire said. “We were wondering if she came to see you?”

  “Noooo. She wants to leave. She doan like it here, even though the food’s good.”

  “Did she say she was going to leave?” Claire asked.

  “She was waiting for the dinnertime. I got her the clothes.”

  “Clothes?”

  Gibby blinked at Lang. “You want to take her away?” he asked, growing upset.

  “No.” Lang shook his head. “We want to make sure she’s all right, and that she’s still here.”

  “She was leaving.” Gibby was positive.

  “You got her what clothes?” Claire asked.

  “Pants and shirt. She had some shoes.”

  “She dressed in your pants and shirt?”

  “She took them. Under the wheelchair.”

  “Under the wheelchair?” Claire repeated and Gibby nodded at her solemnly. “What does that mean, Gibby?”

  “Under the wheelchair!”

  Maria said, “The seat cushion wasn’t on the chair in Cat’s room. It was on the floor.”

  Claire thought a moment. “Gibby, do you mean she put the clothes you gave her under the seat cushion of the wheelchair?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay,” Claire said. “It’s okay. We just want to help Cat.”

  “Stop calling her that!”

  Lang put in, “Your friend. She was leaving the hospital. By herself?”

  Gibby turned to look at him, his brows knit. “She needed helped. I helped.” He lifted his chin with pride.

  “She told you to get her the clothes,” Lang repeated, to which Gibby nodded vigorously. “And that she was leaving the hospital.”

  “She said, ‘I needs help. Please, please help me. Bring me some clothes, Gibby. After dinner. When no one’s around.’ She said doan tell.” His gaze flew from Lang’s face to Claire’s, stricken.

  “We won’t tell. It’s all right. We want to help her, too,” Claire said.

  Maria had walked through the adjoining bathroom and come back, shaking her head. Cat was not anywhere in Gibby’s small room.

  “She need to leave here,” he said seriously. “She was afraid of them.”

  “Who was Cat afraid of?” Claire asked.

  “Her name is Tasha. She tole me.”

  “She’s afraid of someone called Tasha?”

  “No! She has a name! Tasha! Not Cat!”

  Claire exchanged a glance with Lang, then concentrated on Gibby once more. “She told you her name was Tasha?”

  “Uh-huh. Can I have apple juice?”

  “Sure.” Claire turned to Maria who headed out to fulfill the request. “Who was Tasha afraid of?”

  “She was afraid of them.”

  “Do they have a name?”

  “Baby.” Gibby looked down at his body and patted his stomach.

  Watching Claire interview the boy, Lang was impressed in spite of himself at her patience and kindness.

  “She—Tasha—said she was afraid of them,” Claire repeated, trying to keep Gibby on track. “Who do you think they are?”

  “They hurt her. She had to leave.” He looked up at the ceiling and the shadows that were created from his bedside wall lamp. “They will hurt her some more. My baby.” Gibby wrapped his arms around his own neck cover
ing his mouth and nose with his elbows. “She is scared,” he said, his voice muffled. “She doesn’t have Zimer’s disease. That’s Maribel.”

  Maria returned with a small glass of apple juice and Gibby brightened, taking the glass and gulping half of it down. “Mmmm,” he said.

  “She talked to you, Gibby? Tasha spoke to you. Aloud?” Lang asked.

  Gibby put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. It’s secret.” He drank down the rest of his juice and handed the glass to Maria. “Thank you,” he said soberly.

  “It’s a secret that she can talk,” Claire said.

  “You can’t know!” he said, suddenly alarmed.

  “I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s still a secret,” Claire assured him. “But I’m worried about the bad people.”

  “The bad woman. Like Darlene.” He nodded sagely.

  “Who’s Darlene?” Lang asked.

  “A nurse who works here during the day,” Claire informed him.

  “She’s too mean.” Gibby shuddered and sank down into his pillow. “Night night,” he said firmly.

  “You think Darlene’s mean?” Claire tried.

  “Really, really mean.” He turned his head away and closed his eyes, and no amount of talking to him could get him to say anything further.

  “What do you think?” Lang asked when they were walking back down the hall to the foyer. Avanti and Freeson were still there, clearly waiting to leave only after they were convinced Lang was on his way out, too.

  “I don’t know,” Claire admitted. “We’ll search the other patients’ rooms, but…”

  “You think she’s already gone.”

  “I think Gibby was telling the truth about talking to her. He wouldn’t just make up Tasha as her name. That’s not like him.”

  “And this Darlene?” Lang asked.

  “Gibby might not like her, but Darlene’s entirely trustworthy. Been on staff here for years. I suppose Darlene could have scared Cat…er, Tasha.”

  “Are you finished?” Avanti asked loudly as they crossed toward him.

  Lang and Claire exchanged a look and he nodded to both Avanti and Freeson.

  “I told you you wouldn’t learn anything from Gibby,” Freeson said with a hint of triumph.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Lang said to Claire, and she smiled faintly.

  She let him out of the front doors and only realized after he was out of earshot that she had forgotten to tell him about her trip to meet Dinah’s father.

  The rain pounded down and the wind blew it into Tasha’s face as she stumbled around the back of the houses, shivering, frozen to the bone. She ran in the opposite direction of Rita and crouched in the carport near an open field. There were blocks of look-alike houses on gravel streets. Too many. She’d thought it would be so easy.

  And then suddenly, there it was: the camper on blocks. Rafe’s home. He’d described it to her. Told her where it was. Now she yanked on the handle and wanted to cry when it wouldn’t open. Locked.

  “Hey!” a voice called. A male voice.

  Tasha crushed herself against the side of the camper, willing herself invisible.

  It didn’t work.

  “Hey, you!” He ran toward her through the rain, visible only in the faint light from the nearest house.

  Tasha turned quickly, slipped, went down on one knee. A knife! If only she had a knife!

  She was on her feet again but he caught her by the arm and spun her around.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Trying to break in?”

  “It’s my boyfriend’s place!” she cried.

  That startled him. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  Tasha gave him a long look. “His name’s Rafe.”

  He dropped her arm and staggered back a step, staring at her, rain pouring down his dark hair and forehead, into his hooded eyes.

  “Rafe’s my cousin,” he said.

  She couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Are you Cade? You’re the person I’ve been looking for! Rafe told me to come to you if I ever needed help. I’m Tasha. Rafe’s girlfriend. He and I were running away to get married!”

  Chapter 18

  It felt wrong to go home after searching all the rooms. Wrong to drive away in the wee hours of the morning. Wrong to leave Cat/Jane Doe/Tasha missing with no explanation to where she’d gone.

  Claire tumbled into her bed sometime after three A.M., slept until eight, then raced through a shower and threw on her clothes, her hair still slightly damp as she drove back again to the hospital.

  Darlene was already on duty when she arrived, and as Claire had a nine o’clock appointment with Jamie Lou, she didn’t have time to do more than ask if anything more had been learned of Tasha’s disappearance.

  “Who’s Tasha?” Darlene had asked, and when Claire explained about Cat, Darlene looked thoughtful.

  “I think I heard Gibby call her that once,” she said.

  Claire hurried to her office, her head full of unanswered questions. Jamie Lou came through the door with resentment stamped across her features, but at least the bruises had disappeared and she looked put together. She started right in complaining about how Claire had intimated she couldn’t be her doctor any longer.

  “I’ve been working and working and working,” Jamie Lou said tightly. “That’s all I’ve been doing, and you don’t care.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “John left that bitch and we’re back together,” Jamie Lou shot back. “He loves me. We want to get married, maybe have more children.”

  “Jamie Lou.” Her name came out in a rush of disappointment. Claire was too distracted, too focused on other things to hide her feelings.

  “See?” she declared. “You’re judging me! All you do is look all serious and pretend to listen. You don’t care what happens to me. Not really. You don’t want me to call you with my problems. You want to brush me off like dog hair!”

  “I just don’t want your self-destructive behavior to get the best of you.”

  “I’m going to go see John,” she said, ignoring everything Claire was trying to do and say. “He loves me. None of the rest of you care what happens to me. You’d be happy if I was dead!”

  “That’s not true.” Claire denied it again, but Jamie was already running out of the office to her next uncontrollable calamity.

  Lang clicked off his cell phone, having rented a U-Haul van to move his bed. He would load up the rest of his items and finalize his move. That, at least, would be done, and then he could concentrate on finalizing this case as well.

  He’d dreamed of Dr. Norris. Visions of her shapely legs, serious manner, wide eyes, and generous lips ran across his mind in a loop that left him a little worried for his own sanity.

  He drove his truck to the rental station, collected the moving van, and was nearly finished putting his belongings inside when his cell phone rang. Claire, he thought, quickly pulling the phone from his pocket.

  But caller ID said it was the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department.

  “Stone,” he answered.

  “Clausen,” the deputy responded back. “I’m calling for O’Halloran, who’s in a meeting with Catherine from Siren Song. She just walked in. Apparently, she got your notes.”

  “My God, I’m in Portland!” Lang said, frustrated. “Is there any way I can see her later?”

  “The sheriff tried that, but she doesn’t seem receptive. He’ll call you as soon as they’re done.”

  “Ask if I can come to Siren Song later.”

  “Okay.” He sounded dubious about the success of that.

  “Jane Doe is missing from Halo Valley,” he added before Clausen could hang up.

  “What?”

  Lang gave him a quick rundown of what had transpired the night before. “Nobody knows where she is. How she left, if she did. I’m going to call Dr. Norris and see if they’ve learned anything else, and if she’s a missing person. I’ll let you know. But tell the sheriff to bring it up to Catherine. See h
ow it plays with her. She may know something about it.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Clausen assured.

  Lang hung up and was consumed with frustration. Damn! What the hell? Catherine’s timing was diabolical.

  Quickly he finished packing the van, then burned out of the driveway on his last moving trip to the coast. There was no way—no way—he could get there in time to talk to her. It just wouldn’t happen no matter what kind of vehicle he was driving.

  As soon as he was under way he punched in Claire’s cell phone number, but it went straight to voice mail. He left a message asking her to call, explaining that Catherine had shown up at the department unannounced.

  “Maybe taking Claire to the lodge was a good idea,” he realized after he’d ended the message.

  Maybe that’s what had brought Catherine out from behind her gates.

  Seated in an interrogation room, Catherine was disappointed to realize that the man who’d left her the notes and the woman doctor were not available. The sheriff, O’Halloran, was explaining that the doctor was affiliated with some psychiatric hospital between here and Salem, and that the man with the notes had been hired by the department but wasn’t actually on the roster just yet.

  “He asked me to call him on his telephone,” Catherine stated.

  “He has a cell phone. A mobile phone,” O’Halloran said with a nod. “But since you’re here, I can go over what he wanted to talk about with you.”

  Catherine waited, her hands in her lap. She didn’t like being there. Didn’t like sitting in a chair like a schoolgirl in front of a disciplinarian.

  “The detective’s name is Langdon Stone, and he’s working on a homicide case.”

  “Homicide,” Catherine repeated, startled.

  “The victim’s name is Rafe Worster. He was traveling with a young woman who is in her third trimester of pregnancy. This woman was also attacked, but her injuries weren’t life threatening. However, she has not spoken since the attack. From what I understand, she’s been in and out of a catatonic state.”

  Catherine, under control again, said, “I know the young man.”