Forgotten Place

by LS Sygnet

  When he left the kitchen, Shelly shook her head. "I told him it was a bad idea to tell Briscoe about this. No doubt he took the first flight back into town."

  Ned frowned. "I thought Crevan was against the idea."

  "You know how he vacillates," Shelly grinned.

  Crevan's voice floated into the kitchen. "So like I said, Devlin and Helen were just telling us about the interview with Journey and that they think this thing might not be related to the Southerby thing after all."

  Before I could brace myself for the mother of all lectures on my health from Tony Briscoe, the responding voice hit my ears, low, deep and definitely not one I wanted to hear.

  "Do we know for a fact that Linder isn't tied to Danny Datello? Has anyone thought to check this guy out completely, Crevan? Everybody's got an insurance guy. If Journey knew something, or learned something during the time she dated Linder and Datello found out about it, he could've pressured Linder to shut her up for good."

  My stomach pitched in revolt. I shoved the plate away from me and jumped up from the table.

  "Helen, what's wrong?" Shelly asked.

  "I think I'm gonna be sick." I darted away from the table toward the butler's pantry and into the bathroom for the first floor guest room. It was situated on the opposite side of the house that I typically inhabited. I slammed the door and struggled to catch my breath after the scant contents of dinner reappeared in the toilet.

  Orion was in the house. Oh God. I can't do this. I can't –

  A soft knock sounded at the bathroom door. Either that or my heart was outside seeking entry so it could jump back in my chest where it belonged. I turned on the water at the sink and pretended not to hear.

  Tapping resumed. "Helen?"

  I splashed my face and cupped water in one hand to rinse the nasty taste out of my mouth. Don't talk and they'll all go away. It's the Prozac giving a new twist on horrible nightmares. Shelly Finkelstein did not follow me out of my kitchen. She is not checking on me. None of this is real.

  Rationality vied for dominance over my pitching emotions. Knock it off, Helen. Do you really want to give this kind of importance to Orion in front of your…well, friends for lack of a better word? This is a case. Plain and simple. It happens to matter to Orion because he wants Datello behind bars. Pull up your big girl panties and deal with it. You can convince them that the pickles didn't agree with your stomach. God knows, it's not far from the truth.

  "I'm all right, Shelly. I think I ate too many pickles before everyone arrived," I called through the door. "Give me a minute and I'll be right out."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Ask Crevan. He warned me to slow down."

  Footsteps receded. I braced myself against the sink and sucked in a slow, shuddering breath. See? Nothing to this. Are you gonna let these people believe that you had nerves of steel when Mark Seleeby was hunting you like Salem's most elusive witch, but you can't stand the sight of a guy who claims to…

  Couldn't even let reason finish that thought. I patted my face dry and stiffened my spine. I could do this. I would do this.

  Crevan lurked in the hallway when I stepped out the door.

  "Helen?"

  "You warned me about the pickles."

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have insisted that you eat so much. You're not used to it are you?"

  "Tea and toast might've been wiser choices. Not to worry. I've got the tea, and I'll settle for a dinner roll to help quell the churning abyss now that I'm empty again."

  "Are you sure that's all this is?" Crevan's eyes darted toward the kitchen door. His voice dropped to a low whisper. "He's only here because of the case, Helen."

  "It's fine." Great big whopping fat black lie. My palms started sweating profusely with every step toward the door. I'm not sure what I expected when I stepped through. Pointed fingers and shouts of Jezebel? Cuffs and Miranda rights? Maybe another lecture on my self-neglect, or Orion hanging around for another round of let's see if Helen changed her mind.

  I braced for the worst, part of my mind aware that such a thing was impossible, and stepped into the kitchen. Forestalling the pity was easy enough.

  "Don't mind me. Lesson learned. Pickles and oxycontin do not mix well. What did I miss?"

  I turned away from the group and headed toward the tea kettle on the stove. Two minutes never passed so quickly. The kettle's low whistle prompted me to dig through the cupboard for tea. The only box available was Sleepy Time, a gift from Maya when I wasn't able to relax a couple of months ago. Before the injury.

  "Johnny thinks we should do some digging into Linder's background, see if there's a link between him and Datello. What do you think, Helen?" Crevan asked.

  I kept my back turned and pretended great interest in steeping the hot tea. "I don't think we should rule anything out at this point. We all know how I feel about coincidences. The timing of this attack…" Something utterly case related tickled at my brain along with the last words I heard Orion speak. Journey Ireland hadn't really spoken to us. Had her attacker inadvertently succeeded?

  "Helen?" This time Crevan's voice spiked with concern.

  "Excuse me for a moment." I abandoned the tea and left the kitchen again. This time my destination wasn't a hiding place with a lock on the door. I made a bee line for the study. Footsteps were right behind me. I ignored them and moved straight to the bookshelf and the bible for my type – the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, or DSM, the diagnostic guide of all guides for mental disorders.

  "What are you doing?" Crevan asked.

  "I thought of something."

  Sometimes a silent grin is audible.

  "What?" I peeked over one shoulder. He was shaking his head and laughing silently.

  "It's good to have you back, Helen. That's all."

  "Don't be an ass." I skimmed the table of contents and found the section I needed and walked past him back to my guests. The case blocked out Johnny's presence effectively for the moment.

  "What's that?" Devlin wondered. Poor guy had to feel like his head was spinning by now.

  I looked up at him and grinned. "Inspiration, Dev. Something we talked about earlier at the hospital and what Orion said about Linder possibly being ordered to shut Journey up. It made me think of something."

  Johnny spoke directly to me for the first time in months. "Except he didn't really shut her up did he, Helen? She's still alive."

  I glanced at Devlin. "You didn't tell them?"

  "We hadn't gotten that far into the conversation before the Twilight Zone –"

  "Okay," Crevan interrupted. "You made your point. We're all back on track." He deposited my brewing tea in front of me. "Drink before the pickles decide to make another appearance. You," eyes speared Devlin, "start talking about what we don't know."

  "Journey Ireland didn't actually say a word to us this afternoon," he said. "Helen had the nurse call the surgeon, but nobody seems to know why she can't talk. Everything she communicated was in writing."

  "Really?"

  I peeked up for my first look. Johnny frowned, and his eyebrows were doing that cartoonish thing they did, the devilish look.

  "Yes, really," I said. "And unless Dr. Waters comes up with a medical explanation for why Ireland can't talk, I think I might have an idea or two that could explain it."

  "Please enlighten us, Dr. Eriksson," Johnny said.

  I glanced around the table at five waiting stares. "There is a chance, though it seems remote to me, that Journey's inability to speak is related to trauma from the endotracheal tube inserted in her throat during surgery. It probably isn't that common, but I'd have to talk to Dr. Waters to verify that."

  "How does this explain her inability to talk if this tube didn't damage her vocal chords?" Johnny asked.

  I held up my bible. "It's called conversion disorder."

  "So…"

  "Be patient, Orion. Conversion disorder is the manifestation of physiological symptoms in response to psychological trauma. It's not all that common
either, but given the nature of Journey's injury, not to mention the timing and the location of the attack, it could've resulted in a subconscious trauma she hasn't even realized yet."

  "I don't get it," Crevan said. "Are you saying that some guy cuts her throat, and suddenly she can't talk because her brain doesn't believe she can talk?"

  "It's a little more complicated than that. Think hysterical blindness in the case of someone who witnesses a particularly horrific event. Say someone sees a plane crash with victims burning to death while they're trying to run away from the wreckage."

  He wrinkled his nose.

  "Because that incident was so traumatic, even though there is no injury to the structure or function of the eye, the retina the optic nerve, none of it, the witness becomes blind. Not just visually blind, but unable to see imagery at all."

  Orion's arms crossed over his chest. "Go on."

  "So say for instance that in the course of treatment, the psychiatrist learns that while the burning victims were indeed traumatic for anyone to see, there was a subconscious trigger that the event caused in his hysterically blind patient. Say for instance as a small child, she witnessed one parent murder the other by burning him or her to death. She may not even remember it, but the plane crash triggered a subconscious memory –"

  "And now she can't see anything at all," Johnny finished. "Now that makes sense. Journey's subconscious knew the significance of the attempt on her life, on the anniversary of David's death and in a parking garage no less... but not talking? Are you suggesting she knew something about what happened to her father that she hasn't told anyone, Doc?"

  I peered at Devlin. "What do you think, Dev?"

  "I think she blanked out a lot of what she heard after a certain point this morning."

  "Go on," I nodded.

  "This guy scared her, beyond cutting her throat. He said something to her that her mind isn't going to let her remember, and certainly won't let her speak."

  I leaned forward and nodded at him. "She may not even be consciously aware of the intended message, Devlin. Think about it. She was what, ten, eleven years old at the time her father died? About the same age when ADA Ireland was investigating Datello?"

  He nodded slowly. "She might've heard something that seemed innocent at the time, but it clicked when her attacker said something. Not consciously, but like you said. Subconsciously."

  "I want to talk to Dr. Waters about this theory," I said. "And you need to track down Samantha Wine."

  "Wait a minute. Who the heck is Samantha Wine?" Ned asked.

  "She's the reporter friend of Journey's, the one that Tim Evans identified as the most likely of their circle to know why Journey dumped Linder."

  "Ned, I think you should focus on a possible connection to Datello before you talk to him tomorrow," I suggested. "If Orion is right and there's a link, no matter how tenuous, it could explain a thing or two, particularly if Devlin can charm Ms. Wine the way he did Journey this afternoon."

  I winked at Devlin. "That was very impressive, Dev."

  He chuckled and shook his head. "That wasn't the tactic I was going for, but hey, whatever works, right?"

  Tension grew and leeched across the table from Orion toward me. I ignored it. "In the meantime, I know you're dead set against this Shelly, but I would really like to be part of the interview with Linder."

  "Helen, you're barely into physical rehab yet."

  "It's a simple conversation. If I'd stayed away from the pickles tonight, there wouldn't have been a single bad side effect of my involvement in the chat with Journey this afternoon. If you think about it, getting sick was really his fault," I hiked a thumb at Crevan. "He's the one who brought the least stomach friendly food to the sickly woman for dinner."

  "Hey, sushi was my first plan."

  "And I'd be blowing chunks for hours if I had to watch you eat raw eel," I grinned at him.

  "I'll agree on one condition," Shelly said. "You limit your involvement to the interview only tomorrow, and you don't let this investigation take over your life and interfere with physical therapy. God knows I want you back on the job sooner rather than later, but not at the expense of your recovery, Helen."

  "I promise." No X's over my heart, no fingers crossed. Dr. Scott's words were still too raw in my brain. In order to escape whatever was on the horizon of my life, I needed to be healthy.

  "What about Trevor Kent?" Crevan asked.

  "Stick around after we're finished here. We can brainstorm the quickest way of finding him, but it might be a simple matter of asking one of Journey's friends where he is. In fact, I'll see Amy Peterson first thing in the morning. If this core group gets together for backyard barbecues year round in this awful weather like Evans said, they all probably know where Trevor Kent is living right now."

  "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  I looked at Orion, closely for the first time. Shaggy hair, unkempt beard, weary eyes, rumpled shirt. "I'm sure there is."

  His jaw set stubbornly. "Like butt out and let Downey Division do its thing without my interference?"

  "John, she didn't say that," Ned said.

  "It's all right, Ned. Johnny knows how I feel about OSI rushing in at the last second to save the day and close our cases."

  His posture stiffened. "Seems to me the last time I rushed in at the last second, it saved your life, Helen."

  "Nobody asked you to do that."

  "Crevan did." His eyes glittered with unspoken rage.

  "Well I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for a goddamned thing, did I?"

  Four chairs simultaneously inched away from the table.

  "So is that why you're holed up here like a fucking hermit starving yourself to death? Oh, you didn't think I'd notice? It's pretty hard to miss, Doc. You've barely got the energy to move from here to there. I doubt the average rubber band would make a snug fit around your waist."

  The gasp tumbled out of my throat. "How dare you?"

  "How dare I? I'll tell you how I goddamned dare! I –" Johnny stopped, as if suddenly aware that we weren't alone. He clamped his mouth shut but only for the millisecond it took to rein in his anger. "The point wasn't to let you slowly waste away, Helen."

  "You could give me a hand with the Linder-Datello angle," Ned sliced through the pulsating tension in the room. "Given your knowledge of Datello's activities, you've probably got the information we need already."

  Johnny glanced at his old comrade and gave a curt nod. "Right. The name Linder doesn't stand out in my recollection right now," another pointed stare at me, "but then again, Datello has a lot of business associates."

  I struggled to modulate the tremor from my voice. "Will you call me when you're ready to talk to Linder, Ned?"

  "Sure. I guess the time depends on what we find out about any link there might be to Datello."

  "We should set a deadline in any case. Let's say two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. We hit him up for answers then, ready or not. Regardless of what his link to Datello may be, we still need to find out if he has a better alibi than the brown bottle flu. Devlin, that should give you plenty of time to talk to Samantha Wine. The more we know about the other side of this breakup, the better equipped we'll be to question Linder."

  "I'll call Sync! first thing in the morning and set something up."

  "Will you call me before you talk to her?"

  "Absolutely," he said. "How early is too early?"

  "I should be done with therapy by eight. Any time after that is fine." I focused my attention on Shelly. "I need to know more about David Ireland. Since no one has actually come right out and said it, I may as well be the first. If this investigation is linked to his investigation of Datello, we're going to have to start the profile from square one."

  "Mitch Southerby confessed to the murder, Helen," Johnny said. "The case was closed, taken as far as humanly possible."

  "Except no one ever discovered what Southerby was looking for in Ireland's office. Nobody ever linked him to Datello in
a way that provided evidence that would hold up in court. When Briscoe initially told me about the case last spring, he said nobody was sure what David Ireland was even investigating beyond something illegal, something that was on Danny Datello's doorstep."

  "Your point?" he snarled.

  "If this case is really linked to David Ireland, it implies that Journey could know something, perhaps something that Southerby was supposed to find but didn't." I turned my attention back to Devlin. "We need to know more about Isabella Ireland, what her disease was like in the beginning. Evans said she was paranoid."

  "Right, but isn't that part of this Pick's disease?"

  "Maybe, maybe not. Talk to Samantha Wine and ask her what she knows. She's still got a voice and she's one step removed from the family. I doubt she'll shut down the way Journey did when we brought up James Linder this afternoon."

  Devlin's cell phone pierced the pause in speech. He pulled it out. "Detective Mackenzie."

  I watched his face flush.

  "When?"

  Another brief pause. "I'll be right there."

  "What's wrong?" Ned asked.

  "We need to get over to MSUH. Somebody just tried to inject something into Journey Ireland's IV."

  "God," Shelly murmured. "This wasn't a random attempt on her life this morning. Go. Call me the second you know anything. Helen, I'll call Zack Carpenter and see if he can help us with records from the DA's office." She scooted away from the table. "On second thought, I think I'll go to MSUH with Ned and Devlin."

  My brain started screaming in loud telepathic waves. Crevan, do not leave me alone with Johnny. Do. Not. Leave.

  "I should –"

  "Crevan, I thought we were gonna talk about how to contact Trevor Kent."

  A heavy sigh blasted from Orion's nostrils. "Don't worry. I can take a hint. Besides, it isn't though you haven't already revoked the welcome mat where I'm concerned."

  "Johnny, she didn't say –"

  "It's all right, Crevan. We've said everything we have to say to each other. Apparently."

  My lips rolled inward.

  "Come on you two. I don't know what happened, but this is ridiculous. You obviously need to settle this," Crevan said. "If not for your own sakes, for your ability to work together when circumstances call for it."