Blind Spot. Nancy Bush
to “disease” with a jerk of tension. His white hair pulled away from his head in a wavy, Donald Sutherland style and his eyes were as blue and piercing as the actor’s as well. He was heavier; his chest was wide, his cheeks fleshy, his hands meat hooks that looked as if they might have trouble handling the delicacy of a knife and fork. Claire could easily see him picking up a turkey leg in one hand and a pewter stein of ale in the other while hunching over a plate. He had that medieval look about him. She wondered if he’d been a grade school bully.
Marsdon Senior said, “My grandson needs help. Yes. But he is not the villain the media paints him. He does not belong with those vile killers in that part of your hospital.”
“He did take a life,” Dr. Howard Neumann reminded them quietly. He didn’t want to go against the tide, but he had enough honor to want to keep the facts straight, regardless of the amount of money and influence sitting around the table.
Radke, six foot two, long-faced with salt-and-pepper hair and a lean build that made him seem taller than he was, turned his attention to Neumann, who was six inches shorter, stubbier, and tended to fidget. But this time Neumann placed one hand over the other on the table and waited. He wasn’t going to let them forget what had truly happened. Claire could have kissed him.
“We haven’t forgotten, Howard,” Radke said. Then, to Claire, “You haven’t said much, my dear.”
“Everyone knows how I feel. He was remanded to the high-security side of the hospital. Side B,” Claire stated clearly.
“He was remanded to the hospital,” Radke corrected her.
“With the intention that he be monitored twenty-four seven. We don’t do that on Side A to the extent Heyward Marsdon needs.”
“I disagree,” Avanti said vigorously. “Side A has more personnel. More contact with the patients.”
“Side B has contact as well,” Dr. Neumann started, but Marsdon Junior chose that moment to jump in with, “They’re in cages on your high-security side! Only the sickest of the sick should be there.”
Radke said to everyone, though his gaze was stuck on Claire, “It’s up to us to decide the level of his care.”
Dayton tried to get another word in. “It wouldn’t do the hospital any good to have one of the patients hurt themselves or someone else.”
Radke was practically willing Claire to see his side. She had no real authority. They would do what they would do. But if the press got hold of the fact that she didn’t want Heyward III released from Side B, and then something happened, Claire would be on the front lines. The face of the hospital.
They wanted her on board badly.
“When Heyward was admitted to the hospital, it was with the understanding that he would be placed on Side B. That’s why he’s there now,” she said.
“But it wasn’t specifically written that he would have to stay there,” Radke argued.
He was splitting hairs and they both knew it. This was for the Marsdons’ benefit; it had nothing to do with what was best for Heyward III and others around him. “I know what the letter of the law is,” Claire said evenly. “I also know the spirit in which it was made.”
“Honey, what is that supposed to mean?” Heyward Senior frowned at her.
Claire was tired of being a dear and a honey. She met Heyward III’s grandfather’s eyes and said, “Everyone was stunned and horrified by Melody Stone’s death at the hands of your grandson.” Surprised looks abounded from other members of the staff and even Heyward Junior. Nobody, but nobody, talked back to Heyward Senior. “The public wanted him locked away forever. In a dungeon. To rot.”
“Claire…” Radke admonished.
“He needs care. Personal care. Probably more than what he receives at Side B. But he’s delusional and unpredictable and has hallucinations, like Dr. Dayton said. There’s no escaping the fact that he’s dangerous and needs round-the-clock supervision. If you want Heyward to receive one-on-one from Side A personnel, we can go to him on Side B. But I think he should stay there. He shouldn’t be moved.”
Avanti put in, “Side A can offer complete security. We can monitor his meds and the doors are coded and card-keyed. No one gets in or out without their keycard and code.”
“I was overpowered by a paranoid schizophrenic,” Claire reminded him. “Coded doors and keycards are only so effective.”
“My grandson scared you. I understand how you feel,” Marsdon Senior growled softly. His bushy white eyebrows were pulled down over his arctic eyes. “But he’s not a cold-blooded killer like those men in the other rooms over there. You must agree on that, Dr. Norris.”
“Not all of them are cold-blooded killers,” she answered. “Some are delusional and hallucinate as much as Heyward. Some are worse. Some are better.”
“So, what are you saying, Claire?” Radke asked, sounding annoyed.
Well, Emile, I’m saying you need to think in terms of patient care and safety instead of the bottom line. “I’m saying my position hasn’t changed.”
“Dr. Norris, we need you to be on board with this,” Avanti said in a voice that was gently threatening.
More than Dr. Dayton, it was Claire’s vote on the issue that would matter. To the public. To the press.
And the press were going to be here soon to do their story on Cat.
“Only to look good politically,” Claire responded to him. “You can make this decision without me.”
“Dr. Norris has already said that Heyward won’t receive the same level of care on Side B as Side A,” Freeson suddenly popped up. “We all agree in theory.”
“I can speak for myself,” Claire said.
“Well, then speak,” Avanti suggested, looking to the others for support. “Dr. Norris, you don’t think the care on Side B is perfect for Heyward, do you?”
“Perfect? No. But—”
“Then what are we arguing about?” He turned to Radke and spread his hands. “Side B is not the best for Heyward Marsdon the Third. We all agree.”
“That is where the court assigned him,” Claire reminded them. “That’s what they meant.”
“I don’t believe you’re a mind reader.” Avanti’s dark eyes held a hint of warning.
“I don’t believe you’re that obtuse,” she snapped back.
Silence descended on the room, and it was Howard Neumann who rescued the moment by accidentally knocking over his coffee cup and spilling the cooled brown liquid across the table. Apologizing profusely, he mopped up the mess while the rest of them gathered their notes and slid back their chairs.
Despite her strong words, Claire felt the anger that tightened her chest. She wasn’t great with confrontation. She was an analyst, not a political infighter. But they’d backed her into a corner.
Freeson followed her through the door. “Claire, wait.”
“Talk to me later, James. I’m busy.” She kept walking rapidly away from the meeting room.
“I have some hospital business to discuss with you, and I don’t feel like shouting it down the hall!”
“I’ll hold the elevator,” she said through lips that barely moved, then did just that as he took his sweet time joining her, just to let her know who was boss.
“You really like being a fly in the ointment, don’t you?” he complained as the elevator doors closed.
“Oh. I thought I was speaking my mind and letting people know where I stood.”
“Why are you fighting this so hard? It doesn’t help anybody. Not even