Blind Spot

by Nancy Bush

  “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?”

  “So you really don’t know.”

  Freeson stated flatly, “She’s not ‘faking it.’ She’s suffered trauma and she’s repressing reality.”

  “She’s completely nonresponsive?” This from Tanninger.

  To him, Claire said, “I honestly wish she could help you. I just don’t think she can right now.”

  They stopped outside room 113. Claire opened the door and checked on Cat first. She was lying on the bed, on her back, her eyes closed. Langdon Stone pushed in behind her and Claire quickly moved out of the way, not wanting to even touch him. He gazed at the woman in the bed for a long moment, then lifted his head and stared through the window beyond toward Side B of the hospital. On this first level, mostly all that could be seen was the laurel hedge that blocked the view of the locked-down portion of the hospital, but the razor wire above the chain-link fence stood out. Side B was a hospital and a prison; there was no denying that. Access was only by two doors, on the north and south wings from Side A, farther down the same skyway that connected the medical office buildings to the hospital. Those doors were guarded and well locked. Claire knew Stone was thinking of Marsdon. This she understood. She thought of him a lot as well.

  “She’s asleep,” Claire said.

  Freeson squeezed around them into the room. He frowned at the patient, as if she were thwarting him directly. “We want to comply with the authorities,” he said.

  Claire realized that Stone hadn’t introduced himself as a detective. He’d only given his name. Langdon Stone. Did that mean something, or was he off the force? And what was he doing with the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department?

  Freeson added, disappointed, “But as you can see, she’s not really ready for an interview.”

  Stone was staring critically at the blond patient again, his brow furrowed. Freeson went on about her injuries and seemed about to show the detectives the marks scored across her belly, much to Claire’s dismay, but Tanninger said it wouldn’t be necessary. They had pictures. They knew someone had slashed at her. He, at least, seemed to respect Cat’s personal privacy.

  An awkward silence ensued, as if they’d all run out of things to say, which was probably the truth. Claire was about to suggest they head back toward the front of the hospital when Cat’s eyes slowly opened.

  They all took a collective breath.

  “Well…” Freeson murmured.

  Her head was lying on the pillow, her blue eyes staring. The emptiness of her expression was impossible to miss. Stone’s grim face grew grimmer, as if he’d just realized how awful the whole thing was. Cat had a china-doll look about her. An innocence. An overall niceness that made the attack on her seem that much more horrific.

  Freeson cleared his throat. “Hello, there,” he said brightly, as if he and Cat were BFFs. “How are you feeling today?”

  No response.

  “These men are with the sheriff’s department and they want to talk to you about what happened.”

  Claire had to look away, mentally biting her tongue. It almost hurt how much Freeson was trying to impress the detectives. The man was a sycophantic worm with delusions of coolness that no Vandyck and Thom McAn shoes were going to make come true.

  She felt Stone’s gaze upon her but studiously avoided making eye contact. She didn’t like him, either. She didn’t have to. The only one in the room who seemed to have something worthwhile to offer was Detective Tanninger from Winslow County.

  So, what the hell was Langdon Stone doing with him?

  She finally glanced back and was jolted to find Stone’s blue gaze on her. “Aren’t you with the Portland police?” she asked him.

  “Not any longer.”

  “You’ve changed jobs.”

  “I quit. Right after…” He let it trail away, but Claire knew it wasn’t to spare her feelings. He was making a point. She felt as if he’d shot a dart into the center of her heart.

  “You’re with the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department?” She wondered where the uniform was.

  “Not really,” he said.

  Tanninger glanced from Claire to Stone and back again. “The department’s a little shorthanded right now,” he said. “Detective Stone’s on a kind of furlough with the Portland P.D. He’s helping us out.”

  Claire heard alarm bells. She didn’t want him involved in Cat’s story. She didn’t want him hanging around, asking questions, interviewing hospital employees. She’d thought this was a one-time event, but now she wondered.

  “Good enough,” Freeson said. “Catch the bad guys any way you can.” He enthusiastically pumped Stone’s and Tanninger’s hands as if his arm were hitched to an electric motor.

  “That’s the plan,” Stone said.

  “Jane Doe can’t help you yet, I’m afraid,” Claire said.

  “No,” he agreed. “And no one’s tried to see her?”

  “Not here.”

  “Not at Laurelton General, either,” Will Tanninger said.

  “That’s why we allowed the news team in,” Freeson pointed out. “To keep the public aware of her.”

  Stone said, “Maybe her deceased companion was her only friend.”

  They all silently considered that, their collective gaze on the woman in the bed staring mutely at the opposite wall. In unspoken consensual decision, they moved into the hall and back toward the front of the hospital.

  Tanninger asked, “It’s definite that someone tried to cut out her baby?”

  “Oh, yes.” Freeson’s steps slowed. “She’s bandaged, but I could still show you the marks.”

  Stone swept a hand to forestall him. “We’ve got pictures. Just wanted your take that medically speaking, these wounds weren’t just made in the struggle.”

  “They were purposeful,” Claire said.

  “They’re knife wounds,” Freeson put in. “She was slashed. Someone meant business.”

  “The wounds weren’t deep,” Claire said. “They were—done a bit frantically.”

  “What makes you say that?” Stone asked.

  They were outside their original meeting room, but no one made a move to enter. Claire drew a breath. “It wasn’t surgery, Mr. Stone. It was hurried. It wasn’t thought out.”

  “Whoever did it was clearly trying to get it done before they were caught,” Freeson said frostily.

  Tanninger spoke up. “The trucker who found her said the male vic was still alive when he got there. Maybe John Doe intervened and made it impossible for the baby stealer to succeed.”

  “Lucky for her,” Stone said. “But it probably cost him his life.”

  Freeson started talking about the horror of violence that was such a part of everyday life these days until Stone interrupted with, “What happens when the baby’s born?”

  Freeson looked nonplused, like the thought had never occurred to him.

  Claire said, “Hopefully, our patient will have recovered enough by then to take care of the child.”

  “And if she hasn’t?” Stone wasn’t giving up.

  “Social Services will be called,” she answered, the words tasting like ashes on her tongue.

  “Think our homicide vic was the baby’s father?” Stone looked at Tanninger, who shrugged and said, “DNA testing will tell. If he isn’t, the father could still be out there.”

  “This is forward-tripping, and it isn’t doing us any good,” Claire said. “There’s every indication that our Jane Doe will recover and be able to tell us what we need to know.”

  “That would be great,” S
tone said. “The question is, when.”

  “If there’s any change, you’ll let us know?” Tanninger had turned to Claire, but Freeson jumped in and assured him they would call them immediately as soon as Cat was able to communicate.

  A few minutes later, they all headed for the front doors, and Claire, after saying her good-byes, hurried out ahead of the three men. Freeson, however, wasn’t that easy for Claire to shake.

  “Claire!” he called after her as she turned the corner for the elevator.

  She pressed the button, determined to outpace him, but he got there before the car opened. They stepped inside together.

  “That was Melody Stone’s brother!” he declared.

  “I’m aware.”

  “What the hell was he doing here? He’s no longer a detective, is he?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

  “We should talk to Tanninger only. Not Stone. Not good for the hospital. I should alert Radke about this and maybe the Marsdons. Could be trouble.”

  “For God’s sake, stop acting so damn guilty all the time. We didn’t do anything wrong. It was a tragedy. A horrible, shocking tragedy. Langdon Stone may have a vendetta against us, but—”

  “A vendetta!”

  “—it all comes down to the fact that Heyward had a psychotic break and thought his girlfriend and I were some deadly, evil beings. Heyward still doesn’t get it, from what I’ve heard. Calls for me. Calls for Melody. It’s…awful. Awful. And Stone may want some kind of revenge, blaming us for his sister’s death. Okay. It’s transference. He wants his sister back. We all get it. But don’t make it worse by running scared!”

  “I’m not running scared!”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s your name on the release form, Claire.”

  It felt like she’d been slapped. Again. “Oh. Thanks so much.”

  “I only mean, we’re all in this together.”

  “No. You have your own cabal. I’m on my own. I always have been.”

  “That’s the kind of talk that pisses everybody off!” Freeson declared with a shake of his head. “You’re not a team player. You don’t have the hospital’s best interests at heart.”

  “I have my patients’ best interests at heart,” she shot back, stalking off the elevator car as soon as the doors whispered open.

  “We all have to work together!” Freeson called after her.

  But she’d already forgotten him. Her mind’s eye was full of the sights and sounds of Langdon Stone. He hated her. Blamed her. Had undoubtedly taken Cat’s case as a means to extract some sort of retribution.

  Fine. Bring it on. She was tired of being everybody’s whipping girl.

  God, she was a frozen bitch, Lang thought, his eyes on the slim legs of the good doctor Norris as she broke away from them. Figured. This whole place was a frigid tomb. Gave him the heebie-jeebies but good. He couldn’t wait to be outside and suck in some non-antiseptic-scented air. Why couldn’t Jane Doe be anywhere else but here? It felt a little like Melody’s ghost was hovering nearby. He definitely felt hidden eyes, and since he’d been accused by an ex-girlfriend or two of not being very imaginative, he wondered if he was changing, maybe not for the better. His subconscious was definitely trying to tell him something.

  “What do you think?” Tanninger asked, his gaze on the retreating form of Dr. Freeson, who was trying to hail Claire Norris.

  “I think we’re going to get more out of the file than from Jane Doe herself. At least for now.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “I called the trucker, Denny Ewell. He said he’d be happy to meet with me, but I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to learn much. Maybe I’ll have more luck with the stolen car’s owner.”

  The plates had been run on the vehicle left at the crime scene, the one they believed to be driven by John and Jane Doe. It was registered to a Tillamook County farmer by the name of Tim Rooney who, when called, ranted that the damn thing had been stolen and when would he get it back? Lang was going to meet with him in person and see if he could learn anything further.

  “I hope Jane Doe comes back in time for the baby’s birth,” Stone remarked.

  Tanninger nodded. “That doctor…Norris. She’s the one who was treating Marsdon.” He spoke neutrally, but he’d clearly gotten the scope of what was going on.

  “She’s the one.”

  “This case is going to throw you in with her. Still want it?”

  Lang was silent, absorbing. Finally, he growled, “Yeah. I got a problem with her and this hospital, though. Doc Freeson can sing its praises to the skies, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  “A personal problem?”

  “That’s about right.”

  “That why you took this case?”

  Lang shook his head. “Coincidence. This one’s just the first one my partner interested me in.”

  “Coincidence,” Tanninger repeated, making a face as if it tasted bad. “Don’t go all cowboy on me and try to do it alone. Detective Gillette will be back, and she can take over.”

  Lang immediately wanted to squelch that idea, but he was the outsider, so he nodded in agreement. He and Will headed out the doors to the portico together and ran directly into Pauline Kirby and her cameraman.

  “Detective Stone,” she said, wearing her best smile. “Following up on the Marsdon case? Anything you can talk about?”

  “There is no Marsdon case,” Lang said after a moment of quiet. “He’s incarcerated.”

  “You were against him coming to Halo Valley, as I recall. You wanted him in prison.”

  “I thought you reported news, Ms. Kirby. This is ancient history.”

  “You’re making a visit here. That’s news. Are you checking up on Mr. Marsdon, seeing if you can change the situation?”

  Will said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and with a faint smile, left Lang with the barracuda. Kirby seemed like she wanted to stop Tanninger, but she was ill equipped to trap them both. Lang was ready to walk, too.

  “Did you speak with Dr. Norris about him?” Pauline asked.

  That did it. He was done. He turned away from her, and with a last look across the building to the bank of windows on the opposite side and a view of the locked-down section of the hospital, Lang shook off Pauline Kirby and his heebie-jeebies over Halo Valley. The heavily secured side of the hospital was blocked mostly by a laurel hedge, but you got the idea. Heyward Marsdon III was there. His sister’s killer. He hoped the man was in a straightjacket in a five-by-five white, padded room, but with the Marsdon money, he probably had a pool table and cable TV at his disposal. A private masseuse. Private bathroom. Private everything.

  Sick bastard.

  “Detective Stone!” Pauline called to his retreating back as he headed to his truck.

  He ignored her, throwing the Dodge into reverse. As he left, his eyes scanned the manicured grounds and facade of this, the benign side of the hospital. A wind was blowing the trees, exposing the yellowy underside of the birch leaves. The firs waved thick arms at him and rain dashed across the windshield. Behind the first building he could see the green and brown hills in the distance, above the roof of the locked-down side of the hospital.

  “Rot in hell,” he muttered, throwing the truck into gear.

  He had no compassion for his sister’s killer. Whatever demons Marsdon possessed had taken over and ended Melody’s life. He didn’t have to care. He didn’t have to feel mercy. He wanted her back and it wasn’t going to happen, so now all he wanted was justice.

  In his rearview, he thought Pauline might be giving him the finger.

  At six o’clock, Claire walked her last patient to the door, then grabbed her purse and coat, locked everything up, and left her office. She carried her raincoat over her arm as she strode across the gallery, down the front steps, and toward the hallway to 113. The morning room was mostly empty right now, but Darlene was on duty. She, too, was on Claire’s side, and now she plodded up to her.

  “Che
cking on Cat?” she asked.

  “Thought I’d pop a head in on my way out.”

  “That was the brother, wasn’t it? The cop?” Darlene threw a glance toward the front of the building, through the sliding glass doors to the portico, parking lot, and waving fir limbs beyond.

  “Ex-cop,” Claire said. “Melody Stone’s brother, yes.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “Working with the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department, apparently. Some kind of liaison.”

  “Like a deputy?” Darlene asked.

  “I didn’t ask specifics.”

  She couldn’t wait to go home to her bungalow. The coziness was calling to her. Maybe Dinah would be home. Or, even better, she wanted to wrap herself in a blanket, go out to the deck, stare toward the ocean, and simply shut her brain down.

  “He was hot,” Darlene added as Alison suddenly stepped into the hall ahead of them from one of the rooms. Cat’s room, Claire realized, as Alison said, “Dr. Norris? Cat’s trying to say something!”

  Darlene and Claire picked up their pace as the aide ducked back in the room, her mop of curly hair bouncing. Claire entered and saw that Cat was lying inert on the bed, staring straight ahead, just the same as she’d left her earlier. She gave Alison a questioning look. “She was moving,” the aide insisted.

  “Moving how?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t know…like in distress…?”

  And then, as if on cue, Cat slowly lifted a hand and plucked at her hospital gown. Her blue eyes were open wide, staring ahead to some tableau only she could see. It was eerie, and Claire heard Darlene and Alison both sweep in their breath. She, too, was suspended. As they watched, Cat clawed up her hospital gown and ran her hand over her bandaged wounds. Then she curled her fingers, lifted her hand as if holding a knife, and sliced across her stretched skin.

  Alison emitted a little blurp of fear, her curly mop shivering a bit. She turned to Claire with scared eyes. “She knows someone cut her! Who would do such a thing?”

  Darlene stepped forward and put her hand over the patient’s. The agitated motion ceased and Cat closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows as if exhausted.