by Debra Webb
A few minutes later Billy came out into the corridor. “Lincoln has everything under control. We can go. He’ll keep us up to speed on anything he finds. I briefed him on how we came to be here and all. He’ll come by to take our official statements later.”
“There’s something else I’d like to do.” Rowan had been mulling over the idea for the past several minutes.
Billy glanced at her as they descended the staircase. “I’m listening.”
“I’d like to visit the hospital near Nashville where my mother was a patient. Maybe there’s something in her records or someone who remembers her.”
It was another long shot but it was worth a look.
Billy nodded. “We’ll drop by the funeral home and change clothes. You should call the administrator and see if we can speak to someone today. It’s going to be close to six o’clock before we can get there.”
“Good idea.”
Pryor stared at them with utter disdain as they loaded into Billy’s truck.
“There’s one other thing,” Rowan said as Billy drove away from the latest scene of devastation.
“What’s that?”
“Maybe nothing.” She drew in a deep breath. She hoped it was nothing. “When I talked to Josh this morning I told him what we discovered about my mother’s childhood and the possibility that Julian is her brother.”
“You told me you brought him up to speed.” Billy parked in front of the funeral home and waited for her to go on.
This felt like a betrayal but it had to be said. “I mentioned that I intended to see Anna Addington today to question her about Julian’s childhood.”
“Did anyone else know you planned to pay her a visit?”
Rowan shook her head. “No one else.”
Sixteen
The Serenity Center was outside Nashville, nearer to Franklin. A peaceful setting in a wooded area amid horse country certainly lent itself to an atmosphere of tranquility. Nightfall was nearly an hour away but the dense woods surrounding the landscaped property had shadows of gloom reaching out toward the brick-and-stone building.
Ivy climbed the walls of the three-story structure, threatening to overtake the windows. The vines reminded Rowan of the ones growing on the old cemetery wall back home. A broad portico provided a drop-off and pickup point for patients. Early blooming shrubs filled landscaping beds around the parking area. But it was the eight-foot iron fence that surrounded the property that made Rowan feel as if she were in a prison disguised to look like a house.
She was grateful Billy was with her. Whatever she learned here—if anything—she wouldn’t have to analyze and deal with it alone. They were in this together. She’d always felt confident in her work, with her colleagues. But this was different. This was intimate and personal. She glanced up at him. For the first time in her life she was certain she could spend the rest of her life and never tire of sharing every intimate and personal detail with him.
She wondered if, after all Norah’s childhood trauma, she had felt this way about Edward. Had Rowan’s father been her safe haven...at least for a little while?
Inside, the lobby was quiet and empty save for the woman behind the desk. She smiled as they approached her. “Good evening. Are you here to see a patient? Visiting hours are over at eight.”
His hat in hand, Billy explained, “This is Dr. DuPont and I’m Chief of Police Brannigan. We’re here to see Dr. Winslow. He’s expecting us.”
“I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
Billy thanked her.
When the receptionist had made the call, she replaced the phone in its cradle. “Dr. Winslow’s office is down the corridor on your left.” She gestured in that direction. “It’s the fourth door on the right, office 8B.”
“Thank you.” Billy gave her a nod.
Rowan kept pace with him as they made the short journey down the corridor and to the door specified by the receptionist. It opened as they approached.
“Chief Brannigan,” the man said to Billy, then turned to Rowan. “Dr. DuPont. Please come in.”
Winslow’s office was moderately sized and well equipped, though lacking in any sort of warmth. The walls were beige as was the carpet and the furnishings. There was no art on the walls, only the framed documents detailing his credentials. Nothing, Rowan concluded, to give away his personal story.
“Have a seat.” He moved around behind his desk and settled into his chair.
Rowan took the first of the two chairs flanking his desk, Billy took the other.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Water? A soft drink?”
Both she and Billy declined.
“We appreciate your time, Dr. Winslow,” Rowan said.
“I’m afraid your mother’s file has been archived,” Winslow said, “and it would take several days to retrieve it, but I do have some rather general information I was about to download from our system.”
“Whatever you have could prove useful,” Rowan assured him.
He provided the date and length of her admission. This would have been when Rowan was about three, which explained why she didn’t remember. She could imagine her father had been a bit overwhelmed with a funeral home to run and twin daughters to see after.
“She was admitted for clinical depression. Based on the brief overview of the case, she had wrestled with depression since her twins were born. One of our fourth-year residents took a special interest in her case and wrote copious notes about how she presented with multiple personality disorder. However, the program director as well as the psychiatrist assigned to Mrs. DuPont’s case disagreed with his conclusions. You know, the residents can get a little overzealous sometimes.”
“Can you tell us who that resident was?” Obviously it was Julian but Rowan needed confirmation.
“I fear you’ll recognize the name. He was all over the news last year. Julian Addington.” He shook his head. “It’s an utter disgrace for the medical profession. We were all quite stunned to hear the news. Though I will say that many of us had our reservations about him.”
There it was. A mixture of anticipation and regret churned inside Rowan.
“Dr. Winslow,” Billy said, “can you elaborate on those reservations?”
Winslow pursed his lips for a moment. “He was rather a cocky sort, which, as you can imagine, didn’t sit well with those tasked with guiding him. He had no friends among the staff. They disliked him immensely. But it was the lengths he would go to prove he was right that unsettled me. I was also a resident at the time. Addington was not above devious methods for getting what he wanted. That’s all I’ll say.”
“You worked with him?” Billy asked. “Closely?”
Winslow shook his head. “Fortunately I was assigned to a different group. But I heard plenty of rumors.”
Rowan wasn’t surprised. “Is there anything in her record that explains why my mother was brought to this hospital in particular?”
“Actually,” Winslow said, “she first arrived at Cumberland Heights, but she was transferred here two days later. I assumed her family decided they preferred a private hospital.”
Certainly there was no way to prove it but Rowan would wager that Julian had discovered she was at Cumberland and finagled the move. It was possible he may not have known where Norah was until that point. This hospitalization may have been the beginning of the end for her.
An ache pierced Rowan’s heart. “I realize this was a very long time ago, but is there anyone we might be able to speak with who worked with my mother while she was here?”
It was another of those long shots Rowan had been going after recently.
Desperation did that.
Winslow scanned the meager file in front of him. “Yes, all right. There is a nurse who was assigned to your mother. She’s long retired, of course, but she still volunteers twice a month. Beat
rice Reinhold. She was one of the best nurses I’ve had the privilege of working with. At seventy-five she is still quite amazing.”
“Dr. Winslow,” Billy spoke up, “do you think Ms. Reinhold would speak with us?”
“I can certainly give her a call and see. I have no idea what her weekly schedule is like. But we can try.”
Rowan twisted her hands together as he made the call. He chatted for a moment, exchanging the usual pleasantries. Then he asked if she would be willing to speak with Rowan and Billy via a phone call.
Rowan held her breath. Winslow made agreeable sounds. Uttered the occasional “Yes” or “I see.” Finally, he thanked the woman and said goodbye.
He clasped his hands on his desk. “Ms. Reinhold’s hearing isn’t what it once was and she is not a fan of phone conversations.”
Rowan’s hopes deflated.
“But she said she would be happy to speak with you in person if you’d like to come by her home. I told her I’d discuss the possibility with you and let her know.”
“I would love to do that.” Rowan hoped this might be a major break in their investigation. “When would she like us to come?”
“Now if you’d like. She said she is home and would be happy to see you.”
Rowan couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Perfect.” She glanced at Billy and he agreed.
Winslow called Ms. Reinhold once more and gave her the news, then he provided Billy with directions to the woman’s home. Rowan thanked Dr. Winslow. He wished her luck with finding whatever it was she sought.
As Billy backed out of the parking slot, Rowan surveyed the hospital. All those years ago her mother had been here. Afraid and uncertain of what her future held. Rowan could only imagine how she had felt when Julian showed up. Her worst nightmare had come true.
But then, what if Rowan and Billy had it all wrong? Perhaps her mother hadn’t been afraid of Julian. The idea could very well be wishful thinking on Rowan’s part. The Solomon woman may have been another liar sent by Julian to confuse Rowan. Either way, perhaps she would know soon.
* * *
Beatrice Reinhold lived in a neat little duplex in Spring Hill. It was dark, just past seven, when Rowan and Billy arrived. They parked on the street and emerged from the truck. The neighborhood was quiet and well lit with carefully placed lampposts. A cobblestone path led to the narrow front porch. There were no steps. Just a straight shot to the front door.
Billy pressed the doorbell and the chime echoed inside.
Rowan felt suddenly cold, her determination turning tentative. If this woman remembered Rowan’s mother, she could tell her things she wished she hadn’t learned. The past year had been filled with information she wished she had never discovered.
And yet if she hadn’t dug so desperately for the truth, she would never have known her mother had not left her because she didn’t love her enough.
If Rowan hadn’t written that book, The Language of Death, would Julian have ever slipped up and revealed himself to her? Would some other thing Rowan might have done in the future have tripped the trigger that set him off?
The answers to those questions she would never know, but what she had learned—the hard way—was that he was capable of anything. No matter how seemingly horrific. Julian Addington sat at the very top of the evil scale.
“You okay?”
Rowan produced a smile for Billy. “I am. Maybe a little tired.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I know.”
The door opened and a woman with silvery-blond hair and a trim figure dressed in a very stylish jumpsuit smiled as if long-lost friends had appeared at her door. “Hello! You must be Rowan—” she looked from one to the other “—and Billy. Come in, please.”
Her home was warm and full of eclectic treasures. A cross between country and elegance. Lots of white contrasted with rustic touches. She guided them along the foyer and to her open concept main living area.
“Do have a seat and tell me your pleasure. I have coffee, tea, soda, beer—” she grinned at Billy “—and just about anything else you could desire. I’m a firm believer in being prepared for unexpected guests.”
“We don’t want to put you to any trouble, ma’am,” Billy assured her.
She waved him off. “Come on. Allow an old lady to show off.”
“In that case,” Rowan said, “I would love a cup of tea.”
Her face full of glee she turned to Billy. “How about a beer?”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be nice.”
“Make yourselves at home and I’ll be back in two shakes.”
They settled on the sofa. Billy placed his hat next to him. “I should probably call Lincoln and see how things are going.”
“I’m curious about that myself.”
Billy jerked his head in the direction they’d come. “I’ll just step into the foyer in case our host returns.”
Rowan nodded and watched him until he’d disappeared into the front hall. Her father had never mentioned her mother’s problems with depression. It was possible Norah had been particularly good at hiding her feelings. Some people were. Sometimes family and friends just didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice until something drastic happened. Denial was a powerful emotion. It was far easier to see a person as you expected them to be.
“Here we go.” Reinhold breezed in carrying a tray laden with refreshments. She glanced at the empty seat next to Rowan as she lowered the tray to the coffee table. The low murmur of Billy’s voice coming from the foyer was explanation enough of his absence.
“I took the liberty of adding a few snacks. I thought you might be hungry.” She passed Rowan the tea. “It was my day to host Bunco so I have lots of scones and tea biscuits left over. Cheese straws and absolutely marvelous spiced crackers.” She placed three small snack plates on the table, arranging them for her guests and herself. “If I don’t share them, I’ll eat them all.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Rowan sipped her tea. She wasn’t sure she could eat a single bite if her life depended on it but she wanted the lady to cooperate. The best way to ensure that happened was to indulge her. Rowan reached for the smallest of the tea biscuits. She hummed her satisfaction. “Delicious.”
“I had to make a call,” Billy said as he walked in and resumed his seat.
“Crime never takes a vacation for a chief of police.” Ms. Reinhold passed him the longneck bottle of beer. “Enjoy this little break.”
Billy thanked her, turned up the beer and had a swallow.
“You want to know about Norah.” Reinhold’s gaze settled on Rowan. “Looking at you is like looking at her.”
Rowan managed to keep her smile in place. “You spent a good deal of time with her during her stay at Serenity?”
“I did. I liked her and she trusted me.” Reinhold picked up her own cup of tea. “There were few she trusted. She was afraid most of the time.”
The knowledge found its mark and twisted like a dagger in Rowan’s heart. “Did she speak to you about her childhood?”
Reinhold held her gaze for a long moment. “She didn’t like to talk about it. She repeatedly resisted speaking about her early years in her sessions.”
“Was this part of the reason for her depression?” Rowan was aware there were a wide variety of underlying issues that contributed to depression. Childhood trauma was merely one of them.
“In part, I think.” She sat her teacup and saucer aside. “But it was more about her children.”
A new tension bumped against Rowan’s breastbone. “In what way?”
“She was afraid that her heritage—her childhood—would come back to haunt them. She was desperate to protect you both and she felt she had failed.”
The heaviness on Rowan’s chest increased. “Did she explain why?”
“She would never say.” Reinhold shook
her head. “She was just a beautiful, creative woman who had suffered greatly as a child. She refused to go into the details.”
“She was here for three weeks,” Rowan said. “Was any headway made at all on the underlying reason for her depression?”
“Not really. She agreed to try medication—something else she feared greatly. The one thing that became clear during her stay was that she despised Dr. Addington.”
Rowan winced before she could school the reaction. “Did she say anything specific about him?”
“She wanted nothing to do with him. She refused to speak when he came near her. She complained to the point that he was reassigned from her case. Addington insisted she was suffering from what they called split or multiple personality disorder in those days, but he was the only one who saw this alleged side of her.”
“What were your personal impressions?”
Reinhold studied her for a moment. “There was something in her childhood—something very dark that she blocked with every ounce of determination she possessed. Whatever it was, it terrified her and she fought hard to keep it buried.”
“Had she been successful to that point? Was her stay at Serenity the first of her hospitalizations?”
The older woman nodded. “There was no history of previous hospitalizations. As a psychiatrist you know that for some the darkness they hide is far more difficult to contain. It keeps digging its way out. Keeps showing up.”
“Ms. Reinhold,” Rowan said, “did you at any time feel that Dr. Addington and Norah had been involved before? Were connected somehow?”
Something changed in the other woman’s eyes. “I felt there was something, yes.” She drew in a big breath. “But Norah would never confirm. She wouldn’t speak of him just as she wouldn’t speak of her childhood. It was the tension between them that told me there was a history there. Whatever it was, it was intense and very painful for Norah.”
“After her release,” Billy asked, “did you ever have any dealings with Addington and other patients?”
