Blind Spot (8 page)

Dinah opened her eyes and turned to look at Claire. “You’re such a believer in straight science.”

“Hey, if there’s something more, I’m all for it. Don’t quote me on that. The hospital administration already regards me with suspicion. But I like this.” She lifted her glass to toast Dinah.

Claire had told Dinah how her marriage to Ron fell apart after her two miscarriages. Dinah, in turn, had talked about Toby, about her frustration with Toby’s mother, how she would love to adopt the little boy herself, but it was not to be.

Now they just enjoyed each other’s company, talking about other things, the less important the better. After dinner and several glasses of wine, Dinah headed back to her house and Claire stayed where she was, her gaze on the ocean.

Later, lying in bed and watching rain drizzle down her windowpane, she wondered more about her friend. Dinah seemed to understand Claire’s very soul and yet, beyond Toby, Claire knew very little about the woman next door. Some people were like that, she knew; they could give of themselves wholly without offering up a clue to their own inner workings. Claire had just never met someone so completely like that as Dinah. She felt a little guilty because it seemed sometimes like she was taking, taking, taking and offering nothing in return except an occasional dinner or glass of wine.

She closed her eyes, thoughts of Dinah drifting away to be replaced by other more pressing issues. Tomorrow Claire was going to be bullied by the administration and the Marsdons to give a favorable account regarding Heyward Marsdon III’s rehabilitation and therefore the means of his incarceration. Nobody wanted him on Side B. Not his family, and because of them, not the hospital administrators. She knew they wanted him as an inpatient on Side A.

But was it the right course to take?

The question kept her awake till nearly dawn.

The hour-long eleven o’clock meeting started on time and ran an hour and a half late. Everyone Freeson had said would be there was there, along with Dr. Zellman, Dr. Prior, and Dr. Dayton from Side B—Dr. Jean Dayton being the only other woman in the room besides Claire.

The meeting was to decide the fate of Mr. Heyward Marsdon III, at least within the hospital walls. There was a lot of detailed data on his psychological state of mind, garnered over the past six months, and the first hour and a half crawled by with each of the doctors from Side B’s recount. Claire was a little surprised that Dr. Jean Dayton’s views coincided so closely with her own.

“Mr. Marsdon is a paranoid schizophrenic,” she wrapped up in her curiously flat voice. She seemed to have next to no inflection in her tone. “He suffers delusions and hallucinations. Off his meds, he believes there are alien beings trying to kill him. That has not changed in six months, nor is it likely to in the future. I believe he should stay where he is.”

“Dr. Dayton,” Avanti answered smoothly, before Radke, whose face had grown tight and grim at her bald assessment, could try to pour oil on the situation himself. This was the first serious voice of dissent in their plan to move Heyward to Side A. “How often do you see Mr. Marsdon, professionally?”

“Daily,” she stated.

“How often do you see other patients?”

“Daily,” she repeated.

“All of them?”

“Most of them.”

“But isn’t Dr. Prior Mr. Marsdon’s primary psychiatrist? Isn’t he the one who should decide the right course of action?”

“I’m Heyward Marsdon’s primary,” Prior affirmed. He was a short man with a rotund stomach that he liked to rest his clasped hands upon.

Dayton said, “I’m one of Marsdon’s doctors as well.” Her voice took on a stubborn tone. “I think he’s a danger to himself and others. Why don’t you tell them what you said about him last week,” she challenged Dr. Prior.

Prior sat up straight as if hit by a cattle prod.” “What?”

“When you and I were talking about Heyward after our weekly session together.”

“I said he was doing fine,” Prior declared.

“Actually, you said, ‘Thank God he’s on his meds. That’s the only time he’s fine.’”

“We all agree Heyward should stay on his meds,” Avanti broke in. “But when he’s on them, as he is now, he’s in complete control.”

Claire glanced at Heyward’s family, his grandfather, Heyward Marsdon Senior, and his father, Heyward Marsdon Junior. Senior leaned forward, interested in the proceedings, but Junior looked like he was counting the tiny holes in the acoustical tiles on the ceiling.

Senior said in his gravelly voice, “I’ll allow my grandson’s had a few problems. He was overtaken by chemically induced visions that have altered his reality in terrible ways.”

Like killing Melody Stone?
Claire felt her skin tingle with shock. He was trying to negate the seriousness of Heyward’s crime.

Dayton stated flatly, “If you’re implying that his medications altered his reality, you are ignoring the facts.”

“Dr. Dayton, we all know what happened.” This time it was Radke speaking. “And we’re not asking that he be released. What we are trying to discern is whether the more restrictive side of the hospital is the right place for Mr. Marsdon.”

“There are some seriously psychologically disturbed
criminals
on that side,” Marsdon Senior pointed out.

Of which Heyward III is one,
Claire thought.

“They’re all treated with respect,” Dr. Zellman felt compelled to put in.

“That goes for all of our patients,” Avanti said. “Side A and Side B.”

“All right,” Radke said, closing his leather-bound notebook and leaning his arms across its smooth, black finish. His glance touched on Claire for a moment, then he looked around the room. The other doctors gazed back at him expectantly. Avanti, whose supercilious attitude was in high gear, had a faint smile on his lips, as if he knew it was already a foregone conclusion that Marsdon would be moved to Side A. He was worse than Freeson, Claire decided. A major leaguer while Freeson was still on a farm team when it came to overinflated ego, impatience, and narcissism.

The Marsdons, Senior and Junior, gave each other a look. Junior crossed his legs, twitched his knife-creased pant legs into place, then stared off into space as if he’d magically transported himself somewhere else. Maybe he had. He sure as hell hadn’t been in the moment once during this meeting.

Radke said, “We’ve all had a chance to discuss the right course of action for Mr. Marsdon, and though initially it seemed prudent to house him in the high-security wing of our hospital, maybe that time has passed. The focus of Mr. Marsdon’s care is, by design, centered on detention in the high-security wing rather than individual treatment of his disease.”

Heyward Marsdon Sr. reacted 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 Heyward.”

“I’m fighting for what I believe. You should try it sometime.”

“You don’t really believe Heyward should be on Side B. I know you don’t.”

“I don’t think he should be on Side A, either. But he was remanded to Side B, no matter what spin anybody wants to put on it.”

“You’re overstepping your bounds,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I’m always overstepping my bounds.” His look of surprise was almost comical. “It’s what you’ve always thought about me,” she said. “Maybe I am a mind reader after all. Avanti was wrong.”

He was staring at her as if she’d grown horns. Figuratively, she supposed she had. Good girl Claire Norris had left the building.

“What happened to your professionalism?” he demanded.

“Is it missing?”

He shook his head. “Channel Seven’s going to be here today. I don’t know whether you should be available or not.”

“Jane Doe’s not my patient. Go ahead and take care of it.”

“There’s something else, too. The police want to interview her, and I’ve allowed it.”

“Cat?”

“Jane Doe, yes.”

Claire was blindsided by this turn of events. “But she’s not awake.”

“They don’t care. Just wanted to let you know not to panic.”

Not to panic.
“What good is this going to do?”

He shrugged. “You don’t say no to the police.”

She shook her head, disbelieving. “If you think this is right for the patient, then I guess it is.”

He peered at her hard. “I think there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

“I’d like to be there for Cat’s interview, too, if it’s all right.”

“With the police, but not with Channel Seven…?”

Claire made a sound of annoyance. “For both,” she said, though she really wasn’t looking forward to another round with Pauline Kirby.

The elevator doors opened onto the second floor and Freeson held them back from closing with his hand. Instead of getting out of the car, Claire punched the button for floor one again.