Helen frowned. “Dr. Quinn doesn’t like surprises.”
“I think he’ll appreciate this one. Do we have a deal?”
While Helen thought it over, Marti silently urged her to make the right choice.
“I don’t . . .”
“Dr. Quinn doesn’t have to know I told you about it in advance. It could be a surprise to you as well.”
“Under those conditions, okay.”
And we move one step closer, Marti thought, going back to her office. Surely six days was enough time for the two men she was counting on to arrange their schedules. She’d alerted them yesterday to stay ready.
There hadn’t been a single day since Lee was murdered that Marti had been truly happy. And she wasn’t happy now. But at least she was excited. Even that was an improvement.
Chapter 9
MARTI LEFT the hospital promptly at five o’clock and drove home. On the leg of the dirt driveway between Clay’s house and hers, she met him coming toward her. They each swerved onto the shoulder, stopped when their vehicles were aligned with each other, and rolled down their windows.
“I got your deadbolts installed,” Clay said. “Your new key is under the doormat. Same one works both doors.”
“Thanks. I know you’ve been busy today and that wasn’t easy to fit in.”
“No problem. I realize how important it was to you. Say, I want to apologize for Jackie at lunch this afternoon. It was nothing personal against you. Her sister used to work at Gibson, and while she was there, she had a stroke or something. That was last fall, and she’s still nowhere near normal. She’s had to relearn how to do practically everything. For some reason, Jackie blames Gibson and takes an immediate dislike to anyone associated with the place.”
“I understand. Believe me, I know how close sisters can be and how much pain that’s causing Jackie.”
“You said that like you’ve experienced something similar yourself.”
“No, I just meant . . . my training gives me a good insight into those kinds of situations, and I’ve seen it happen to others.”
He was such a nice guy and had extended himself so much to fix her locks, it made Marti feel bad that she’d rebuffed him yesterday for what hadn’t even been a pass at her. “You’ve already done enough for me today, but I wonder if you’d have time after dinner to show me those otters.”
Clay grinned, obviously pleased at her request. “How about six-thirty? That should give us enough time before dark.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Driving on, Marti wondered why, with all she had on her mind, she’d done that. Probably to show him she didn’t harbor any ill feelings toward him for Jackie’s behavior at lunch.
The new locks worked beautifully and made Marti feel much more secure. So when she made the first call to California, she felt like everything was falling into place. But she quickly hit a slight snag with Douglas Packard.
She preferred to proceed with the plan on Tuesday of next week, when Quinn would actually be sitting on his panel in Atlanta. But Packard, she discovered, had a commitment that would allow him to be there only on Monday. So Monday it would be . . . unless the second participant couldn’t be there then. She punched the number into her cell phone.
“Marti Segerson calling Barry Glaser, please.”
Glaser promptly came on the line. “It’s all set for next Monday,” Marti said. “I thought we’d do it around two o’clock. If you can get here in the morning, that should give you enough time to get set up. Can you be here? . . . Great. When you’ve made your flight arrangements, call back and we’ll iron out the details.”
CLAY ARRIVED at six-thirty in jeans and a stone-washed blue denim shirt, not looking at all like a history professor. Seeing his rugged clothing, Marti thought her own blue big shirt with the rolled-up sleeves was an appropriate choice, but felt that her white pants with their pink and blue window-pane pattern were probably a mistake. Too late now.
They picked up the main trail to the creek from the road between their two homes and entered the field of waist-high flowers and grasses.
“I’ve never seen so many butterflies,” Marti said.
“Most of them are a type known as skippers. They’re called that because they stay close to the ground and skip from flower to flower.”
“Not a bad way to make a living.”
A skipper fluttered near and landed on Marti’s shoulder.
“A compliment,” Clay said, noticing.
“Or it’s just tired.”
“Then why didn’t it land on me?”
“My shoulder’s closer to the ground.”
“I see you were listening.”
“It’s one of the things I do best.”
The skipper went back to work, and Clay and Marti resumed walking.
A few seconds later, Clay suddenly stopped moving and pointed down the trail. “Look there, on the ground,” he whispered sharply. “Left side where the trail turns.”
Marti stared hard at the place he was indicating. “I don’t see—”
Two little birds suddenly ran across the path and ducked into the weeds on the opposite side.
“What were they?”
“Quail.”
Marti looked up at Clay and saw something in him she envied.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, brushing at his face. “Can you see what I had for dinner?”
“I was just thinking how comfortable you are with your life. And how much it seems to suit you.”
“And you find that unusual?”
“I don’t think most people know who they are.”
“Do you?”
“Not really.”
“And why is that, do you suppose?”
Suddenly realizing she was revealing far too much of herself to someone she hardly knew, Marti pulled back. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the psychiatrist here.”
“Look,” Clay said, pointing into the sky over the woods just ahead. “It’s George.”
Marti followed his finger and saw a huge bird land on the highest branch in one of the taller trees. “Is that an eagle?”
“Yeah. Isn’t he magnificent?”
Marti agreed, then added, “But isn’t George kind of an ordinary name? Shouldn’t he be called Nicholas the Brave, or Eric the Bold?”
Clay looked at her. “Now, how would it sound if I suddenly threw my arm up to the sky and said, ‘Look, it’s Nicholas the Bold.’ Pretty soon they’d have me over there in Gibson as a patient.”
“Actually, it was Eric the Bold, but I see your point.”
“I named him after George Pickett, my favorite Confederate general.”
“You’re not still holding a grudge about the Civil War, are you?”
He smiled. “We wuz robbed.”
With Clay showing her the way and keeping her from making as much noise as she did on her previous trip, they watched the otters for several minutes, until the sudden intrusive sound of a siren made the animals disappear.
“I have to go,” Clay said. “I’m a volunteer fireman, and that siren means we’ve got trouble. Sorry to leave you like this, but I don’t think you want to sprint back to the house. Talk to you later.”
And off he went, running like a racehorse.
THE NEXT morning, Marti opened the door to Quinn’s lab and went inside, where Nadine was working at a kneehole desk built into the cabinetry. She looked up at the sound of the door.
“You’re very punctual.”
It struck Marti that there could be varying degrees of lateness, but not of punctuality, a critical thought no doubt borne of her desire not to be there.
“So how do we go about this mind-reading test?”
Nadine got out of her chair. “We start over here . .
.”
Marti followed her to a small room containing an overstuffed recliner chair and a tiny table bearing an iced drink in a plastic glass with a straw sticking out of its lid.
“Dr. Quinn has discovered that the best results are obtained if the test subject is extremely relaxed and is fortified with a high-calorie beverage, in this case, a Coke, before we begin.” She turned to a rheostat on the wall and dialed the lighting down. She pressed a nearby button, and the room was filled with the sweet sound of a Tchaikovsky violin concerto. “So I’m going to leave you here for a while to unwind in that big chair.”
“For how long?”
“I’m glad you reminded me. I need your watch.”
“Why?”
“Worrying about the time while you’re here is counterproductive to the test. We want your mind free of all outside influences.”
Having no choice in the matter, Marti took off her watch and put it in Nadine’s waiting hand.
“We can’t begin until you’ve finished that entire drink. So relax, close your eyes, and enjoy the music. I’ll come back and get you when it’s time.”
Nadine left and closed the door.
Alone in the room, Marti bristled briefly at being coerced into this. How could someone who didn’t volunteer for the test be fully relaxed when they took it? It seemed like a real flaw in Quinn’s thinking. But she was here and would just have to make the best of it. The thought that she would soon never have to see Quinn again made it all easier to take.
She sat in the big chair and took a sip of the Coke. In a short time, despite her attitude, she felt herself begin to loosen up. The music really was pleasant, and it wasn’t as if Quinn were asking her to endure something disgusting or dangerous. So why not just play the game and move on?
Having been tied to a schedule for so much of her life, it was disconcerting at first to be without her watch. But then as she slipped more and more into the mood generated by the music and the soft lighting, she ceased to care about its absence.
As the minutes slipped by, the music spun a web around her that made Vernon Odessa and her plans for him seem as far away as they had when she was still in medical school. This was actually quite nice. Maybe she ought to try this a few minutes every day on her own. So good to be free of the guilt for running out on Lee that horrible night . . . so good.
“DR. SEGERSON, wake up.”
Marti’s eyes opened to see Nadine standing over her in the glare of the room’s lights, now on full blast. Tchaikovsky was no longer in evidence.
“I see you didn’t have any trouble relaxing,” Nadine said, smiling.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“You must have been worn out.”
“I didn’t think so. How long was I asleep?”
Nadine wagged a warning finger at her. “Remember, we’re not going to worry about time while you’re here this morning. The test will be conducted in the room next door.”
Nadine led Marti to a room with a long table bearing a pair of computer monitors arranged back to back with a rolling chair in front of each of them.
“You sit over there,” Nadine said, pointing to the monitor on the far side of the table.
When Marti was settled in her chair, Nadine said, “We’re going to look at many sets of items in which six images at a time will appear on both monitors. For each set, I’ll concentrate on one of the images on my monitor. When you’re ready, you pick the image you believe I’ve chosen.”
“How do I do that?”
“Each image will have a number under it. To choose an image, just hit the corresponding number on your keyboard. That’s all there is to it. Let’s try a practice set.”
She worked a few keys on her keyboard, and a set of six simple drawings appeared on Marti’s monitor: a cone, a boat, a dog, a bird, a cube, and a car.
Nadine came around the table to Marti’s side. “If you believe I’m focusing on the bird, you just hit key number four. Go ahead.”
Marti tapped the appropriate key, and an asterisk appeared by the number four on the screen.
“How do I change choices?”
“The delete key. Then, when you’re ready to proceed, you just say so and we’ll move on. Shall we start?”
“Why not?”
There were thirty image sets in the initial batch. For the first few, Marti really tried to concentrate and figure out which one Nadine had selected. But then, the whole thing became so tedious she started picking images at random, until Nadine gently said, “Dr. Segerson, I don’t think you’re trying.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your response time has decreased significantly from the first ten sets.”
“Maybe I’m just getting the hang of it.”
“That’s not usually the case. If you don’t cooperate, Dr. Quinn will blame me.”
Not wanting to create any trouble for the woman, Marti went back to doing her best on each set of images.
After the first batch, Nadine offered to give Marti a break.
“I’m fine. Let’s just keep going.”
They did another block of thirty. And then another. This time Marti accepted the offer of a short break. “How many more of these things are there?”
“You’ll just get upset if I tell you.”
The blasted test went on and on, until Marti had lost all track of time. Was it eleven, twelve, or two o’clock? She had no idea.
Finally, Nadine said, “You’ll be glad to hear that we’re finished.”
“How’d I do?”
“We won’t know until the computer analyzes your responses.”
When Marti was given her watch back, she discovered that it was five minutes until twelve, the entire morning shot.
She left Quinn’s lab and went to her car, intending to find a place for lunch. But first, after checking to make sure she wasn’t being followed, she drove to the Best Western Inn and went up to the desk, which was staffed by an attractive young blond.
“I’d like to reserve two rooms for next Monday night. The occupants will be arriving early on Monday and will need to be in them well before the normal check-in. Will that be possible?”
“We’re never full, so I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
As the girl spoke, Marti saw the flash of a silver stud in her tongue. “One reservation will be under the name Douglas Packard, the other, Barry Glaser.”
The clerk jotted down the names. “Will you be using a credit card?”
RETURNING TO her car in the Best Western parking lot, Marti reached for the Hampton Inn directory in the glove box, looked up the number for the Memphis inn closest to the airport, and called it. When they answered, she reserved a room for each of the same two men, and one for herself for Monday night, because right after they’d finished their business with Odessa, they were all clearing out.
Though she fully understood that Jackie Norman was merely sublimating her anger about her sister to anyone associated with Gibson, that didn’t mean Marti wanted to chance running into her again. So today, Marti chose to eat at the Linville Burger King. Just as she carried her food to a table, her phone rang.
“Marti Segerson.”
“This is Barry Glaser. I’ll be arriving in Memphis at seven-forty Monday morning.”
Marti glanced at the people eating at nearby tables and lowered her voice. “Okay, thanks for the news. I haven’t heard from Packard yet, but I’ll figure out how to pick you both up.” She scrambled in her bag for a pen and held it over a napkin. “What airline?”
“Not necessary. A friend from Memphis is going to meet me at the airport, and we’re going to have breakfast together. I’ll just rent a car afterward and drive there myself. Just tell me where to go.”
“You’re registered at the
Best Western in Linville. I figured you could do your prep work there and go over to the hospital just before we do it. They said you could get into your room early. You can’t miss the motel. It’s right on the main road to town. Do you need driving instructions from the airport?”
“I’ll get a map from the rental car company. How long’s the drive?”
“A little over an hour. When do you go back?”
“Tuesday morning.”
There wasn’t any need now to tell him he wouldn’t be spending the night in Linville, so she simply said, “Okay, see you Monday.”
The second call Marti was waiting for came right after lunch as she was pulling into a parking slot at the hospital.
“This is Packard. I’ll get there Monday at nine twenty-eight on Delta Airlines, flight eight forty-four.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Everything else all set?”
“Ready to go.”
After putting her phone back in her bag, Marti sat for a moment reflecting on the one possible hitch in the plan. It wasn’t anything that could be dealt with in advance. It had to be done at the last minute. And if it didn’t go well . . . shivering at the thought, she filed the worry away for now and went back to work.
OREN QUINN sat in his car and watched Marti walk toward the building. He didn’t know any more about her motives for being at Gibson now than he did yesterday. That had always been a possibility. But the other thing that had happened was totally unexpected. And it had the potential to harm him. But would it? He’d just have to wait and see and make sure he didn’t allow things to progress that far.
Chapter 10
FROM THE parking lot, Marti went to her office and reviewed her notes on some of the patients she had not yet interviewed. She then went up to the wards to continue the charade.
A few minutes later, as she was opening the door to Two East A, she heard a scream. Rushing inside, she saw a crowd of patients looking down at the floor. From the center of their circle, a geyser of blood shot into the air in rhythmic spurts.
She dashed to the crowd and pushed her way through. There, sitting slumped against a chair, was a woman with an ugly gash across the left side of her throat. Lying beside her was a shard of broken mirror. The blood spurting from her wound was already diminishing in force, a sure sign that she would soon go into shock. And no one was doing anything, including Bobby Ware and one of the other orderlies, both of whom were just standing there as if this were some kind of entertainment.
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