Virna DePaul: Shades of Passion

He didn’t blame himself for Lana’s death, but he sure as shit didn’t want spare time on his hands.

Whether he blamed himself or not, spare time meant time to think about Lana. Time to think about how she’d cried and pleaded with her killer before she’d died. And time to wonder if some part of her had blamed Simon for failing to save her.

CHAPTER TWO

UNBELIEVABLE, DR. NINA WHITAKER thought as her boss, and she’d like to think her friend, continued to pace in front of her. She just won’t give up. Karen was determined to pull Nina away from her geriatric dementia patients in order to deal with politics and policing issues. Never mind that those things had once been Nina’s passion. They were in her past for a reason.

Almost three years ago, she’d sold her carriage house in Charleston, South Carolina, and moved across the country. Her goal had been to heal and start over, but in running from her past, she’d also been forced to leave behind one of her greatest accomplishments—convincing the Charleston law enforcement community to embrace greater mental health training and oversee the formation of a Mental Health Intervention Team. At one time in her life, Nina would have run with that success and continued to advocate the same kind of change in every city across the nation.

The death of her patient Beth Davenport had changed all that.

After Beth died, Nina had decided to leave crisis work, policy reform and decisions of life and death to others, and instead focus on a quieter though still worthwhile existence. Now, Karen wanted Nina’s help convincing SFPD to adopt the same MHIT training model that Charleston had implemented. Unfortunately, she was no longer content with Nina acting as a source of information on the topic. She wanted Nina to rally for funds. To talk to the police. To act as the program’s spokesperson.

She couldn’t do it, Nina thought.

She wouldn’t.

Stay strong. Don’t give in.

But despite her inner pep talk, Nina could feel herself being swayed by Karen’s words.

“Another homeless man’s been hospitalized after resisting arrest. That’s two this week. Both those men were mentally ill, and both times they didn’t understand they were being arrested. It wasn’t that they were resisting arrest—it’s that they didn’t understand reality. We can put a stop to it, Nina. What’s it going to take before you’re willing to get involved?”

Hell freezing over? The fact that it was a question, even in Nina’s own mind, further signaled her weakening resolve, but she managed to shake her head. Karen was an expert manipulator, but Nina was a psychiatrist. While that didn’t mean she was wholly immune to being manipulated, she had the advantage of knowing it was happening. Not only that, she was a realist. Give Karen an inch and soon Nina would find herself fully immersed in the trap she’d worked so hard to free herself from. “I’m sorry, Karen, but you’ll have to be content with the help I’ve already given.”

There. That was good. She sounded firm. In control.

But Dr. Karen Harper, the chief administrator for San Francisco Memorial Hospital’s Mental Health Division, remained unconvinced. Like a predator scenting weakness in its prey, she moved closer. “Do you want someone to die?” She paused, hands on her hips, looking down at Nina over the tops of her glasses, which were a dark navy blue the exact shade of the top she was wearing. “A transient? Maybe even a cop? Because it’s happened before and it could happen again. It will happen again. It’s just a matter of time. I’m trying to do everything I can to stop it, and with all the bad publicity the police have had with the homeless lately, this is as good a time as any to push. But in order to make the police listen to me, I need your expertise on this, Nina. Please.”

Please.

The word wasn’t normally in the hospital administrator’s vocabulary. It just proved how desperate Karen was for Nina’s help and how passionately she believed in the MHIT program. Obviously, Nina believed in it, too. It could help the city’s police reduce violent confrontations with not just the homeless, but all mentally ill suspects. It could help save lives. But becoming immersed in that kind of advocacy again? It just wasn’t something Nina could afford.

Helping others without actually being responsible for whether they lived or died. That’s all she wanted. That’s why she’d left her home and chosen to work with geriatric dementia patients in the first place. It wasn’t a job without its own pain. She genuinely liked her patients. She tried to help them through their suffering, and eventually she grieved their passing. The fact remained, however, that when the end came, it usually wasn’t a surprise. She was prepared. What Karen was asking of her came without that type of assurance, and she wanted no part of it.

Nina knew herself. Her strengths, but most of all her weaknesses.

What Karen was asking would play into every single one. If she started trying to save lives again, she’d feel duty-bound to save them all, and her failure to do so would eat away at her. Reminding her of the other lives she’d failed to save.

Two lives in particular.

“We’ve talked for hours,” Nina reminded her friend. “I’ve given you the information you need. The statistics. You’re more than capable of educating police officials about Charleston’s Mental Health Intervention Team program and the benefits the city has seen—”

“Not without the support of the program’s creator and chief advocate. With these latest claims of police brutality, higher-ups from the SFPD have finally agreed to meet with me. However, I suspect it’s just a political tactic to appease the press. They want to show the public the police aren’t taking our concerns lightly. But no matter how much you’ve prepared me, I can’t anticipate all the questions that will be asked. And I don’t have first-hand knowledge of how the program was implemented. Having you by my side at these meetings will lend us credibility we just can’t get otherwise.”

She was right, but Nina told herself to stand firm. Nina was a treasure trove of information when it came to police interaction with the mentally ill, but she could help Karen without becoming personally involved. “I’m sorry, Karen. You knew when you hired me where I wanted to focus my efforts. If my services haven’t been valuable to the hospital then—”

“I didn’t say your work here isn’t valuable, Nina. And yes, you were very clear that you were no longer interested in public policy work. That you wanted to focus your practice in the geriatric department. But I thought...” She shook her head and blew out a breath. “I guess I thought you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. The work you did in Charleston was so important.”

“And it’s work you’ll implement here, too,” Nina said softly. “It didn’t happen overnight in Charleston, either. I’ll continue to be a resource to you. But I don’t want to be directly involved. It took over my life, Karen, and I’m just starting to get it back. This isn’t the kind of thing you can just dip your toes into. It’ll consume my time.”

It’ll consume me, she thought.

“All right. Thank you for hearing me out,” Karen said. “Please...let me know if you change your mind.”

It was only when Karen left Nina’s office that Nina spotted the folders her boss had forgotten.

Or more likely, the ones Karen had deliberately left behind.

She could guess what was in them. Articles about recent confrontations between police and the homeless, most of who were mentally ill or challenged and therefore more prone to intense reactions if the particular responders didn’t know how to deal with that person’s condition. Too often police didn’t understand what was happening in a schizophrenic’s brain, or how mania could induce psychosis in someone with bipolar disorder. Threats only revved up those people’s minds—made things worse, not better.