Blind Spot (2 page)

Mike’s strategy was to convince the jury that Lindsey’s belief that a ghost killed Richard was proof that at the moment of the crime, she had been unable to form the requisite intent to commit murder, to tell fact from fiction: not guilty by reason of insanity. If, as was so often the case, this defense failed—NGRI was rarely used and even more rarely effective—Mike would exploit Price’s previous lack of full disclosure to undermine his credibility as an eyewitness, thereby raising the question of whether Stoddard’s death had been murder or accident and establishing reasonable doubt as to Lindsey’s guilt. As he had failed with the accident argument during the original trial, Mike’s tactic this time around was to go the insanity route first.

Suki was impressed with Mike’s daring, though far from convinced it would lead to success. Presumably, her verification of Lindsey’s current ESP fantasies would add credence to his insanity claim. Although Suki was painfully aware that belief in one’s clairvoyance was associated with mental illness, she reminded herself that this was professional, not personal.

Just as Suki was zipping her briefcase, a tall woman in a faded orange work shirt and matching pants was led in. She was handsome in an unusual way, her deep-set gray eyes wide and haunting, her large nose and mouth keeping her from classical beauty.

“I’ll be right outside the door,” the officer said.

Suki nodded and the officer closed the door behind Lindsey, leaving them alone in the tiny room.

“So I hear Nathan’s deserted me for some big-time conference,” Lindsey said when Suki rose to shake her hand.

Suki smiled and returned to her seat. “About as big-time as they come.”

Lindsey sat down across from her. “Nathan and Mike say you’ll be able to do as good a job for me as he would—what do you think?”

Suki liked Lindsey’s directness. “I don’t know Nathan, but Mike’s got good instincts.”

“Do you think sane people can see ghosts?” Lindsey asked without preamble.

Suki regarded Lindsey closely. As much as she wanted to delve into Lindsey’s story—and even more, Lindsey’s explanation for that story—time was tight, and if she was going to collect all the data she needed, a lengthy metaphysical debate was not an option. She hoped to complete her questionnaire in three or four interviews. Anything more than that and she wouldn’t be able to meet Mike’s deadline. Yet, she felt the irresistible tug of Lindsey’s challenge. “Do you?”

“The shrink’s classic trick: When in doubt, answer a question with a question.” Lindsey’s voice was colored with wry amusement. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Do me a favor and level with me. What do you really think?”

Although Suki’s counseling style was to mix and match all sorts of theories and models, honesty was one of her consistent principles. She chose her words carefully. “I guess I’d have to call myself agnostic on the subject: I haven’t seen any evidence to conclusively convince me either way.”

“That sounds good.…” Lindsey looked at her with a probing gaze. “But I sense some confusion, maybe even a bit of fear, beneath your carefully chosen words.”

“This isn’t about what
I
think, it’s about what I’m going to learn.”

“I hope so. I really do—more for your sake than for mine.”

“Lindsey,” Suki said, shifting the interview back on track, “you do understand that although I’m a psychologist, I’m not actually your therapist? That I’ve been hired by your lawyer?”

Lindsey stared over Suki’s shoulder.

“It’s important that this is really clear,” Suki said. “What we discuss here
is
confidential, unless Mike decides it furthers his case, then it might be used as evidence.”

“Whatever.” Lindsey shrugged.

One of Suki’s professors had speculated that communication was ten percent words and ninety percent “other.” Today Suki hoped to complete the clinical observation segment of the evaluation: emotional tone, mental status, cognitive state, ability to concentrate. What was Lindsey saying with her “other”? Suki waited, and watched.

Lindsey shifted in her seat. “This whole retrial thing was Mike’s idea. And my mother’s—she hates me being in here. I told her not to, but she sold all her stocks to foot the bill. I’ve tried to convince her that I’ve gotten used to the place. I work in the library. Mostly get left alone. With some luck, I’ll be out in five to fifteen.…”

“But you’re willing to go along with the retrial?”

“I guess.” Lindsey shrugged. “To tell you the truth, in some ways I’m more afraid of going to Bridgeriver with an indefinite sentence than staying in here.”

Suki nodded. Quite often, inmates preferred a limited prison term to open-ended hospitalization. But as long as Lindsey was willing to cooperate, her preferences were not Suki’s business, evaluating her mental state was. “How about we get started?” Suki asked, pointing to the questionnaire.

“I never used to believe in ghosts,” Lindsey began. “I used to think I could control it all. That everything made sense. That science was king. Then I met Isabel.”

Suki looked up from the questionnaire. “Isabel is the ghost you think killed Richard Stoddard?” she asked.

“The one I
know
killed Richard.”

“Do you still see her?”

Lindsey shook her head. “That’s been one of the strange parts of this whole experience, of my opening up. I’ve grown so much, come so far, learned incredible things.… But Isabel’s never come back. Despite everything, I’d like to see her again.”

As Suki listened to Lindsey, she continued to watch for signs of what wasn’t being said. Malingering—faking—was not uncommon in cases of this type. Lindsey’s claim that she wanted to remain at Watkins could be part of her scheme to get released. Yet, Suki’s gut impression was that Lindsey really did believe in her ghost. “Why don’t we put Isabel aside for the moment?” Suki suggested as she picked up her pen. “I’d like you to remember four items. I’ll tell them to you now, and then ask you to repeat them in about five minutes: microscope, red, baseball and love.”

“Serial sevens backward from fifty-one,” Lindsey countered. “Fifty-one, forty-four, thirty-seven, thirty, twenty-three, sixteen, nine, two. There are twelve items in a dozen. Athens is the capital of Greece. The pope lives in Rome.”

“You’ve been through this before?” Suki suppressed a smile, but when she glanced down at her questions—questions she had developed herself from a virtually limitless set of items—she saw that Lindsey’s responses answered what she was preparing to ask. What had made Lindsey think of sevens, instead of eights or nines? Why Greece instead of England or France?

“Concentration and mental acuity,” Lindsey said. “Orientation to person, time and place. It’s Thursday, the twentieth of April. Apples and oranges are both fruits. A clarinet and a guitar are both instruments. The proverb about crying over spilt milk means you can’t do anything about what’s already happened.”

Suki put her pen down. This woman’s concentration and mental acuity were just fine—as was her ability to guess what Suki was going to ask next. Suki cleared her throat. Maybe she had more time than she thought. “You wanted to tell me about ESP?”

Lindsey smiled in triumph. “Ten years ago I would’ve told you there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d ever be into this stuff. But after Isabel—after being in prison—everything changed. I changed. And I guess, using the half-full optimist model of the world, it’s been one of the few good things—perhaps the
only
good thing—to come out of the whole mess.”

“How so?”

“I’m taking correspondence courses in parapsychology at the University of Edinburgh. Graduate courses toward a master’s degree. I’ve been communicating with other psychics, learning how to expand my powers of precognition and clairvoyance. Increase my sensitivity to both people and events.”

“Expand your powers?” Suki prompted.

“Through dreamwork,” Lindsey explained. “And astral projection. The ability to remove oneself from the confines of the physical body is a powerful enhancer of both. Not to mention, it gets me out of prison.”

Suki laughed out loud.

Lindsey grinned wickedly. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

Suki appraised Lindsey, trying to assess the seriousness of her question. “This isn’t about snap judgments,” she said. “I’ve lots more work to do before I start making determinations of mental competency.” If she decided to take the case, Suki added to herself. Despite the fact that she was drawn to Lindsey, and to her story, there was much here she found disturbing.

“Studying parapsychology—the paranormal, ESP, whatever—is all about
expanding
mental competency, expanding one’s vision. One’s ability to believe and to know.” Lindsey leaned her elbows on the table, pressing herself toward Suki. “You think what you see is all there is, but there’s so much happening beyond your field of vision, so much you just don’t let yourself believe.…” She paused and pointed to Suki’s hand resting on the table. “May I?” Before Suki could respond, Lindsey pressed Suki’s fingers between her own. She stared into Suki’s eyes; Suki stared back. After a long moment, Lindsey abruptly let go.

Suki put her hand in her lap, uncomfortable with the memories Lindsey’s behavior was stirring: her mother pressing her fingers to Suki’s right temple, her mother staring for hours into a shiny piece of black obsidian, her mother curled into a fetal position behind the dining room credenza. “What did you learn from holding my hand?” Suki asked.

“More than I wanted to know,” Lindsey said softly. “Much more.”

“And what you just found out,” Suki asked, “you believe is true?”

Lindsey nodded. “I’ve learned this the hard way—the hardest way there is. Reality is at the edges of your awareness, you just need to let yourself turn sideways a bit to see it.” She leaned back in her chair and watched Suki watching her.

In her eighteen years of clinical practice, Suki had heard many strange declarations, declarations far stranger than Lindsey’s, but this woman unnerved and intrigued her in ways that probably weren’t good for either of them; it was growing clear that Lindsey would be better served by someone without Suki’s personal baggage.

Still, not quite ready to let go, Suki waited for Lindsey to continue. Silence was a psychologist’s greatest ally. But Lindsey didn’t say any more, she just stared past Suki’s shoulder, a sense of expectancy, of calm anticipation, to her muteness.

Just as Suki was about to speak, the pager hooked to the strap of her purse beeped. She glared at the offending little box. There must have been a shift change at her service. “Sorry,” she said to Lindsey as she reached down to read the message.

Lindsey nodded as if she had expected the interruption.

D
ETECTIVE
P
ENDERGAST
W
ITTON
P
OLICE
C
ALL
I
MMEDIATELY
, the message read. It was followed by a phone number.

Suki pressed the memory button and, as the message disappeared, she wondered which one of her patients had gotten into trouble with the Witton police. It was strange, though. She knew she didn’t have any patients who lived in Witton. She was certain of this because that was where she lived.

When Suki looked up, Lindsey was watching her. “Trouble with one of your children?” she asked.

Suki shook her head. “What makes you say that?”

Lindsey didn’t answer, she just stared, unblinking, at Suki. “Did you want to talk some more about enhancing clairvoyance through astral projection?” she finally asked.

Although Suki nodded and continued to record her clinical observations, it was at that moment that she decided she would call Mike and turn down the Kern case. It was far too loaded for both of them.

When Suki reached her car, there was a neon-orange citation for her expired inspection sticker fluttering under the windshield wiper. She mentally added another item to her endless to-do list and pulled the citation from under the wiper. She stuffed it into her purse and unlocked the car. All the phones in the prison lobby had been in use, so she now removed her cellular phone from its housing and punched in the number for the Witton police. She ran her finger along the dusty dashboard of her ten-year-old Celica as she waited to be put through to Detective Pendergast, hoping this had nothing to do with her suicidal patient of this morning.

“Not to worry, Mrs. Jacobs,” Detective Pendergast said as soon as she had identified herself. “But we have Alexa down here—”

Suki jerked up in the seat; Alexa was her seventeen-year-old daughter. “Is she all right? Is she hurt?”

“She appears to be much better now,” the detective said in a soothing voice. “She’s right here in my office, I’ll let you speak to her in a—”

“What happened?” Suki interrupted again. “Has there been an accident? Did someone hurt her?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “No one’s hurt her and no laws have been broken. I, ah, I just found her wandering along River Road. She was upset. A bit disoriented …”

Wandering … disoriented …
Suki sucked in her breath.

“She thought she saw a murder.”

“A murder?” Suki was incredulous. “Someone was murdered in Witton?”

“Well,” the detective said, obviously choosing his words carefully, “that doesn’t quite appear to be the case.…”

“There wasn’t a murder?”

“I had a few of the guys check the area Alexa indicated, and there’s no sign of any body or any blood or anything amiss in any way.”

The car grew very warm and an uneasiness reminiscent of childhood gripped Suki’s stomach; for a fleeting moment she thought she smelled Chanel No. 5. “Can I speak to Alexa, please?” Suki asked with a calmness she didn’t feel.

“Mom?”

“Alexa, honey, are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s, it’s Jonah. Jonah, he’s … he’s …” Alexa’s words trailed off and she began to sob.

“What about Jonah?” Suki asked. Jonah Ward had been Alexa’s boyfriend sophomore year. He had broken up with her this past fall, and Alexa had taken it quite hard. She hadn’t recovered until she started dating Brendan—and even now, Suki wondered if the recovery was complete. “What about him?”