Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  “Probably for the best. And what about Hannah?”

  “She’s going to be committed on an emergency certificate later today.”

  “She’s nuts, then?”

  “Either that or possessed.” She chuckled, finding the idea ridiculous.

  With a smirk, he said, “You mean like Sam was supposed to be, right? Later, Dix.”

  “Later, Kyle.”

  When Dixie arrived at the precinct, there was a note on her desk to call Dr. Cambre, her obstetrician. Immediately, she felt her temperature plummet and the dampness of perspiration gather on her upper lip and brow. Was something wrong with her baby?

  Locking herself in the office, she dialed the number as quickly as she could. She bit her bottom lip and fought back the rising tide of anxiety. Had Hannah managed to hurt the baby yesterday?

  The other line picked up. “Hello, Dr. Cambre’s office.”

  She felt the sides of her neck throb. “This is Dixie Olivier. Dr. Cambre asked me to call?”

  “Ah, yes. One moment. I’ll let her know it’s you.”

  Almost immediately, zydeco hold music started playing, interspersed with a calm voice expounding the benefits of the Tulane Medical Facility. Dixie rocked back and forth, trying like mad not to succumb to the anxious feelings in her heart. What was wrong with her baby?

  Finally, Dr. Cambre picked up. “Miss Olivier, how are you doing?”

  “Doctor, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? Oh! No, nothing is wrong, Miss Olivier. Nothing is wrong at all.”

  A wave of relief washed over Dixie like the tide. She leaned back. It was one thing to be told you have an anxiety disorder, but actually experiencing it was a completely different monster. At least she could get on medication once the baby was born.

  “So what’s going on then?”

  “Well, I wanted to prescribe a prenatal vitamin for you,” Dr. Cambre said. “And given the stress and danger of your job, I’m going to recommend that you stay out of the field as much as possible.”

  “Right,” Dixie said. As soon as this case is over.

  The phone call reminded her of the issue of when she had conceived. ”I know we went over this already, but you’re still sure that I’m fifteen weeks along?”

  “Yes, as I said, I’m projecting April 7th as your due date.”

  Dixie hummed. Fifteen weeks didn’t properly add up. “So I conceived in early August?”

  “It had to have been late July.”

  That didn’t make sense. “Is that so. Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. That reminds me, I’ll also have my receptionist send you all the information on second trimester care, all right?”

  Dixie nibbled again on her bottom lip. “I’ll be on the lookout for it. Thanks.”

  Hanging up, she sat back and rubbed her forehead. “Gino was out of town until the beginning of August. So how did we manage to conceive in late July?”

  After moment, she let it go. “I’m overthinking again, most likely.”

  For an hour, she worked on reports. It was nearly lunchtime when someone knocked on her door. “Yo, boss lady, may I come in?” It was Rivette.

  “Yes.”

  Opening the door, he poked his head around the corner like a cartoon character. “Hey, you ready?”

  She sat there feeling lost. “Ready for what?”

  He came into the office and then held up his wrist and tapped it as if he were wearing a watch, which he wasn’t. “Time to go bring Miss Davis to the wacky ward. You still want to do this, seeing as how she threatened to stomp out your baby? ‘Cause Landry and I can handle it.”

  “Oh! Yes, absolutely. I want to make sure that nothing goes wrong. She’s sedated, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am, she is. All right, then, meet Landry and me out back in ten. We’ll follow the transport to the hospital.”

  He closed the door as he left.

  Leaning back, she closed her eyes. It was hard to accept that a ten-year-old girl could be a heartless killer, no matter what the circumstances were. But the facts—and Hannah’s own behaviors—were pretty damning. And the warning signs for violence had been there—it’s just that no one had paid attention.

  No wonder Hannah loved “November Rain” so much. She identified with the sadness. Poor kid. I hope the doctor can help her.

  Dixie scanned the name of the accepting physician. Then she gasped, hardly able to contain her excitement.

  “Dr. Kindley? That’s the other guy who may know where Sam is!”

  The smell of the Tulane Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit lingered in Dixie’s nose, body odor and urine hanging like a musk. It reminded her of the geriatric home where Papa Olivier’s mother had spent the last of her days. Rivette and Landry seemed unaffected.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust, trying to ignore the odor. She figured it was likely oversensitivity due to her pregnancy, but that didn’t make it any more enjoyable.

  “How’s the suspect?” Landry asked.

  She regarded Hannah, who was cuffed to the wheelchair she’d been pushing. Hannah’s head rolled in a small side-to-side arc as she burbled unintelligibly. Dixie felt the back of Hannah’s neck. The skin was cool to the touch.

  “Drugged.” She gently rubbed it. Despite having almost been harmed by her, Dixie couldn’t hate her. Something about Hannah’s situation just seemed off.

  “What did they put in her, anyway?”

  Someone spoke behind Dixie. “Diazepam.”

  She turned to see a man in his forties with oily, short, black hair wearing a white physician’s jacket and rectangular glasses. He smiled like a salesman would at his clients.

  “Dr. Kindley at your service, Detectives.”

  He shook hands with Rivette and then Landry, lingering for several seconds with him. “Landry, yes? I believe I spoke with you on the phone, correct?”

  Landry wiped perspiration from his forehead. “Correct, Dr. Kindley. This is Lieutenant Olivier. She’s, um, my boss. She’ll be handling things from here.”

  Casting her eyes toward him, she rubbed her bottom lip. Well, that’s odd. Paul’s acting mighty suspicious.

  Dr. Kindley’s smile broadened as he reached over and shook her hand, pulling her attention away from Landry. “Lieutenant Dixie Olivier? I read about you in the Picayune a few months back. You worked with Detective Bergeron on the new Ripper case, correct? Quite the heroine you are!”

  She glanced over at Landry and then back at Dr. Kindley. “Rodger’s the one who really solved the case, Doctor. I just helped. He and Michael are the true heroes.”

  Rivette looked around at them, his expression almost completely vacant. “Everything OK here?”

  With a dismissive wave, Dr. Kindley said, “Yes, of course, Detective. I’m just congratulating a role model to all citizens. But that’s in the past. This is the present. And presently, it seems you have a very troubled little patient who’ll be joining our family.”

  Again, she rested her hand on Hannah’s neck, gently touching the girl’s chilly skin. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Hannah was really a victim.

  “Hannah Davis is her name, Doctor. We’ll be transferring her to your care while the district attorney decides how they want to proceed.”

  “And of course, Connick will want a full psychological evaluation?”

  “Yes.”

  Landry handed over a large manila envelope that was over-stuffed with papers. “Here’s copies of everything the DA wants you to have. If you have any questions, you’re to contact Mr. Connick directly.”

  Taking the envelope, Dr. Kindley skimmed a random paper. “Thank you, Paul,” he said, striding down the hall. “Lieutenant, will you please come with me to my office? We can sign everything there.”

  “’Thank you, Paul,’ eh?” Rivette eyed his partner, who shrugged.

  Dixie squeezed Hannah’s shoulder. The girl rolled her head back, drooling. “It’ll be all right, Hannah. Scott, can you go outside and let transport
know we’re done here? Paul, assist the staff in getting her settled in. Make sure she’s secure.”

  Rivette sighed exasperatedly, threw up his hands, and hurried away.

  As two orderlies approached, taking the wheelchair from Dixie, she leaned over and whispered to Landry, “What’s going on? How did Dr. Kindley know our first names?”

  He shrugged again. “Just does.”

  The desire to slap him was growing. Before she could speak, though, he added, “Ouellette knows, remember?”

  He said it so suddenly that she stopped. Then she heard Dr. Kindley clear his throat. “Lieutenant, are you coming?”

  Landry rushed off with the two orderlies and Hannah. With a defeated sigh, Dixie followed Dr. Kindley to his office. This isn’t over, Paul.

  Once inside, he closed the door and offered her a seat by his desk. “Now, let’s get to the crux of the matter, shall we, Lieutenant?” he asked, still smiling in a fake manner. “I read the report on Miss Davis’s arrest and interrogation. The strength she exhibited—you’ve seen this before, haven’t you? At the wharf?”

  His question caught her completely off guard. She bit her bottom lip and said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  Oh, that sounded stupid.

  “Really? So you can’t compare it to someone running up the side of a crane?”

  Her mental guard had returned. “I’m just here to sign custody of the suspect over to you, Doctor. Any other line of questioning would be inappropriate.”

  Tapping his fingers on the surface of his desk, he said, “If you say so, Lieutenant. But I don’t think this is a simple case of psychosis.”

  “What would you say happened to her, then?” He was giving her the chills. Something about him just felt wrong.

  His grin got more wolfish. “I believe that Miss Davis’s condition was caused by a more… external source. I’ve recently come into some fascinating reading material, so I’m still learning about it. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to verify my theories.”

  Dixie was lost. The entire conversation had taken a completely different turn, one she wasn’t privy to. “Say what again?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. Just the ramblings of a doctor with some new tools. Here. Let’s get to business, shall we?” He slid over a clipboard containing the transfer form—filled out and waiting for her signature—and a ballpoint pen.

  “Thanks,” she said, signing the form. She slid it back to him. “By the way, are you the physician who treated Sam Castille?”

  Dr. Kindley put it away and then leaned back. “Yes, I am. She was a remarkable woman. It’s a shame that her commitment had to be extended indefinitely.”

  It was all Dixie needed. Maybe he knew where she was.

  Leaning back in the chair, she focused on the conversation as if were an interrogation. “Yes, it was a heavy blow to me. We were friends, you know.”

  “Were you? She seemed to think you had betrayed her.”

  That struck Dixie’s heart like a dagger. It was just another way she had failed Sam. Tapping into those feelings, she blurted out, “I didn’t, really! It was all a huge misunderstanding.”

  Her outburst didn’t faze him. “I can imagine. Your duty versus your feelings. Tough predicament.”

  This guy is good. Too good. She fought back a grimace, refusing to show any emotion but being distraught at having no contact with Sam. “I can’t even apologize. No one will tell me where she is. It’s frustrating.”

  He snorted. “Well, protecting a patient’s privacy is part of our legal system. HIPAA is such a pain, isn’t it?”

  She nibbled her bottom lip, hard—all part of the act. “Can you at least confirm that she’s getting the proper care? You must understand how that weighs on me.”

  For a long few seconds, he scrutinized her. She kept nibbling her lip until he said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could say she was getting treated properly. Sam’s doctor is… well, he’s an eccentric little man. I respect him for his intellect, but I don’t think his treatments will help her.”

  Of course, that must mean Dr. Klein is treating Sam himself!

  Feeling a rush of excitement and barely holding it back, she forced a choke in her voice. “Is she not getting constant care?”

  Come on. Take the bait.

  Dr. Kindley’s voice grew thick with contempt. “Well, what she gets is constant. Her doctor sees her every day. But I wouldn’t call his methods ‘care.’”

  She held back her reaction, but on the inside, she cheered. If Dr. Klein saw Sam every day, she must be within driving distance of New Orleans. But that revelation brought about a separate concern. Were these “methods” harmful? “Now, Doctor. If there’s patient abuse going on, you’re obligated to report it.”

  To her surprise, he laughed out loud. It was a particularly malicious sound. His change in demeanor was once again disarming.

  “Dear Lieutenant. You really haven’t a clue how this city works, do you? Maybe you should talk to your commander about the way the upper echelon of the Big Easy plays its games.”

  “Excuse me?” What did Ouellette have to do with this?

  Standing up, Dr. Kindley opened the door leading out to the hallway. “But I’ve talked enough. You are a clever one, aren’t you? Your little line of questioning got some things out of me after all. Let me give you some free advice: stay away from Sam Castille. The people that want her? You can’t handle them. They’d crush you and your little perfect dream like the insect you are. You need to think about your future. About Gino. And about your child.”

  As he sneered at her, she rose so fast that she nearly fell over, catching herself on the chair. Then she glared at him, balling up her fist and shaking it under his chin. “How did you know about all that? Are you threatening me? Are you seriously threatening a cop?”

  This time, he spoke barely above a whisper. “No. I’d never lower myself so far as to threaten someone who crawled out of a trailer park and is trying to play nobility. You’ll always be on the fringe of my world. This chat has been droll, Lieutenant. Good day to you.” His gaze from beneath his glasses was penetrating and unyielding.

  She stood there a moment, sweating. Who was this guy? Then she scowled and left. On the way out, she imagined punching him so hard his nose caved in.

  Now it was her turn to smile.

  Out in the parking lot, Dixie found Rivette alone, smoking a cigarette. The smoky scent clung to every fiber of his hair and clothes. It was obvious he’d been chain-smoking. “So, I don’t take a lot of things seriously,” Rivette said, “but tell it to me straight. Is my partner up to something?”

  ”I don’t know, Scott.” Then she glanced around. “Speaking of which, where is he?”

  “I thought he was with you.”

  Rubbing the space between her eyes again, she fought back the approaching shakes and sweats of another anxiety attack. Now I know how Richie felt. How ironic.

  “Want me to go get him, boss?’ Rivette looked concerned.

  She shook her head. “I can’t take any medication while I’m pregnant, so I’ll walk it off. Just have the car ready, OK, Scott? Be my hero today.”

  He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Sure thing, my lady. I’ll even take you anywhere for lunch… except Arnaud’s, or Commander’s Palace, or Mulates…”

  As he continued to list the most expensive restaurants in town, she felt her mood rise just enough to take the edge off. “Donuts and coffee is fine.”

  By the time she reached the common room, her anxiety had subsided, although her stump was prickling again. Rubbing it, she scanned the room. It had several tables and chairs, a television on one side, and a wall decorated with multi-colored letters that spelled out “Crazy is only in your mind.” Several of the patients were gathered around a short one standing on a chair and telling a story. Nearby, Hannah sat in front of a small table with a Scrabble board. Landry stood beside her, watching
the storyteller.

  “And it was then that Sam said, and I kid you not, ‘So now I am possessed by the queen of the loa!’ Oh, ho, ho, you should have seen the way Dr. Kindley just sat there simmering. I thought his face would melt off like that Nazi prick Arnold Toht!”

  The other patients started laughing riotously. One of them, an older woman with graying hair and a shrill voice, said, “It’s only funny because you tell it so well, Lou. I could never make it sound that good. As Martha Stewart says, ‘I’ve had my share of dirty underwear on the floor.’”

  Dixie tapped Landry on the shoulder. He turned, giggling. Then he got a panicked look. “Crap, sorry, Dixie! It’s just this guy—”

  “Were they talking about Sam Castille?”

  He nodded and covered his mouth, suppressing another chuckle.

  “Excuse me,” she said, heading up to the short patient.

  He noticed her and bowed low, nearly stumbling off the table. “Hello, beautiful one-armed lady. Might you have time for another story of indelibly riotous Sam Castille?”

  Even though it was an interrogation, she didn’t project any forcefulness. Instead, she just offered her hand to him, playing the role. “I’m afraid, good sir, that I don’t have time. But might I inquire as to where she went?”

  He kissed her hand and said, “Oh, that? Everyone knows that, even that drunkard Marion. Poor Sam was transferred to the Evergreen Sanatorium. We shall all miss her.”

  The other patients bowed their heads. A tall, bald one, said, “Amen.”

  Slipping back, Dixie brimmed with triumph. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Nearby, Landry was sweating again.

  Then an orderly arrived. “All right, Lou, everyone, that’s enough. Let the detectives get back to work.”

  As the patients started leaving, she rubbed her bottom lip again. Evergreen Sanatorium? She’d never heard of it. That could be the answer, but she needed to verify it.