Blind Eye (13 page)

Waterbury, Connecticut

A
ttorney Viera decided if he were the parent, waiting even one extra hour would be too long a delay. It wouldn't matter how many years had gone by. He'd want to know. So he decided to make the call tonight.

By the time he got home, it was 9:55 p.m. He double-checked the time difference for Deer Lodge, Montana. They were two hours behind Connecticut. Just about eight o'clock on Saturday night. The time was right, but he wasn't looking forward to making this call.

Mark Shaw didn't have a phone number for the family, but he had been able to tell them that Amelia's mother lived with the girls' elderly grandfather in Deer Lodge. The old man was a widower, Mark thought Marion had said. As far as finding the last name of the family, Detective Ricci had all the information on the missing-person's report filed on Amelia eight years back.

The phone number was listed under the name Kim Brown. He assumed she'd gone back to her maiden name sometime after the divorce. Detective Ricci was also able to double-check with the University of California for confirmation of next of kin for Marion. Their
record listed Kim Brown, as well. No one else's name was on file.

Prior to going to the long-term care facility tonight, Viera had pulled Amelia's files from his office. He'd read over everything. There was very little there. He knew it all by heart.

“Wish me luck,” he told his wife.

“Good luck, sweetheart,” Ellen said, handing him the cup of decaffeinated coffee she'd brewed after he'd arrived home. She knew JD's history. He'd told her everything that had happened over the past couple of days. Ellen wasn't only his wife, friend and the mother of his children. She was also his most trusted sounding board for his law practice in issues like this. Arriving home tonight, she'd agreed wholeheartedly that Juan should make the call to the mother in Montana tonight.

Viera gathered everything he needed and closed the door to his study. He dialed the number.

He wondered if he should leave a message if an answering machine picked up. There was no way he could leave a coherent message conveying the kind of news he had to share. At the same time, he wanted to make contact with the family.

The decision was made for him. After the third ring, the tired voice of a woman answered the phone. He gave his name, a quick summary of what he did and where he was calling from. He asked to speak with Kim Brown.

The tone immediately became cautious. “You
are
speaking to her.”

“Ms. Brown, I'm calling with news of your daughter Amelia.”

There was no sound from the other end of the line. Absolute silence. He remembered the other call she
must have received this week about the death of Marion. He made a point of being quick and to the point.

“My understanding is that Amelia has been missing for a number of years. It has just come to our attention that a patient who has been in a minimally conscious state in a long-term care facility here for the past six years is your daughter.”

“Who are you again?” she asked, a hard edge creeping into the tone.

“My name is Juan Viera. I'm an attorney here in Waterbury, Connecticut. I have been serving as the court-appointed conservator for Amelia since her accident. Until today, we had no idea of her identity or where she might be from.”

The heavy silence continued for a few more moments before the mother spoke again. “Six years, you say, she's been in that hospital?”

“Yes. She was—”

“She's legal age. I hope you don't expect me to be paying for nothing you people have done for her.”

This time it was the attorney's turn to be struck dumb. He'd expected questions regarding Amelia's health or how she'd arrived there or even how they had been able to connect her to her family.

“No…no…” he answered when he'd regained his composure. “The purpose of this phone call is not to recover any expenses from you. She's a Title 19 Medicaid patient. All the expenses have been taken care of by the State of Connecticut. I don't see that changing in the future.”

“Good,” she said, the tired tone returning. “It's been a hard week.”

“I understand,” he said. “Please accept my sympathy on the loss of your other daughter.”

“So you heard?”

“Yes, it's been in all our papers,” he replied.

“Look, Attorney…”

“Viera.”

“Right, Viera. I've been bombarded with calls since it happened,” she told him. “Newspaper and TV people. Lawyers. The people from the university.
Good Morning America
wants to interview me. First I said no. But the lawyer I finally decided on says I should do it. The TV crews will come to Deer Lodge, so I don't have to go nowhere, and he says it'll be really good publicity for the lawsuit he's filing.”

Viera stayed silent, trying to not make any judgment based on what she was saying. He told himself people grieved differently.

“I didn't know just how outrageous the rates are you lawyers charge. I never needed one before. Not even for my divorce,” she said. “Good news is that I don't have to pay up front. This one will get a percentage of the settlement. A good percentage, but he thinks it'll be a darn good settlement, too. He really thinks this is the way it will go. I—”

“About Amelia…” he interrupted.

“Yeah, Amelia. She was always trouble, that girl. Nothing like her sister,” Kim Brown's tone conveyed irritation, annoyance, but not grief. “You raise identical twins, you think there should be some similarity in the temperament. But no. Amelia, she's like her father. Every step of the way. Eight years since she's been gone. But I knew I wasn't done with her.”

“I'm sure it's been very difficult for you.” Viera tried to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his voice.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. He could almost see her lighting a cigarette. He hadn't
smoked in thirty years, and he suddenly felt like lighting up.

Her voice was flat when she continued. “So what did you say is wrong with her?”

Viera had to fight the urge to defend Amelia. “She has been in a minimally conscious state.”

“What does that mean? Is she a vegetable?”

“No, she's not in a vegetative state. She has some visual and motor functions,” he explained. Most people didn't know the difference. Until today, the specifics hadn't been entirely clear to him, in spite of the documentation sent to him when he'd been assigned as her conservator.

“She can't take care of herself, can she?” Kim asked.

“No. She's on a feeding tube and needs full-time nursing care.”

Silence again. Viera waited for her to get her thoughts together. There wasn't much more that he wanted to tell her. He wasn't a doctor. Ahmad Baer had already offered tonight to talk to her on the phone, if need be.

Viera figured there was no point in even mentioning the clinical trial the neurologists were running. He didn't want to stop anything that might be helping Amelia. From a legal standpoint, the young patient's mother had not expressed any interest in being involved.

“Okay, what do you want from me?” Kim Brown finally asked.

She had a blunt way of speaking that Viera found repellant, but he forced himself not to take offence. The woman had to be pitied, in spite of her response to everything.

“It would help if we can have you confirm her identity.”

“Sounds like you've already done it,” she told him.

“As far as we can. But, of course, you're her next of kin,” he replied. “If it is inconvenient for you to come to Connecticut, we can send you an overnight packet with photos and any other information we have.”

“What's the rush?” she asked, sounding suspicious again. “You're not moving her from where she is, are you?”

“No, not until you identify the facility you wish to have her moved to. If you'd like to have her closer t—”

“Do I have to?” she broke in. “Legally, I mean. Do I have to get involved at all?”

Viera paused. He had dealt with all kinds of people before. He knew men and women like this one, to be sure. Based on the missing-person's files, Amelia was now twenty-five years old. In the eyes of many parents, she was an adult. He also tried to imagine this woman receiving the kinds of news she'd received this week. Any sane person could flip unexpectedly and say things that might not make sense when put on the spot.

“Ms. Brown, you have no legal obligation,” he told her. “And you don't have to make any decisions right now. With regard to your daughter—if it is actually Amelia—I will continue to act as conservator until you decide what level of involvement you'd like to take on. But perhaps I could leave you my name and phone number and address. I'll call you again on Monday. Perhaps by then, you'll have had a better chance to think about any concerns and questions you might have.”

“Well…” she replied doubtfully. “Give it to me.”

The attorney gave her all the pertinent information about himself. But he also gave her the name and phone number of the facility, including Jennifer Sullivan and Dr. Baer as contacts there.

“Then I'll call you on Monday,” he told her.

“No. Don't call me,” she told him. “I'll either have my attorney contact you or I'll call you myself, when I'm ready to. That girl doesn't seem like she's going anywhere anytime soon. Is she?”

“No, she isn't.”

“I have too much on my plate right now with arrangements I've gotta make for Marion to be thinking about the other one. There's Marion's apartment near the university. I don't know how much stuff she's collected since she left home. I have to move her things out of there and back to Deer Lodge. Then, there are memorial services they set up for her and the advisor fellow at Davis. I don't know if I'm going to get there for them in time or not. But I have to set up some kind of service here, too. People around town have known my father for years. And Marion was always a favorite. Maybe a full Mass…it's tough without a body. It's gotta be done, though, my lawyer says.” She paused. “No. That other one will have to wait.”

He forced himself to try to understand all her concerns. Amelia wasn't in any immediate danger. She wasn't acting out of negligence.

“I'll get back to you sometime,” she told him before ending the call.

Viera dropped the handset on his desk and stared at the copy of the missing-person police report he'd gotten from Detective Ricci.

“No wonder you ran away.”

Waterbury, Connecticut

T
he all-night diner was supposedly near the Mall View movie theaters. Mark Shaw found the eating establishment, despite the fact that there was no mall in view.

Both doctors he'd met and the nurse, Mrs. Sullivan, had been too busy with Amelia to join them in the conference room by the time Attorney Viera and the detective had finished up with their business. There was no telling when or if Mark would be able to see the patient tonight.

On his way out, Mark had left a message—including his cell phone number—for Sid Conway. He'd chosen the neurologist, as he seemed to be the one in charge of the experiment they were running on Amelia. Also, he figured Conway was about the same age as him, so there was more chance of the young man not having a family to go home to. Mark was hoping the doctor might meet him for some coffee or food after he left the facility.

He'd also struck Mark as a guy who might share information about the patient, despite privacy issues, if he thought it would help Amelia.

Sid Conway had called him back and suggested this place.

It was almost eleven o'clock at night when Mark walked into the diner. He'd already checked into a Hampton Inn near the interstate highway in Waterbury. He'd packed an overnight bag leaving York. That had to get him through until he was ready to go back.

The diner was big on neon lights. Booths lined the windows looking out onto a busy strip. The smell of fries and onions hung in the air. A handful of the booths were occupied, mostly by a young moviegoing crowd. A few third-shift types—clearly regulars—were sitting at the counter, coffee mugs and egg dishes in front of them. Mark figured this was the kind of place that probably got really busy once the bars in the area shut down.

A waitress told him to sit wherever he wanted. Mark moved into one of the booths. He took the seat facing the door. He ordered coffee. The waitress returned not a minute later and put a large plastic coffeepot and a mug down in front of him. She pulled a handful of creamers from a pocket in her gold uniform and dropped them without ceremony next to the cup.

“Anything to eat?”

“Not yet. I'm meeting someone,” he told her.

Mark didn't have long to wait. The waitress hadn't even walked behind the counter when Sid Conway came through the door. The young doctor came right over.

“Hey, thanks so much for meeting me this late,” Mark said as the other man took the seat across from him.

“That's fine. I know how it works. You meet Amelia and immediately become consumed by what's going on in her head. She's certainly not the kind of patient that you read about in med-school textbooks.”

The waitress was back at the table. Conway ordered coffee, too. He took a quick glance at the menu and ordered toast. Mark ordered apple pie.

“Is she okay now?” Mark asked.

“It was strange. She was choking, but there were no obstructions. We think it might have been spasms. She is also suffering from pain that we can't find any reason for. We had to sedate her for the night.”

“What kind of pain?”

“Acute pain in the occipital lobe.”

“In the head?”

Sid glanced up at him quickly. “Yeah. In the back of her brain, just above the spinal cord.”

“And how do you know that?”

“The readings pinpoint where she's feeling pain,” Sid told him. “She was still connected to the computers during the entire episode. There was a lot that we could see tonight. Depending on the position of the response, we are starting to get an idea of where patients are experiencing pain in their body, but Amelia's pain seemed to originate right there in her brain. It's complicated.”

“What else do the readings show?” Mark asked.

“You know…” The neurologist paused and looked him square in the face. “You arrived today. You'll probably be gone by Monday. Why do you want to know everything that she's telling us?”

The waitress was too fast. She was back with their orders.

Mark pushed the pie aside and decided to be honest with the physician.

“The reason I wanted to meet with you tonight is that there is something I can't explain going on here. Jennifer Sullivan told me that there's no possible way that
Amelia could have had contact with her sister in the past six years,” Mark told him. “Well, Marion and I met for the first time this past winter. The hours that we were together were brief, but there was a connection made. Something clicked for us. And here, months later, Amelia gives my cell phone number to you people. And then, when I see her tonight, she seems to know me, recognize me. I want to know why.”

“And if you get the answers?” the neurologist asked. “You're not family. What are you going to do about it?”

Mark thought of the restlessness he'd felt since he'd been back from Iraq. For the first time in his life, he didn't seem to have purpose. He didn't get excited about tomorrow or the next day or what he was going to do a week or a month from now.

“I don't know,” he said truthfully. “Marion and Amelia's family were torn up. Things weren't all that happy in Deer Lodge with their mother. Maybe, somehow, Marion wants me to help her sister. I know that sounds screwy.”

Sid was looking intently at him.

Mark held the other man's gaze. “I'm not a nutcase. I'm a pretty serious guy. All I can say is that I'd like to help. I don't know how I can help yet…but I'll try to figure it out.”

Sid looked down, taking his time stirring two packs of sugar into his coffee. He spread jelly on his toast and took a bite of it.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You can't quote me on this.”

“All right.” Mark was relieved that the neurologist had decided to talk to him.

Sid did not look up as he talked. “I think what we are seeing in her brain scans might have something to do with being an identical twin.”

“I thought so,” Mark replied. “I'm a cop. My training and experience has taught me to believe pretty much only in facts—in things that are concrete. But I said the same thing to Attorney Viera. Somehow, these two sisters were communicating with each other.”

“Or…they
are
communicating.”

“The only problem is that one of the sisters is dead.”

“I know,” Sid said.

“That doesn't sound very scientific.”

“I told you that you can't quote me.”

Mark nodded. “So what do you think is happening?”

“I don't know.” Sid leaned forward. “Somehow, before the sister died, she passed information to the twin. I don't know how or why. I have to go and read up on the studies involving twins. I know that a lot of work has been done…and if I remember correctly, most of that work raises more questions than it answers. Scientists don't have much faith in mental telepathy or things like that, but somehow, Marion transferred your phone number to her sister. I think the sister was trying to help Amelia.”

Sid Conway sat back, picked up his mug and took a healthy sip.

“Trying to help her,” Mark repeated, staring at him. “Your conclusion has big holes in it.”

“True, if you think like a cop.”

“Or a scientist,” Mark replied. “But look at what we know. Assuming that Marion didn't find her sister in the past year, and it doesn't appear she did, then she didn't know that Amelia even needs help. That aside, if Marion's intention is only to help her sister, then why not give her the phone number to their house in Montana? Or why not mention Amelia's name, or the family name, or a dozen other things that would be more useful than my number?”

“Maybe she did, but we didn't pick up on it. Our capabilities are cutting-edge, but we are still limited. And remember that we were taking the readings for very brief periods of time. There could have been a lot there that we missed.”

Mark wasn't satisfied. “I'd like to stick around until Amelia's family shows up. Attorney Viera doesn't seem to have a problem with me being involved. I agree with you that the two communicated, but I'd like to know
why
Marion wanted me involved. Maybe this does sound screwy, but I have a gut feeling that there's something more that she wants me to do. Something I'm
supposed
to do.”

The neurologist topped off the coffee in his mug. He grabbed another two packs of sugar. “Okay. I'll buy that.”

“Does this mean you're going to share anything else you pick up on your readings?” Mark asked.

“Everything I say has to be off the record,” Sid told him. “I think we might be bending some serious rules when it comes to patient care or even law enforcement, so I want you to agree to that.”

“I absolutely agree,” Mark promised. “This is bordering on voodoo stuff for me, so there's no way I'm going to share any of it with anyone.”

“Look at it from my position. On one hand, it could offer breakthrough data for studies on twins, never mind what we originally started out to study. But on the other hand, my credibility as a researcher goes right in the toilet if the scientific community even gets a whiff of what you call
voodoo
.”

Mark had always assumed doctors ate healthy. This one was a sugarholic. He saw Sid top up another half a mug of coffee and grab two more sugar packs.

“Tell me something,” Sid asked. “Did you and Marion meet in some kind of train or bus station? A place with a lot of people around?”

“We met in an airport,” Mark told him. “Logan Airport in Boston. Why?”

“When you first met Amelia, she raised her hand and smiled,” Sid said. “We picked up an image that could have been a terminal…I guess it could have been the airport that flashed through her mind.”

Every piece of information was confirming what he'd already come to accept. “So the two sisters
were
communicating.”

Sid shrugged and then nodded, moving his focus to the toast and putting more jelly on it. He ate in silence for a few moments.

“The terminal was the easy part of deciphering the readings,” the neurologist finally said. “Our computer programs are tremendously complex, matching and combining literally millions of tiny images, but after working over all the computations, there are still unexplainable readings.”

“But you expect that,” Mark said, guessing.

“Of course. But take the choking, for instance. While Amelia was choking, her brain was telling her that she had pills stuck in her throat.”

“Pills?” Mark asked.

Sid nodded. “We know for a fact that for the past six years, she's been fed through a feeding tube that passes directly into her stomach wall. This has to be a long-term memory or…”

“Or?” Mark prompted.

“Or it is something she is picking up…well, possibly from her sister.”

Mark wished he knew more about how the commu
nication between identical twins worked. “This happened right after Amelia met me.”

“When you and Marion were at the airport, did she pop pills?”

“No,” Mark said. “I don't think so.”

Sid frowned. “Then there is the pain in her head that I told you about,” he continued. “There's more to it than I told you before. Her brain is telling her that she's sustained a serious head injury. A blow to the back of the head, or something.”

“How about her own accident, six years ago?” Mark suggested. “Could this be memory of the pain she felt after that injury?”

The neurologist dismissed the idea immediately. “No, the memory function originates in a different location.”

“Could she be imagining these things?”

“Aside from recognizing you, do you think she imagined your cell phone number? I'm not much of a believer in coincidences…and certainly not ten-digit ones.”

“Is there anyone you know who might be able to tell us something about this stuff?”

“You mean at the university?” Sid replied. “I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. I'm going to make a couple of phone calls in the morning.”

“Can I come by and see Amelia tomorrow morning?” Mark asked.

“Sure. But I suggest not showing up until noon. Guard dog number one—that being Jennifer Sullivan—told the guard dog number two—that being me—not to arrive at the facility before noon.”

“What happens if she wakes up or is in distress again?” Mark wanted to know.

“They know to call me.”

Mark's life had been in decision limbo since he'd come back from Iraq. Now he had a purpose, but things weren't moving fast enough for him.

Patience was a virtue, he remembered his mother telling him.

He'd never considered himself particularly virtuous, though.