Inside Out (27 page)

“Good,” Leo said, sounding genuinely pleased.

“How’s she doing?” Nat asked before he had a chance to hang up.

“Suzanne?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “She’s pretty uptight.”

“She heard about Claire Fisher?”

“Yeah.”

“And you told her about the missing journal?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing.”    .

“She must have said something, Leo.”

“Yeah, she said something,” he responded grimly. “She said she never in her life wanted a fix so bad.” “Help her to remember? I’m afraid it may have just the opposite effect,” Dr. Varda told Nat. “Seeing the mutilation done to her face alone has only intensified the trauma. I’d like to get my hands on that damn orderly.”

“Did she say anything at all about the attack? Ask you anything?”

He shook his head. “She’s withdrawing more and more into herself. It’s all too much for her. It’s going to take time.”

“How much time?” Nat was growing more and more impatient. Surely, as an experienced psychiatrist, Varda should have some way of breaking through Lynn’s defenses.

“I don’t know.”

“What about hypnosis?”

“Down the line, yes, I would consider it.”

“ ‘Down the line’?”

“When Lynn is emotionally and physically stronger. To attempt something like that now is far too risky.”

“And what about the risk of getting killed?” she shot back angrily. Nat was sure Varda realized it wasn’t only Lynn she was thinking about, but him- and herself as well. He knew about Claire Fisher, and while the psychiatrist tried to maintain a professional demeanor, Nat could see the flicker of fear in his eyes. He was scared. She was scared. Leo was scared. And out there somewhere, Dr. Harrison Bell was probably scared as well. Scared of getting caught, anyway.

And he might get away, at that. Right now all the cops had was a mounting suspicion. But with no hard evidence, even if they found Bell, they were not going to be able to hold him in custody for more than twenty-four hours. And even if evidence turned up and Harrison Bell could be charged with the murder of Claire Fisher, it remained pure supposition that Bell, and not

Father Joe Parker—or someone else for that matter—had been responsible for the attempted murders of Lynn Ingram and Suzanne Flolden.

Their only real hope was that Lynn Ingram not only had seen but would recognize her attacker. And that she could somehow be made to remember before someone else got hurt—or worse.

“Sleep in this morning?” Jack asked sardonically when Nat got to Horizon House at a few minutes past eleven
a.m.,
Ross Varda with her. After recounting Suzanne’s remark about desperately wanting to do dope, Varda thought it would be a good idea to ride over with Nat to the center and see if she’d agree to have a little talk with him. Nat thought it was a good idea, too.

While one of her officers escorted the psychiatrist upstairs to Suzanne’s room, Nat headed for her office. Jack followed her.

“Where were you?”

“Boston General.” She shrugged out of her gray blazer, hung it on the coat rack near the door, dropped her tote bag beside her desk, and sank into her chair.

Jack remained standing on the other side of her desk. “You talk to Lynn?”

“She didn’t want to talk.” Nat told him about Lynn’s distressing encounter with the mirror. “I talked to the surgeon. She’s thinking of moving Lynn out of ICU in a couple of days. I told her I wish she would keep her there a while longer. I just feel there’s more security up in ICU.”

“Any sign of her memory returning?” Jack asked.

“None that I can see.”

She scanned a pile of phone-message memos on her desk, relieved to see that none of them demanded her immediate attention.

Still, she felt a flurry of anxiety. She hadn’t really been around the center enough lately to know how the inmates were coping with the stress of two inmates having been attacked. “Everything quiet here?” she asked Jack.

“Quiet enough.”

She eyeballed him. “What does that mean?”

“Relax, Nat. Everything’s okay. A couple of verbal spats. What looked like a no-show during an on-site visit this morning with Manuel Diaz over at Commonwealth Granite. But it turned out his boss had sent him out on a delivery.” Jack sat down. “What else? Oh yeah, Sharon had her hands full with some manager of a hair salon where she’s placed a lot of our gals over the past two years. The woman blew a gasket when our latest, Nina Simms, got it into her head to bleach her hair bright orange last night. The manager took one look at her when Simms got into work this morning and told her she was through. Simms got a little worked-up herself, locked herself in the salon’s bathroom with an electric razor. The manager got ahold of Sharon, who raced over to the salon and finally got Simms to come out of the bathroom. Sharon sashays out with some kind of a wild buzz cut. Meanwhile, clients were coming in, and the manager was beside herself.”

“And?”

Jack smiled. “Two clients flipped over the ’do and wanted Simms to duplicate it.”

“So Simms’s staying? Everything’s cool?”

“Everything’s cool.”

Nat slumped back in her chair.

Jack gave her an assessing study. “You look lousy.”

“Not as lousy as I feel. You heard about Claire Fisher, I suppose?”

“Yeah. On the eleven-o’clock news last night. You might have called me.”

“I wasn’t up to talking about it,” she said honestly. “I just wanted to crawl into bed when I got home and pull the covers over my head.”

“Coscarelli spend the night?”

She gave Jack a sharp look.

“Yeah, I know. None of my fucking business.” Fie smiled dryly, no doubt taking a perverse enjoyment in his pun. But the smile faded quickly.

“By the way, Hutch told me he went to talk to Father Joe’s housekeeper last night.”

“After he heard about Claire Fisher?”

Jack nodded.

“So now he’s really convinced Father Joe wasn’t the one who stabbed Lynn?”

“He was always convinced of that,” Jack said. “Let’s just say that now he’s taken it up as a personal cause to prove the priest innocent of
all
wrongdoing.”

“And what did the housekeeper tell him?”

“She insisted that Father Joe was in the rectory on Thursday during the time of Lynn’s attack.”

“She saw him?”

“No. But she claims someone else did.”

“Who?”

“She’s not sure. She’s checking around.”

“Come on, Jack. She told Hutch someone was with the priest, but she wasn’t there herself, and she has no idea who that someone is?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Why didn’t Father Joe come forward with a name? If he had someone who could confirm his alibi, why would he say he was alone? Why withhold such vital information?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t buy it. I think his housekeeper’s simply concocting some story to protect the priest’s reputation. What she doesn’t know is that, even if Father Joe’s exonerated, he was still a sexual predator. He still raped Lynn at Grafton—”

“Hey, don’t jump down my throat, Nat. I’m not the one arguing with you.”

“Where is Hutch?”

“Cool off a little first, Nat. Let Hutch cool off a little, too.” Nat started to protest, but she knew Jack was right. All that would happen was that she and Hutch would get into a pointless shouting match.

“I should tell you, Nat, that Hutch is thinking of putting in for a transfer.”

This news devastated her. Hutch had been not only a trusted and supportive member of her staff since the beginning of Horizon House, but, more importantly, a friend.

Jack touched her cheek. “He won’t go through with it. He loves this place as much as you do. Once this mess gets resolved—”

“If it gets resolved,” she said wearily.

“I’ve upped Suzanne’s dosage of antidepressants,” Varda told Nat when he returned from his meeting with Suzanne, which had lasted a little over a half hour.

“Did she say anything?”

Varda smiled wryly.

“Right. It’s confidential.” Nat felt her frustration and irritation rising to the boiling point.

“I’m sorry, Natalie.”

“You’re sorry? Well, Ross, here’s something for you to mull over: Father Joe may have had an alibi for the day Lynn was cut to ribbons. You know what that means? If that turns out to be true?”

The color drained from his face. “It means we’re all still in danger. ”

“Brilliant analysis,” she said sardonically. “And I’m sure you can expand on that. You see, if it wasn’t Father Joe who attacked Lynn, chances are he was also not the one who pumped Suzanne full of H. Or assaulted you and ransacked your apartment and left that warning note on your medicine cabinet. Or, for that matter, left that vile drawing for me.” Nat paused to let that sink in. “It’s looking more and more like the person who murdered Claire Fisher very likely committed all of the crimes.”

“Harrison Bell,” Varda said weakly.

“He’s certainly right up there on the list of possibilities,” Nat said. “Bell was having an affair with Lynn. But I’m sure you already know that. What might come as news to you is that Bell was also having an affair with his nurse, Claire Fisher—now deceased.”

Varda made no response. His expression was oddly blank.

“Am I getting through to you here?” she shouted, as if to a deaf man.

“Of course you are,” he said tightly.

“Well, here’s something else for you to think about: Right now, even if the cops track Bell down, they have no solid evidence to charge him with. Unless he confesses, chances are they’re going to have to cut him loose. But if you can give us something concrete, or even lead us in the right direction—”

Dr. Varda’s complexion reddened. “You think I’m not afraid? You think I want this monster roaming the streets, maiming, killing? Coming after me? I’m constantly checking my back. Every time the phone rings, my heart stops. I’d like to get in my car and just drive cross-country. Run away. Flee. But I can’t do that. I have two patients whose lives I hold in my hands. Because—make no mistake about it—Lynn Ingram and Suzanne Holden are both at an emotional precipice, and they’re barely able to hold themselves back from jumping off and putting an end to their misery.”

“You’re saying they’re both suicidal.”

“If you were in their shoes, wouldn’t you be?”

twenty-four

He swears that who I am, what I’ve done, none of it makes a difference. He says
—‘I love you.’
I clutch those words to my heart.

L. I.

"IT'S BEEN AWHILE. We’ve missed you, Natalie. Haven’t we, Jakey?” Anna Coscarelli tousled her grandson’s dark curly hair as the four-year-old hovered close to her leg. His brown eyes were fixed on Nat, but there was no smile. No greeting. No confirmation that she’d been missed. She felt a wrenching of her heart. She’d definitely been gone too long.

“You didn’t see my play,” Jakey said petulantly. “I was a superhero. ‘Superkid.’ The strongest, toughest superhero in the world. Even stronger than Superman. ’Cause I’m littler than him but just as strong, so, like my dad says, that means I’m really
more
strong.”

No more lisp when Jakey said s-words. He was growing up. And Nat was missing it. But then, what right did she have to be part of this child’s life? She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. “Wow,” was about all she could manage.

“It was at nursery school,” Anna quickly elaborated. “And you know very well, Jakey, that only family members were invited to the performance.”

Her explanation only saddened Nat more, reminded her how much of an outsider she was. Had Leo asked Suzanne to attend the play? Nat glanced over at him, but he busied himself at the kitchen counter, dishing out heaping servings of his mother’s fabulous lasagna.

Nat knelt down to Jakey’s level. “I have an idea. How about if, after lunch, you introduce me to Superkid?”

It took a few seconds for Jakey to grasp what she was saying, but then his eyes lit up. “I have the whole costume. I can go put it on right now—”

He was already dashing across the kitchen as Anna called out, “How about we eat first, Jakey?”

“Superkid needs the lasagna, Gramma. That’s how he stays so strong,” Jakey shouted back.

Anna beamed. “He’s something, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Nat said, the lump still lodged in her throat. Again her gaze slid over to Leo. This time their eyes met, but Leo looked distinctly uncomfortable and only held her gaze for a couple of seconds. Nat was wishing now she hadn’t agreed to this family get-together. It only brought the writing on the wall into sharper focus.

Good thing Jakey slipped into his Superkid persona at the start of lunch, because they didn’t get to finish their meal. A few bites in, Leo got a call that Harrison Bell had been picked up at the pain clinic.

Nat wanted to be in on the interrogation but only managed to get the okay from Leo to observe the interview through a oneway mirror.

She’d been watching for close to a half hour. Bell had gone from looking irate and dismissive, to haggard and frightened as time wore on. He was sitting next to his lawyer at one side of a long wooden table. Bell’s legal counsel was a young woman by the name of Helen Katz. Nat didn’t know her personally, but she knew that Katz worked for one of the top criminal-defense firms in the city. In contrast to her client, Ms. Katz had the polished, calm appearance of a woman in control of the situation. Nat wasn’t sure whether Bell found his lawyer’s demeanor all that comforting, because he was smart enough to realize the potential for things to slip out of control in the blink of an eye.

“Let’s go through it one more time,” Leo said. He and Oates were sitting directly across from Bell and Katz. A video camera affixed to the wall and angled down at them was taping this session.

Bell looked plaintively over at his attorney, but she merely nodded.

He sighed wearily. “Yesterday afternoon, Claire . . .” He winced, as he had done each time he’d had to say her name. “She told me she’d gotten a call from someone who identified himself as Mark Berman, a nurse at Westwood Manor in Brooklyn. He said that my mother, who’s a patient there, had taken a turn for the worse—sadly, my mother has had several strokes over the past couple of years.