Patricia Cornwell - The Scarpetta Factor

Dr. Clark sat slowly, carefully, the smallest physical act no longer taken for granted by him. Benton noticed how much his colleague had aged just since the summer.

“I’m sorry to bother you about this,” Benton added. “I know you’re busy.”

“Never a bother, Benton. I’ve missed talking to you and have been thinking I should call. I’ve been wondering how you are.” Dr. Clark said it as if they had things to talk about and Benton had been elusive. “So she refused pencil-and-paper tests.”

“Wouldn’t do the Bender Gestalt, Rey-Osterrieth Complex Figure drawing, digit symbol substitution, letter cancellation, not even trail making,” Benton said. “Nothing that required her to write or draw.”

“What about psychomotor function tests?”

“No block designs or grooved pegboard, no finger tapping.”

“Interesting. Nothing that measures reaction time.”

“Her latest excuse was the medication she was taking, said it gave her tremors, caused her hands to shake so badly she couldn’t hold a pen and she didn’t want to humiliate herself by trying to write or draw or manipulate objects.” Benton couldn’t help but think of Dr. Clark’s own condition as he explained Dodie Hodge’s alleged complaints.

“Nothing that requires her to physically perform on demand, nothing that might, in her mind, invite criticism, judgment. She doesn’t want to be scored.” Dr. Clark stared out the window behind Benton’s head, as if there was something to look at besides beige hospital brick and the encroaching night. “What medication?”

“My guess, nothing now. She’s not exactly compliant and has no interest in substances unless they make her feel good. Alcohol, for example. While she was hospitalized, she was taking Risperdal.”

“Which can cause tardive dyskinesia. But atypically,” Dr. Clark considered.

“She wasn’t having muscle spasms or twitches except ones she faked,” Benton said. “Of course, she claims her condition is permanent.”

“Theoretically a possible permanent side effect from Risperdal, especially in older women.”

“In her case, it’s malingering, it’s bullshit. She has some agenda,” Benton repeated. “Thank God I followed my instincts, mandated that all of my sessions with her be recorded on video.”

“And how did she feel about that?”

“She dressed the part. Whatever character came to mind, whatever her mood. Seductress or Salvation Army or Strega.”

“Do you fear she could be violent?” Dr. Clark asked.

“She has violent preoccupations, claims to have recovered memories of satanic cult abuse, her father killing children on stone altars and having sexual intercourse with her. No evidence that any such thing ever occurred.”

“And what evidence might there be?”

Benton didn’t answer. He wasn’t allowed to check on a patient’s veracity. He wasn’t supposed to investigate. It was so counterintuitive for him to operate this way, it was almost intolerable, and the boundaries were blurring.

“Doesn’t like to write but likes drama,” Dr. Clark said, watching him closely.

“Drama is the common denominator,” Benton said, and he knew Dr. Clark was already on the road to truth.

He sensed what Benton had done-or that he had done something. It occurred to Benton that subconsciously he’d orchestrated the conversation about Dodie because he really needed to talk about himself.

“Her insatiable need for drama and a sleep disturbance she’s suffered from most of her life,” Benton went on. “She was tested in the sleep lab at McLean and apparently has participated in a number of actigraphy studies over the years, clearly has a circadian rhythm disorder, suffers from chronic insomnia. The worse it gets, the poorer her judgment and insight, the more chaoic her lifestyle. Her fund of knowledge is extraordinarily good. She’s within the bright-superior range of intelligence.”

“Any improvement on the Risperdal?”

“Her mood was somewhat stabilized, not as hypomanic, reported that she was sleeping better.”

“If she’s stopped her medication, she’s likely getting worse. How old?” Dr. Clark asked.

“Fifty-six.”

“Bipolar? Schizophrenic?”

“Would be more treatable if she was. Axis-two personality disorder, histrionic with borderline and antisocial traits.”

“Lovely. And why was she prescribed Risperdal?”

“On admission last month, she seemed to be suffering from delusions and false beliefs, but in fact, she’s a pathological liar.” Benton went on to give a brief history of Dodie’s arrest in Detroit.

“Any chance she’ll accuse you of violating her civil rights, claim the hospitalization was against her will, that she was coerced and forced to take a medication that permanently impaired her?” Dr. Clark asked.

“She signed a conditional voluntary, was given a civil rights packet and notice of her rights to legal consultation and all the rest. At the moment, it’s not litigation I’m concerned about, Nathan.”

“I didn’t suppose you’re wearing examination gloves because you’re afraid of being sued.”

Benton returned the card and its FedEx pouch back inside the evidence bag and resealed it. He pulled off his gloves and dropped them in the trash.

“When was she discharged from McLean?” Dr. Clark asked.

“This past Sunday afternoon.”

“Did you interview her, talk to her before she left?”

“Two days earlier on that Friday I did,” Benton said.

“And she gave you no token of affection, no holiday greeting at that time, when she could actually have done so in person and experienced the gratification of watching your reaction?”

“She didn’t. She talked about Kay.”

“I see.”

Of course he did. He knew damn well the sorts of things Benton had to worry about.

Dr. Clark said, “Possible Dodie selected McLean because she knew a priori that you, the prominent husband of the prominent Kay Scarpetta, are on staff there? Possible Dodie chose McLean so she could spend some quality time with you?”

“I wasn’t her first choice.”

“Who was?”

“Someone else.”

“Anyone I might know?” Dr. Clark asked, as if he had a suspicion.

“You’d know the name.”

“Possible you have doubts that her first choice was really her first choice, since Dodie’s motives and truthfulness seem to be a question? Was McLean her first choice?”

“McLean was.”

“That’s significant, since some other first choices might not have privileges there, not unless they’re on staff.”

“Which is what happened,” Benton said.

“She have money?”

“Allegedly from all the husbands she’s been through. She stayed in the Pavilion, which is self-pay, as you know. She paid in cash. Well, her lawyer did.”

“What is that now? Three thousand a day?”

“Something like that.”

“She paid more than ninety thousand dollars in cash.”

“A deposit upon admission, then the balance in full when she was discharged. A bank wire transfer. Done through her Detroit lawyer,” Benton said.

“She live in Detroit?”

“No.”

“But she has a lawyer there.”

“So it appears,” Benton said.

“What was she doing in Detroit? Besides getting arrested.”

“Says she was visiting. On vacation. Staying at the Grand Palais,” Benton said. “Working her magic on the slot machines and roulette table.”

“She’s a big gambler?”

“She’ll sell you a few lucky amulets, if you’d like.”

“You seem to dislike her rather intensely,” Dr. Clark observed with the same keen look in his eyes.

“I’m not stating as a fact that I didn’t factor into her choice of hospitals. Or that Kay didn’t,” Benton replied.