Blind Spot. Nancy Bush
wisely didn’t respond. They were both diverted by the arrival of Dr. Freeson bustling down the grand staircase. He was a slight man with a Vandyck beard and a fussy style that made Pauline smile internally.
He looked suitably starstruck as he came up to her and stuck out his hand. “Ms. Kirby, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you want to do the interview here?” He gestured toward the gathering room.
“Can you take us to see the patient, please?”
“I’m sorry. That’s against hospital pol—”
“Has anyone contacted you about her? Our station received a number of call-ins after our first story, but we didn’t have a good picture, if you recall.”
“I do. I know. That’s why we wanted more exposure.”
“We need a picture. Can’t we just take our cameras to her? We’ll be out in less than ten minutes.”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head and looked like he really was very sorry. He could see his fifteen minutes of fame blowing to dust.
“Then can you bring her to us?” Pauline motioned to the general area surrounding them.
Dr. Freeson hesitated. Pauline’s upper white teeth bit into her lower lip while she was smiling. A shark’s look. One she’d perfected without even being aware of it. “One quick shot, and then maybe we can go into that room with the chairs and talk with you a while.”
Freeson’s eyes slid a look to Darrell and the television camera he balanced on his shoulder. Bingo, Pauline thought, but she kept her expression pleasantly neutral.
Everything was going swimmingly until a slim brunette in a lab coat with surprisingly good legs entered from one of the hallways. Pauline recognized her vaguely. Someone…oh, yes…the patsy for that throat-slitting by the youngest Marsdon…Heyward Marsdon III or IV. Poor woman. Marsdon was a real psycho if Pauline had ever seen one. Pauline automatically straightened her posture, sensing a battle about to brew.
The woman exchanged a chilly glance with Dr. Freeson. She said, “Lori called me.”
Freeson glared at the receptionist, the hapless Lori, apparently. “I was going to call you,” he stated stiffly. Then to Pauline, “I’ll have one of the nurses see about our Jane Doe.” He walked away abruptly.
Amused, Pauline watched the brunette stare at his retreating back with a grim expression. She then turned toward the news crew duo and said, “Our patient isn’t speaking.”
Pauline nodded. “Not responding to stimuli of any sort. We know. It’s a human interest story. There must be someone out there who’s missing her.”
“I’m Dr. Claire Norris. We’ve met before.” She didn’t extend her hand.
Pauline nodded. “Yes, over the murder here. How are you doing, by the way?”
“Fine. I didn’t like your reporting of the so-called facts at the time. Think you can keep it less lurid this time?”
Pauline felt a tingle of surprise and Darrell made an amused sound that sounded like a half gasp. “One patient slitting another’s throat in front of his doctor is kind of lurid, wouldn’t you say?”
“Today’s patient, the one you say you want to help, has retreated, owing to shock and fear.”
“Someone tried to cut out her baby. I’m sure she is traumatized.” Pauline wanted to hurry this along. She hated wasting time.
“She is.” Dr. Norris was firm. “She’s not talking. She’s recovering slowly.”
“In case you missed it, the point is, we’re trying to help. We want a story and when we have it, maybe we’ll find someone to identify your little mommy in the process. It’s good for all of us. I’m sorry for her. I truly am. But being mad at me for doing my job isn’t helping any of us. Am I coming through?”
“Loud and clear.”
Her tone irked Pauline. She was so calm and cool and there was an itsy-bitsy little judgmental part of her—the stuffy doctor part whereby she had a rod up her ass—that she couldn’t quite hide. “All right, let’s get this little lady teed up and do our thing. We’ll be out in no time. Ah!” She grinned as the blond woman in question was wheeled from the hallway by a mousy-looking aide of some kind. Freeson was hovering behind.
Pauline’s focus changed to the sweet-faced victim in the wheelchair. She was so fragile seeming. Too young to be a mommy, but then, some people just didn’t see the advantage to ending an inconvenient pregnancy. Not that Pauline was pro-abortion. Not that she would admit publicly, anyway, but c’mon! This girl was a child. Barely looked old enough to breed.
She would make absolutely great television.
With an almost imperceptible motion to Darrell, who never needed cuing anyway, she leaned down toward the patient and said, “Jane Doe is no name for someone as special as you, honey. Can you look at me?” The girl’s head was tilted so all you could see was her crown, her eyes downcast.
“Dr. Freeson?” Claire Norris said in a frigid tone.
“Can you just take a picture?” Freeson said anxiously. “A still.”
“Sure. It’d be better if she looked up, though.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want the spotlight.” Norris looked around, as if searching for security.
Pauline touched the girl’s hand. “Hey, there,” she said. “We’re going to help you find your people, but we need a picture, honey. Could you lift your head?”
Freeson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Pauline gave him her sweetest look. “Maybe you could just put your hand under her chin?”
“Dr. Freeson, if you can’t get them out of here, I will,” Dr. Norris snapped furiously, her feet tap-tapping toward the front desk.
The bitch was was going to ruin the whole thing. “We’ll go,” Pauline said.
“My interview?” Freeson said vaguely as they turned to leave.
“Your little friend kinda took that away from you, honey,” Pauline told him as she turned aside. Darrell followed on her heels. They walked out the door and toward the van, climbed inside. Pauline wasn’t happy as they settled into their seats. She really hated women. They got in the way at every turn.
A gray truck came up the long drive from the highway followed by a sheriff’s Jeep with Winslow County Sheriff’s Department written in white on its black sides. Both Pauline and Darrell examined the newcomers with interest.
“Who called the cavalry?” Pauline murmured, then motioned the driver to wait. “The guy in the black leather jacket. I know him. Who is he?”
“Last week’s booty call?” The driver sniggered, but no one else in the van dared such a one-way ticket to you’re-fired-ville.
Pauline sent him a scathing look, mentally reminded herself to can his sorry ass, then said, “Detective Langford Stone. Or something.” She snapped her fingers a couple of times. “Langdon.”
“The guy whose sister was killed by Marsdon,” Darrell said on a long whistle.
“Kill that engine, moron,” Pauline snapped to the driver. “We’re sticking around.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно