by Adam Zorzi
“Now that I think of it, my friends have seemed pre-occupied around March when acceptance letters are sent.”
“Emails, Gran.”
“Emails, then. They hope their grandkids have gotten into the school of their choice. It seems to be very competitive and stressful. Is that how you feel?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Every girl at St. Margaret's who isn't going to College of Charleston or Mary Baldwin is freaking out. My grades are the best. I have a shot at being salutatorian and I'm taking prep classes for the PSAT, but the schools I want are really competitive.”
“What schools are those?” Selma asked in her soft, southern voice.
“My first choice are ones that have a veterinary graduate school. I think if I go there as an undergraduate, I'll have a better shot at admission to the vet school. Those are Cornell, Georgia, and Penn. Two of those are Ivies. They're almost impossible to get into. Then there's Virginia Tech and Florida. If I can't get into any of them, I'm thinking about Hollins. It has one of the best pre-vet programs without a vet school and includes study abroad programs. It's focused on horses because Hollins is known for its national equestrian championships, but I don't want to be a big animal vet. I want to be a companion animal vet.”
“Gracious, Kate. You've given this a great deal of thought and you're just sixteen. Don't you want to go somewhere fun? I don't mean Greek life, but something a little more balanced. Somewhere new. Like New England or California. Somewhere that offers opportunities to study abroad, to live in another culture. The world is huge, and all you've experienced is one elite group of girls from a small southern city for twelve years.”
At least Selma thought outside the box. Bella wished Mark had a little of Selma's open-mindedness.
Selma continued. “St. Margaret's has been wonderful for you because it's given you continuity during some difficult times. I'm grateful you've been there for your entire education, but I think the school has a myopic view of the world. Your dad and I aren't pushing you away, but I think it would be good for you to relax a little and go to some other region of the country or even out of the country. You're a talented photographer. Wouldn't you like to go somewhere that offers even more advanced photography courses than what you've taken at St. Margaret's and at VCU? You haven't said that's something you want to do professionally, but improving your craft is a creative outlet. The whole world is out there to be photographed. Besides, Hollins is all women. Do you really want to go to another same-sex school? For horses?”
The girl laughed. “Okay, I'll rethink that one.” She was quiet for a moment and then said, “Gran, I never thought about seeing the world, living somewhere long enough to experience life outside Richmond, and having a whole new place to photograph. Thanks. You're a smart lady.”
Selma smiled and stood. “I was on my way to get more tea. Would anyone like anything?”
“No, thanks,” chorused Daniel and the girl.
“Then I'll be on my way.”
CHAPTER TEN
The girl hadn't turned the TV back on. She still had more to say.
“Dad, when you had your earliest times with depression, were you under a lot of stress?”
Daniel struggled to resume concentration. He'd seemed relieved that Selma had taken charge of the conversation and had returned to staring at nothing in particular.
“No. Like Gran said, Rob and I grew up in a different time. We went to school, played sports, and dated. I don't remember school ever being hard. I never stressed about anything. My lacrosse coach would yell, but it wasn't personal. I'd get excited when the Redskins played the Giants, but I never really had stress. I felt the same way at UVA. I majored in economics, which came easily to me. Bella was the best girlfriend in the world. I was happy. I never worried about exams. So, no, I wasn't stressed.”
Bella liked hearing that. She'd been the best girlfriend. World champion girlfriend.
Daniel turned to look at the girl. The light bulb was turning on. He realized what she was asking.
“Kate, you're under stress. Do you wonder if you're starting to feel depressed? Clinically depressed, not just sad and listening to sad songs?”
Tears fell. She nodded.
Daniel paled. He looked like he was going to vomit. He looked torn too, like part of him wanted to run away and part of him wanted to parent the girl. Parenting won.
Daniel moved to sit next to her. He hugged her tightly and let her cry. When she stopped sniffling, she sat upright.
Daniel looked at her. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Cotton-y. Like I have cotton in my head where my brain used to be. It takes me longer to do homework. Sometimes, I have to re-read whole pages in English lit. I don't always pay attention when people talk. Jada says I seem space-y. Sophia and Josie haven't said anything, but Sophia is killing herself to be valedictorian and class president and volunteer of the year so she'll get into Brown. Josie spends time with her boyfriend and talks about him a lot. I definitely tune that out.”
“Why? Why don't you care about Josie's boyfriend?” Daniel looked puzzled. Bella was certain he'd never given his daughter's social life any thought.
“She can do so much better. She's beautiful. I think she's flattered that a senior from St. Matthew's likes her. I'm just going to sit on the sidelines until she's done with him.”
“St. Matthew's? Aren't they all gay?” Daniel asked seriously. He seemed to have no filter.
The girl laughed. Bella too.
“No, they're just soft. Privileged. Not smart. Getting by on their last name. I guess the kind of life Gran was talking about.”
Like Mark.
“Do you have boyfriend problems?”
Daniel so did not want to have this conversation. He looked extremely uncomfortable. His right knee was bouncing and he reached for Ivan.
“No, Dad. I date, but I'm sixteen. I've got lots of time. The dating pool isn't so great, either. I've known most of these guys since kindergarten. They weren't cool then and they didn't become cool.”
Daniel seemed to get that.
“How long have you felt cotton-y?”
The girl shrugged. “About a month.”
“Have you ever felt like this before?” he asked tenderly.
She shook her head. “I sometimes get PMS and feel crabby, but not cotton-y all the time.”
Poor Daniel. He was going to have a stroke if he pursued this conversation much further. Boyfriends, PMS, and depression all in one evening.
“I think you should see you doctor to see if there's anything physically wrong with you and a psychiatrist who is an adolescent specialist. Your brain hasn't finished growing, so you need someone who doesn't treat adults.”
“Do you think I have it? The internet said it's hereditary.”
“Kate, I don't know if you have it. A doctor may not know for certain, but there are medications that can treat your symptoms.”
“Dad, I don't want to live a lesser life, like you. I don't want to settle. I don't even have anyone who would take care of me. Gran isn't going to live forever.
“I hate Charleston. I hate Grandmother Elizabeth. Grandfather George is fine, but he lets her walk all over him. Aunt Jane is stoned on pills or alcohol all the time. Aunt Emily only cares about her horses.” She'd ticked off all of her mother's family in Charleston.
“The only relatives I like are Rob and Suzanne.”
If Daniel noticed she'd omitted him as a possible reliable caretaker, he didn't mention it. Daniel seemed resigned to being a visitor in this girl's life.
“Sweetheart, you're getting way too far ahead of yourself. There's no reason to believe you even have depression. If you do, the medications are so much better than when I was diagnosed.
“I think Gran is right about school. I know all you've ever wanted to be is a veterinarian, but you don't need to concentrate on that now. Your brain isn't ready yet. Go to any college you want. Don't miss opportunities like I did.
“When
the time comes for vet school, you'll be five years older. You may have more opportunities than you even know about now. Apply where you want then. You can't plan your life and expect it to happen according to plan. Cut yourself some slack.”
Very good, Daniel. Good fatherly advice. Bella was ridiculously pleased that he’d gotten something right.
The girl looked at Daniel with something like fear. “Doesn't your daughter with your girlfriend have mental illness? You said she was fragile.”
Daniel closed his eyes. Bella saw him envision both of his children with mental illnesses.
“Yes, LouLou has schizophrenia. It's awful.” He saw he might scare the girl so he pulled back. “Kate, LouLou's illness is rare and serious. Depression can be treated.”
“How old was she when she was diagnosed?”
The girl was not going to let Daniel off the hook. She was digging for answers.
“Sixteen,” Daniel said softly. “She told me when we were in the same psych hospital before she knew I was her father that she heard voices in her head when it started. Voices that told her to do things she didn't want to do. Hurtful things.” He stopped and looked at her closely. “Do you hear voices?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No, no way. I just feel cotton-y.”
“You should see the doctors. Rob can set it up. He shares custody with your grandparents so he'll probably tell George. We can leave Elizabeth out of it.”
“We can?” The girl brightened immediately.
“George has just as much authority as she does. He acts like he lets Elizabeth get away with a lot, but when something is important, he steps up.”
The girl looked relieved. Her uncle and grandfather stood up for her. Her haughty maternal grandmother would no doubt insist there was no mental illness in the pristine Carter family genes.
“For the record,” whispered Daniel, “your mom didn't like Elizabeth at all. After St. Margaret's, your mom stayed in Richmond and vowed never to live in Charleston again. She was right. Elizabeth is a pretentious, self-centered, manipulative woman. It's not just you who thinks she's awful. Your instincts to keep some things private from her are right. George kept your mother's secrets and he'll keep yours, too.”
The girl hugged him.
Bella had to go. It had been a long weekend. She hadn't spoken directly to Daniel in six years, when she made an appearance on the night he arrived at Petersburg—the night she told him she'd killed his wife and framed him to teach him a lesson. He'd hurt her when he'd promised he wouldn't. He'd been blinded by guilt over his father's death and forgotten his promise. She couldn't let him get away with that. She was as shocked as anyone when her admission of what she’d done had frightened him into catatonia and a long stay at Petersburg.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bella had prepared a list of things she needed immediately from Opal. Foremost were the names of all patients at Commonwealth Psych for the past ten years, their diagnosis, discharge date, and current location. From that, she'd eliminate the ones who had died after release. That left people who were still patients, former patients, and patients who died while in residence there.
Mark was already in his office when Bella arrived. “I wanted to get here and make sure everything was in order. Sound-proofing. Security. Surveillance. Things look good. I feel better about having conferences about the case.”
Bella scanned the room and admired the seamless upgrades.
“Mark, there's one person we haven't discussed. Do you trust Tom absolutely?”
Mark sat behind his desk. “Yes. He's definitely an outsider. He's from New York and went to Columbia and NYU Law. He moved here with his wife, who is a resident at one of the hospitals. I ran a background check on him before taking him on. He likes the freedom of working with me. He interviewed at some firms, but really didn't like the clandestine old boy feel. I trust him. Why?”
“Double checking. Also, you should probably give him your open cases until this is over.”
She saw his reflexive response was anger that she was telling him, once again, how to run his practice. He stifled that, thought about what she suggested, and said, “Good idea. At least in the early stages.”
“The AG's response to the complaint is due Monday. We need to be ready with an answer and some motions.” Bella tried to seem collegial rather than bossy.
“What do you think they'll do?” Mark asked.
“Stall. Raise jurisdiction, move to dismiss, request more time. We should have responses prepared to file immediately.”
“How can we do that? We don't know their strategy.”
“Mark, I just told you. What else could it be?” She kept her voice light and sweet so as not to antagonize him. If only he could keep up with her.
She watched him think it through. “Jurisdiction, definitely. They want it out of federal court and back in state.”
Right. “They'll appeal. That's why we have to have the best brief ever written on jurisdiction.”
“And I suppose you have it.” He looked at her expectantly.
She smiled and handed him the flash drive. “I had to do something while you and Carlton were out surveying your kingdom on horseback.” He made that crinkly eye movement she liked and smiled.
They were interrupted by the door chime. Ten o'clock. Opal. Bella went to greet her.
“Wow, this really is a legal office. Not a stuffy one, though.” She put her backpack on the receptionist's chair. “I followed the dress code.” She did a turn.
“Yes, you did.” Opal wore a black tee shirt, a red suede mini skirt with fringe, and leopard booties. “Come, I'll introduce you to Mark.”
She knocked on Mark's door, introduced Opal to Mark, and let Mark take the lead. Mark didn't say a word about her appearance. “Bella tells me you're the best.”
“I am. Where do I sit?”
“The reception area. We have very few clients who come to the office. You'll be free to do your computer work. If the phone rings and Tom or I don't pick up, let it go to voice mail. Voice mail stays on over nights and weekends so any messages left have to be transcribed.
“This case is extremely confidential. All of our clients have confidentiality, but this is a case where we know the opposition is going to try to obtain information unethically. Perhaps, illegally. There's a confidentiality agreement for you to sign. Any questions?” Mark asked politely.
“You were kidding about the voice mail transcription, right?” Opal scoffed.
Mark looked blank. “No.”
Opal laughed. “Oh, that is so three years ago. Install a speech recognition system. It will translate speech to writing while the caller is talking. You can program it to be texted or emailed directly to the person the caller is trying to reach.”
“Is it secure?” Mark asked.
“A lot more than relying on a human to transcribe something and get it to the right person.”
Mark exhaled. “Okay. Arrange that. Anything else?”
“Not yet,” she said.
“Welcome aboard,” Mark said and shook her hand.
***
By the end of the day, Opal had a new computer, a secure server, and her personal solution to intruders into the system and a way to cover her tracks when she did her sleuthing. She provided the information Bella had requested, divided it into the three groups, and provided contact information for each patient. The list was 210 people of which 32 had died while in custody. Opal would follow up on the cause of death with the coroner's office.
That left 117 still in custody and 61 who had been released. Bella would narrow down the 61 to those who were capable of making depositions. Daniel was one of them. Mark would depose him. She'd depose LouLou. It was a chance to get to know her better. Perhaps she'd raise her opinion of LouLou.
“Where's your office?” Opal asked when Bella was leaving.
“Oh, I don't have one. I come here for meetings with Mark, but I work on the fly. I'm going to be out of town for a few days. I'll see
you Friday. Ask Mark for anything you need.”
She dashed out of the office.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What have you got?” Bella stood just inside the doorway. Ghost or not, she didn't want to touch anything in the seedy, foul-smelling room.
“OD.”
Bella and the shifty private investigator stood in a squalid room in what used to be a respectable motel near Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas. A short five miles from the strip. A galaxy of human misery from the glitz.
“How about opening a window?” Bella asked. She was testing the PI even though she'd used him before.
“Cops won't like it. No.”
“You didn't call me here for a junkie OD. What've you got?”
“This junkie,” he pointed to the thin man with greasy hair who was wearing only greyish-white boxers and lying on the cigarette-stained carpet that might once have been yellow, “funded his habit with blackmail. He kept meticulous records on computer spreadsheets.” He nodded at the old PC desktop on the Formica table. “And in notebooks. Color-coded spiral notebooks. Well organized. Colors for the mark’s type of business, preference, and state. Probably a few more, but there's no time to look.”
Bella quickly scanned the room. The blackmailer was smart. The computer seemed out of place only if anyone thought about it long enough.
“Cops may or may not take the computer. What would a dead junkie have on a computer? I'm leaving it so the evidence is there if they're smart enough to look for it.”
“The notebooks, then.” That's the best Bella would get.
“Yeah,” the PI said, “you're first on my list. Pick three.” He unzipped a small neon green gym bag—a giveaway from one of hotels on the strip—to show about a dozen small notebooks.
“This isn't a homicide, right?” It didn't matter. She’d asked out of habit.
