John Miller - Too Far Gone

“You know she’s gone, though. Tell me how.”

Veronica nodded. “The TV reporter, Lucille Burch, called this morning. She said she had it on good authority Sibby was out. I told her I was sure she couldn’t be. I looked her up and her name was on the master patient list.” Veronica pointed at the screen, where Alexa saw Sibby Danielson’s name on a long list. “I told her Sibby Danielson was indeed here in maximum-security ward fourteen, but Burch said, ‘We’ll see about that.’ Later I asked someone who works in the violent wards, and he told me he hasn’t seen her in almost a year. He figured she’d been transferred, since she wasn’t ‘outside’ material. I checked, and there’s no transfer or release information on her in the computer. The person who told me could be wrong. It isn’t unusual for inmates to change wards and even move to other facilities, and often the records are late being updated because we’re so badly understaffed.”

“Why didn’t you mention the media inquiry, or this possible discrepancy, to Dr. Whitfield?”

“I intended to, but I got busy. I was afraid that was why you were here.”

“Who were you calling just then?”

Veronica’s eyes were suddenly filled with what looked very much like terror. “My mother.”

Alexa snatched Veronica’s phone off the desk. “Then you won’t mind if I check the readout.”

“I don’t think you can legally make me show you my personal information like that!”

“If you’re telling the truth and the last call was to Mama Malouf, why does it matter? Will you nod if I guess right?”

Veronica nodded once, slowly.

“Dr. LePointe?”

Veronica shook her head.

“Who, then?”

“You said I could just nod.”

“You got your last nod here, ” Alexa said, reaching behind her, freeing the handcuffs from the case on her belt. “You can play Little Miss Bobble-head all you like before a federal grand jury.”

“No,” Veronica said. “Just a minute.”

“Talk, or I’ll take you to FBI headquarters and let interrogators ask you in a way you won’t enjoy. These days a person can literally vanish into the federal system for a very long time while we investigate them for ties to terrorist organizations. I’m not nearly as nice as I appear to be.”

“Mr. Decell.”

“Kenneth Decell?”

Veronica nodded slowly.

“Why?”

“A few months ago he said I should let him know immediately if anybody ever asked questions about her. Sibby.”

“You told Decell that Lucille Burch called?”

“Yes. He said I’d be rewarded for reporting anything that popped up about Dr. LePointe or Sibby Danielson or Dorothy Fugate.”

“Who is Dorothy Fugate? An inmate?”

“Ms. Fugate was the ex-chief nurse here.”

“How long did you work for Dr. LePointe?”

“Almost six years.”

“Did you like him?”

“Like?” Veronica nodded. “He’s a good man.”

“Do you know where Danielson is?”

“According to the records, she’s still in ward fourteen. That’s all I know.”

“You know the records are incorrect. She’s gone. From ward fourteen straight to the front gate, right?”

“I’m only a secretary.”

“An executive assistant,” Alexa corrected. “This could spell very serious trouble.”

“I didn’t know,” Veronica said, quickly. “I assumed she was maybe moved based on her state, but…”

“Her state?”

“Everybody who has been around her says Sibby’s in the stratosphere. All she ever did was sit and rock back and forth in her chair.”

“So she’s that sick? Or she’s kept heavily medicated?”

“I’m not authorized to see her treatment records and I wouldn’t know what I was looking at if I did.”

“Are there paper records in addition to computerized records on the patients?”

Veronica nodded. “I suppose they’d be in the locked file cabinets.”

“Who would know where she is? Best guess,” Alexa said, her cuffs tapping a steady surgical steel rhythm against her thigh.

“I suppose Nurse Fugate.”

“Why would she know?”

“She was in charge of the nursing staff and the orderlies and janitors on all the wards. She left here around the same time Sibby did. She didn’t just spend a lot of time in that ward, she had her office there.”

“Left about the same time? So you do know when Sibby left. One more lie and you can kiss your sweet butt good-bye.”

“Around a year ago,” Veronica said hastily.

“How do I find this nurse?”

“I can give you her address. But if anybody finds out I told you, I’ll be fired.”

Hands shaking, Veronica Malouf flipped through the Rolodex on her desk and copied down an address and phone number.

“Keep helping me and I’ll do my best to keep it between us. In the meanwhile, if that reporter calls back, tell her Sibby Danielson is still in the hospital, because you checked and saw her. Now, how could she get out through security without having received a release form?”

“She couldn’t. There had to be a release form or she’d never get out the gate, but it isn’t where it should be.”

“Unless she maybe went out in a car trunk?”

“The staff parks in a fenced-in lot to the rear of the building, and it’s under constant surveillance. Standing policy is that every vehicle is searched when it leaves. No exceptions. They’ll search your car when you go out. You’ll see,” Veronica said.

“They searched Dr. LePointe’s car?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Not always.”

“How much power did LePointe exercise here?”

“His mental health foundation gives a lot of research grant money to most of the doctors as well as the clinical psychologists, and it pays for continuing ed for nurses and orderlies. He’s Doctor Emeritus of River Run, and he’s the past chairman of the state’s mental health board. Half the people on the payroll get some form of financial subsidy from Dr. LePointe. He doesn’t have an office here anymore, but truth is, Dr. Whitfield only runs the place on paper, and he knows it. When Dr. LePointe calls, Whitfield trips over himself to put down his putter and grab the phone.”

“Do you think Dr. LePointe has reason to stay on top of what’s happening here?”

She shrugged. “He checks in with me like I’m still his secretary. Before he retired, he gave me a new Honda Accord Coupe. I think he worked here so long, he can’t let go-hates not knowing everything that’s up. What do I tell Dr. Whitfield about Sibby?”

“I’ll tell Dr. Whitfield that Sibby Danielson can’t have been released. We’ll leave satisfied.”

“He might check.”

“He obviously doesn’t know who she is. But you’re going to search until you find her records for me.”

Veronica’s eyes lost their focus.

“Twenty-six years means there’s an awful lot of paperwork on her. If you want this to go away, you’ll find and deliver that paperwork to me at NOPD HQ. It isn’t a suggestion, Veronica. The alternative to compliance will be catastrophic for you. You have my word on that.”

“Take official records out of here?” Veronica looked stunned, and afraid. “It’s against the law.”

“I’m the only law you need concern yourself with. A word to the wise,” Alexa said, “I know a lot more about all this than I’m telling you. If you cross me, whatever you imagine anybody else might do to you is nothing in comparison to what I will do. Dig for those records like your very freedom and future ability to find meaningful employment depend on it.” Alexa smiled at Veronica. “When you find them…straight to me. Now, when you call Decell back, say we were satisfied that she was here, because there was no release form.”