Blind Spot (26 page)

Maria shook her head. “Maybe we should wake him and ask him about her.”

“What’s he going to say?” Freeson turned to Avanti as if he couldn’t believe Claire’s questions. “You’re in charge of Jane Doe’s care now, Claire. Has anything happened recently? Has she said something? Did you notice anything different?”

“She’s become more responsive, but you already know that. Gibby might be able to help.”

“Well, it’s too late tonight,” Freeson said.

Claire’s cell phone rang at that moment. She paused before looking at the caller ID, dreading what she knew she would see: Lang’s number. She said, “I have to take this.”

“At this time of night?” Avanti asked. “Who is it?”

“Langdon Stone,” she admitted, punching the answer button.

“Langdon Stone?”
Avanti sputtered and Freeson made a strangled sound.

Claire turned her back to them and took the call.

“I’m making good time,” Lang said. “I’ll be there in an about an hour.”

“I’ll let you in.” Claire hung up.

“He’s coming here?” Avanti’s nostrils flared.

“No!” Freeson was appalled. “You told him? Called him? I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t expect him to come.”

“For God sake, Claire. You’ll get yourself fired and all of us brought before the board. Unbelievable.” Freeson was furious.

Claire didn’t relate her own worries about inviting Lang, not the least being she was attracted to the man. She knew she would have to do a self-examination of her motivations later, and she already suspected she wouldn’t like what she learned. Claire Norris didn’t fall for men. Even her ex had been the one to do the chasing, and she’d let him. She hadn’t fallen for him, either, really. Had just chosen the path of least resistance, and it hadn’t worked out in the end.

And she especially stayed away from controlling, demanding, unattainable men who were clearly bad for her. Langdon Stone fell into that category completely.

“I think we should wake up Gibby and talk to him,” she said, which met with a chorus of disapproval.

“You know Gibby. He won’t be able to tell us anything,” Freeson said. “Certainly nothing that matters.”

“He’s lucky you’re not his doctor,” Claire said.

His jaw dropped open. He was infuriated, but Claire had suffered all she could stomach.

Avanti ordered, “You need to call off Detective Stone. It’s ridiculous, his involvement. I don’t want to hear he’s let the world know we temporarily lost a patient!”

Claire pointed out, “He could let the world know far worse if he puts a call into Pauline Kirby about Heyward being moved to Side A.”

Both Freeson and Avanti stared at Claire in horror. “What?” Freeson whispered.

“I can’t call him off,” she said. “He’s investigating the attack on Cat. We need to talk to him.”
Deal with it,
she thought fiercely.

They argued about whether they should enter any of the patients’ rooms that hadn’t been searched yet, this late at night. Avanti wanted to go home and Freeson seconded that opinion, but neither of them would budge until they were assured Claire wasn’t going to let Lang inside the hospital. Claire used the time of their indecision to check down the halls herself and ended up herding Donald Inman, who refused to go to bed, sure he could be of help, back to his room.

Finally, her phone rang again. She answered to learn Lang was about to turn into the hospital’s long drive and she clicked off to inform the others. When she got to the hospital foyer, she saw Avanti and Freeson standing with arms crossed over their chests, waiting like sentinels.

“He’s almost here,” she said, taking out her keycard and waiting by the front entrance.

And then she saw him, ducking his head to the rain as he strode toward the glass doors. Claire punched in her code and used her key, and the doors slid open as he stepped inside. For just a moment he and Claire were very close to each other, long enough for her to inhale a lungful of his scent, a dampness mixed with something male and spicy and surprisingly sensual. Her head whirled a bit. Too long a day. Too much wine. Too many events and revelations.

“Lavender,” he said to her, and Claire felt the blush sweep upward. He’d smelled her scent as well.

“Most of Side A has been searched except for some of the patients’ rooms,” she told him, trying to get back on an even keel. “Maria and I were going to check Gibby’s room. Bradford Gibson. He’s kind of a friend of Cat’s.” She looked around for Maria, who was waiting for her while Greg had gone back to his duties.

“I didn’t know she had friends,” Lang said.

“We don’t need your involvement,” Avanti told him as Lang, Claire, and Maria moved to where he and Freeson were standing.

Maria said to Lang, “Gibby sits by her. In the morning room. They watch TV and he treats her like a friend.”

“Okay,” Lang said.

“There is no need to wake the patients,” Avanti said in a voice edged with ice. “We can wait till morning.”

It was a battle of wills, Claire saw, which pissed her off. “We need to find Cat.”

“This is a hospital, and we have to consider all our patients’ needs,” he stated.

“I don’t think waiting till morning is the answer, if one of your patients is missing,” Lang pointed out, which caused Avanti’s lips to compress. “How would someone exit the hospital on their own?”

“We’ve already discussed that,” Freeson said witheringly. “You cannot get egress without a keycard and code.”

“Egress,” Lang repeated, lifting an eyebrow in Claire’s direction.

Her heart twisted uncomfortably in her chest. She liked it that he included her in this odd little war with Avanti and Freeson. He was undeniably attractive, undeniably male, and it just killed her that she noticed.

“So someone had to help her get egress,” Lang said. “Who would that be?”

“We don’t know that she’s left. It would be practically impossible. I don’t think we really need you here, Detective,” Avanti said, trying to wrap the words in a smile and failing. “This is an internal problem, not really a job for the police.”

Lang ignored him and turned to Claire. “Did she have a friend on staff? Someone who could help her? Or, maybe this Gibby person?”

“We need to do a more thorough search of the hospital before we assume she’s outside the building.” Avanti couldn’t bear someone usurping her authority.

“But you don’t want us to wake any of the patients,” Claire pointed out.

“Gibby couldn’t help her get past the doors,” Maria said. “Only a staff member could.”

“But he could hide her in his room? If he thought she wanted that?” Lang suggested.

“This is ridiculous!” Freeson’s goatee quivered. “Bradford Gibson can’t hold one idea in his head longer than two seconds! He can’t know anything.”

“He likes Cat,” Maria said softly. “A lot.”

“You’re turning this into a circus, Claire,” Avanti accused.

“I don’t think talking to Gibby qualifies as a circus,” Claire responded.

“If we don’t wake him up, I’ll just hang around till morning so I can talk to him then,” Lang said.

“You have no authority!” Freeson could hardly get the words out.

“It just seems like you’re trying hard to be obstructive rather than helpful. But then…” Lang almost smiled. “I already knew that about this place.”

Avanti ran a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath. Annoying as he was, he didn’t appear to be his usual self. Claire wondered why he seemed less in control. Where was his big personality? His overbearing surety in all things Avanti?

Then she caught a whiff of alcohol. Scotch, maybe. He’d been drinking, she realized, though it was a no-no when you were on call. He wasn’t drunk per se, but he didn’t want anyone to know.

But Lang was really pissing him off. “Fine. You want to talk to Bradford Gibson? Go right ahead,” Avanti snapped. “I’ll make sure Dr. Radke knows just whose idea it was,” he added, glaring at Claire.

Lang drawled, “I’m sure you always do.”

Claire felt as if she were standing in a play where everyone knew their lines but her. She moved toward the hall that led to Gibby’s room and Maria and Lang followed after her.

“Is it always like this?” he asked quietly. “The cold war between you and them?”

Claire didn’t answer, and after a moment, as if she couldn’t help herself, Maria squeaked out, “Yes!”

“They don’t trust me,” Claire said, her eyes straight ahead. “Seems to be the effect I have on people.”

Lang didn’t rise to the bait, which was just as well because Claire was feeling a little out of control about everything. The whole evening had a surreal quality to it, starting with standing outside the gates of Siren Song, to drinking wine with Lang and Dinah, to meeting with Dinah’s father, to learning about Cat’s disappearance, and now this.

Maria entered Gibby’s room first, and there was a faint beeping sound from an electronic receiver in her pocket. She pulled it out and punched in a code and the sound stopped. There might be no locks on the doors, but when the alarm was tripped, only a staff member with the proper equipment could nullify it.

There were night-lights in the room and Gibby’s prone form could be made out in his twin bed. He was sleeping soundly, his breathing deep, not quite a snore. Maria turned on a bedside wall lamp and said softly, “Gibby? It’s Maria. Gibby?”

He blinked several times but was still in the land of dreams.

She gave him a little shake. “Gibby!”

He snorted to wakefulness, his eyes flying open in fear. “Ohhh! Ohhh!” he cried.

“Gibby, it’s Maria. I’m here. I’m here.”

“And Dr. Norris,” Claire said in a calm voice. “We’re sorry to wake you, Gibby.”

“Wha…?” He sat up, wearing a flannel pajama top that buttoned down the front, and looked around in a daze. “It’s still night-night time.”

“Gibby, Cat’s missing,” Claire said. “We were wondering if she came to see you?”

“Noooo. She wants to leave. She doan like it here, even though the food’s good.”

“Did she say she was going to leave?” Claire asked.

“She was waiting for the dinnertime. I got her the clothes.”

“Clothes?”

Gibby blinked at Lang. “You want to take her away?” he asked, growing upset.

“No.” Lang shook his head. “We want to make sure she’s all right, and that she’s still here.”

“She was leaving.” Gibby was positive.

“You got her what clothes?” Claire asked.

“Pants and shirt. She had some shoes.”

“She dressed in your pants and shirt?”

“She took them. Under the wheelchair.”

“Under the wheelchair?” Claire repeated and Gibby nodded at her solemnly. “What does that mean, Gibby?”

“Under the wheelchair!”

Maria said, “The seat cushion wasn’t on the chair in Cat’s room. It was on the floor.”

Claire thought a moment. “Gibby, do you mean she put the clothes you gave her under the seat cushion of the wheelchair?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” Claire said. “It’s okay. We just want to help Cat.”

“Stop calling her that!”

Lang put in, “Your friend. She was leaving the hospital. By herself?”

Gibby turned to look at him, his brows knit. “She needed helped. I helped.” He lifted his chin with pride.

“She told you to get her the clothes,” Lang repeated, to which Gibby nodded vigorously. “And that she was leaving the hospital.”

“She said, ‘I needs help. Please, please help me. Bring me some clothes, Gibby. After dinner. When no one’s around.’ She said doan tell.” His gaze flew from Lang’s face to Claire’s, stricken.

“We won’t tell. It’s all right. We want to help her, too,” Claire said.

Maria had walked through the adjoining bathroom and come back, shaking her head. Cat was not anywhere in Gibby’s small room.

“She need to leave here,” he said seriously. “She was afraid of them.”

“Who was Cat afraid of?” Claire asked.

“Her name is Tasha. She tole me.”

“She’s afraid of someone called Tasha?”

“
No!
She has a name! Tasha! Not Cat!”

Claire exchanged a glance with Lang, then concentrated on Gibby once more. “She told you her name was Tasha?”

“Uh-huh. Can I have apple juice?”

“Sure.” Claire turned to Maria who headed out to fulfill the request. “Who was Tasha afraid of?”

“She was afraid of them.”

“Do they have a name?”

“Baby.” Gibby looked down at his body and patted his stomach.

Watching Claire interview the boy, Lang was impressed in spite of himself at her patience and kindness.

“She—Tasha—said she was afraid of
them,
” Claire repeated, trying to keep Gibby on track. “Who do you think they are?”

“They hurt her. She had to leave.” He looked up at the ceiling and the shadows that were created from his bedside wall lamp. “They will hurt her some more. My baby.” Gibby wrapped his arms around his own neck covering his mouth and nose with his elbows. “She is scared,” he said, his voice muffled. “She doesn’t have Zimer’s disease. That’s Maribel.”

Maria returned with a small glass of apple juice and Gibby brightened, taking the glass and gulping half of it down. “Mmmm,” he said.

“She talked to you, Gibby? Tasha spoke to you. Aloud?” Lang asked.

Gibby put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. It’s secret.” He drank down the rest of his juice and handed the glass to Maria. “Thank you,” he said soberly.

“It’s a secret that she can talk,” Claire said.

“You can’t know!” he said, suddenly alarmed.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s still a secret,” Claire assured him. “But I’m worried about the bad people.”

“The bad woman. Like Darlene.” He nodded sagely.

“Who’s Darlene?” Lang asked.

“A nurse who works here during the day,” Claire informed him.

“She’s too mean.” Gibby shuddered and sank down into his pillow. “Night night,” he said firmly.

“You think Darlene’s mean?” Claire tried.

“Really, really mean.” He turned his head away and closed his eyes, and no amount of talking to him could get him to say anything further.

“What do you think?” Lang asked when they were walking back down the hall to the foyer. Avanti and Freeson were still there, clearly waiting to leave only after they were convinced Lang was on his way out, too.