by L E Fraser
My father clenched my shoulder and I remained silent.
“It was a boy from Savannah,” my father said briskly. “The wife took Pearl for a visit. My daughter became smitten by a young man at the hotel. There was nothing sordid about it. Pearl told Blu all about her romance, so Landry’s accusation doesn’t make sense.”
“Mind if I have a word with Pearl?” the sheriff asked.
The pressure on my shoulder tightened. “I do,” my dad said evenly. “Pearl lost the baby—a third trimester miscarriage. She’s had a difficult time. I don’t want her upset.”
The sheriff studied us silently for what felt like a full minute. “Remy, I’ll respect your wishes as Pearl’s father. For now,” he added ominously. He wiped the sweat from the brim of his hat and replaced it over his coarse black hair. “They have folks over at the Department of Children’s and Family Services who have experience with autism. If we need to pursue this to satisfy Basile, I’ll arrange for a specialist to talk with Pearl.”
“If it comes to that, they’re welcome to try,” my father said. “But I’m asking you to keep my daughter out of this nonsense. I understand Basile’s grieving, but I fought for our freedoms and know my rights. There are laws against bearing false witness. Money doesn’t change that fact.”
The sheriff nodded. “I hear that.” He stared through the screen door, twisting his neck to get a better look inside the house. “Something sure smells good.”
“Étouffée and hush puppies,” I said, moving to block his view.
When neither my father nor I invited him in for a quick taste, he looked pointedly at my father’s ugly prosthetic. “Remy, I’ve been meaning to thank you for your service to our country. I know things haven’t been easy for you since your return.” His eyes roamed meaningfully over my father’s long-sleeved shirt.
My father nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t respond.
“Good luck with the flu, Remy.” He patted my father’s shoulder. “Ride it out and keep the faith,” he said with a wink. “Y’all have a good day, and enjoy your dinner.”
We watched in silence from the high porch as the two men poked around the rebuilt shed, Basile Landry becoming irate and agitated. Finally, the sheriff turned and sauntered to his cruiser with Landry stomping along behind him. The sheriff gazed up at us for a moment and then lifted his hand in a mock salute. My father waved back, but my arm stayed frozen by my side.
“Who saw me?” I asked quietly.
“Cyril.” My father continued to stare at the cloud of dirt that rose from the back of the sheriff’s retreating car. “At least he’s the one who told me.”
“He runs the dogfights,” I said, cursing my stupidity.
Anything illegal and immoral in the parish fell under Cyril’s purview. He would have recognized me from the days when I’d sold him the nutria tails.
“I didn’t accuse Virgile until that night,” I said. “His brother’s lying.”
“It’s more likely Basile who’s lying. His elder son doesn’t have the backbone to stand up to his father. He’ll swear a statement if Basile orders him to,” my father replied with no expression. “There’s no coming back from this. Not for any of us.” He turned his back on me and the screen door slammed behind him.
I had brought the authorities to our doorstep. They would return and find Pearl. That discovery would explode the tenuous shards that remained of our lives.
The only thing that would ever rise from the ashes of my family’s destruction was a killer, and I accepted that had always been my destiny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sam
EMILY SAT MUTE and expressionless while Sam explained Aazar’s allegations and his theory on Fadiya’s pregnancy. After the debriefing, Emily lowered her head and fiddled with her Montblanc fountain pen, twirling it between her fingers like a mini baton. Sam waited for her mentor to express outrage or to ask questions—anything that would fray the uncomfortable veil of silence that hung between them. Emily dropped the blood report on the table with a grimace and rubbed her hand across her tan slacks, as if desperate to cleanse it of something vile.
Unable to withstand the silence any longer, Sam asked, “Can you think of a therapeutic reason Fadiya would be given ketamine?”
“No.”
“Do you have any reason to believe she had a pre-existing drug problem?” Sam asked.
“No.”
The response didn’t surprise Sam. Fadiya’s parents had institutionalized her directly after her rescue from Bueton. Mussani hadn’t permit the use of unsanctioned drugs and the compound dogs had ensured that his followers abided by the rule. If the dogs detected drugs on a cult member, Mussani’s punishment had been merciless.
“Do you keep ketamine here in the clinic?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Did you know Mrs. Basha underwent IVF to genetically engineer a DNA match to Aazar?”
A muscle above Emily’s eye twitched. “Yes.”
Sam tried to keep her tone neutral. “Is it possible it happened again, except Fadiya is the host this time?”
“No.”
“Why’s that?” Sam asked, annoyed by the monosyllable responses.
Emily held up her hands to emphasis the absurdity of the suggestion. “Harvesting eggs is a surgical procedure, one that we aren’t equipped to undertake here.”
“I’ve read about egg retrieval,” Sam said. “All they’d need is sedation and a portable ultrasound machine. Egg aspiration only takes about ten minutes.”
“You’re talking about a delicate technique executed by a highly trained specialist.” Emily shook her head in denial. “Fadiya is a mentally incapacitated teenager, legally unable to provide consent. Not to mention that human gene editing is illegal in this country. No doctor would risk his medical licence and a prison sentence in a desperate attempt to save a scientific prodigy. It’s a ridiculous notion that doesn’t warrant discussion.”
Sam decided to take a different approach. “How do you explain ketamine in her blood?”
“I don’t know if that report is real.” Emily pointed a trembling finger at the sheet of paper on the table. “Even if it is legitimate, there’s no guarantee that it was Fadiya’s blood.”
“Will you do a urine test?” Sam asked.
Emily’s shoulders tightened. “Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll ask a nurse to collect urine.”
The doctor’s hostile behaviour bewildered Sam. “Since Aazar knows about the pregnancy, we have to disclose it to Fadiya’s parents,” she said.
“Her father is in the Middle East on business,” Emily said tersely. “I was waiting for his return but Mrs. Basha told me he plans to remain for another month. I had every intention of telling her today.”
“I’d like to be there when you speak to her,” Sam said.
“Why?” Emily stood and paced the small office. “So you can tell her that someone in this clinic conspired with outside forces to illegally impregnate her daughter with a genetically modified embryo?” She jammed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “We have no evidence. All you have is the paranoid rantings of a young man who is fighting a terminal disease.”
“I understand that this is—”
“Are you going to tell Mrs. Basha that someone in this clinic is using mind-altering drugs to rape her daughter? Or, maybe it’s your theory on sex trafficking you plan to share.” Emily turned her back and strode across the office to her desk. “Innuendoes—that’s all you have.” She turned and faced Sam once more, with her desk a protective barricade between them. “An outrageous supposition like this will spiral into an unfounded scandal that will destroy my life’s work.”
“Emily, I’m not the bad guy here,” Sam said calmly. “Fadiya is pregnant. Discovering the truth is the only way to ensure that the female patients at this clinic are safe. I know that’s your main objective too.”
“This is an unmitigated
disaster that will close my clinic and blemish the integrity of all my years of research—research that has developed innovative and successful treatment options,” Emily said bitterly. “A sex trafficking ring—operating under my nose and most likely perpetrated by someone I hired—or gross medical negligence.” She laughed humourlessly. “I can’t get my head around which is more loathsome.”
“The only way to limit the damage to your reputation is to uncover the truth,” Sam said.
“Mathias warned me not to dig into this,” Emily said, her voice quivering. “He begged me to deal with the problem discreetly. I should have listened to him.”
Sam slumped against her chair in shock. “Are you saying he wanted you to secretly abort the pregnancy?”
“Wouldn’t that have been best for everyone?”
“You can’t believe that,” Sam said, shaking her head. “You’re talking about covering up a crime.”
“You could still investigate and identify the rapist.” Emily licked her lips rapidly. “We’d save Fadiya and her family unnecessary angst. No one needs to know about the pregnancy.”
“I’m not obstructing justice,” Sam said coolly. “Aazar knows about the pregnancy, and others may as well because they made a monumental effort at high risk to guarantee it.” She breathed deeply to reign in her anger. “Look, based on Mrs. Basha’s reaction to the news, we may be able to uncover the truth.”
Emily stared at her with her mouth agape. “You can’t possibly think that Mrs. Basha is the mastermind behind this gene editing scheme?”
Sam shrugged. “It would take money to accomplish. She’s put her son’s health ahead of her daughter’s welfare many times. Living donor transplants are complex surgeries with significant risks to the donor. Surgeons preformed multiple procedures before Fadiya had even hit adolescence.” She held Emily’s eyes. “What does that say about her mother’s love?”
Emily crossed the room and collapsed onto the sofa. She put her face in her hands.
Sam moved from her chair to sit beside her. “Did you really consider following Mathias’s advice and aborting the pregnancy?”
“Of course not,” Emily said. “The suggestion disgusted me.” She looked up and took Sam’s hand. “I am so sorry. This isn’t your fault and I’ve been awful to you. I’m exhausted, but that’s no excuse for my terrible behaviour.” Tears filled her large hazel eyes. “I’d like it very much if you’d be with me when I tell Mrs. Basha.”
Emily was facing a gruelling government inquiry, a public shaming, and the destruction of her reputation. The Canadian Medical Association could potentially strip her of her licence to practice. It was little wonder, Sam realized, that the celebrated doctor’s first reaction was to scramble to find a way to save her life’s work.
Sam squeezed her fingers. “I understand. We’ll get to the truth, I promise.”
“How is Fadiya?” Emily asked, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“During our session this morning, she was lucid again. She continued to discuss Mussani visiting her at night.” Sam paused to organize her thoughts. “Her story of a single, cloaked brother accompanying him and the series of events leading to Mussani’s visits are consistent. She hasn’t deviated from her version or altered a single fact.”
“Deluded patients often stick to the same story,” Emily said.
Sam shook her head. “But Fadiya is questioning the omitted sacraments, which are details only a Bueton member would know. That doesn’t fit with delusional disorder.”
“It doesn’t,” Emily agreed with a frown. “When you challenge a delusion, the patient typically embellishes it to justify the point you disputed.”
“Fadiya is challenging it herself,” Sam said. “The missing elements confuse her but the details of Mussani’s visit never waver. Someone brings men to her room.”
“And they can’t replicate the sexual ceremony because they don’t know the secret rituals.” For the first time, Emily sounded as if she believed what Sam had been trying to tell her. “But I’m struggling to believe Fadiya faked her symptoms,” Emily said. “I would have picked up on it.”
“Fadiya wasn’t in your care when the courts ruled her incompetent,” Sam said. “Her parents transferred her from the hospital after the diagnosis was in place.”
Emily vigorously shook her head. “I reassessed her. I’m telling you, she met the criteria for delusional disorder.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Sam said. “Fadiya suffered complex trauma in the cult. I was undercover there for only a short time, and it took me months to deal with what I endured in that compound.” She swallowed hard, quickly stuffing the emerging memories to the back of her mind. “Regardless of what Aazar taught her and the ketamine, Fadiya isn’t stable.”
“PTSD would account for some of the clinical aspects of psychosis I witnessed,” Emily said. “Combine that with the adverse effects of periodical ketamine drugging, and it’s possible I made a diagnostic error.”
Sam respected her willingness to consider that she made a mistake. Must doctors of her caliber were too arrogant to entertain the idea.
“What do you know about ketamine?” Sam asked. “Why choose that drug?”
Emily thought for a minute, again twirling the pen she held. “It’s fast acting and the trance-like state and memory loss last for less than an hour. As the drug wears off, a patient can present with psychological signs like confusion and hallucinations.”
“And that would have led you to believe she was deluded, which would discredit any allegation she might make,” Sam concluded.
Emily nodded. “The after-effects of the drug differ between patients, but they can present like delusional disorder.” She stared out the window. “If they’re administering the drug sporadically, it explains why she’s lucid a lot of the time. Based on her symptoms, they’re still giving it to her.”
“Someone should be with Fadiya at night,” Sam said.
“I agree.” Emily’s expression darkened. “I don’t know who we can trust. What about Ophelia? I can ask her to switch to night shift and sit with Fadiya.”
“Can you think of a plausible excuse as to why you want her in the room?” Sam asked.
“I’ll say Mrs. Basha requested it,” Emily said. “They were discussing private nursing a while ago.”
“It’s best not to tell Dr. Beauregard what we’ve discussed today,” Sam said.
“You can’t think he’s behind any of this.” The shock on Emily’s face was genuine.
“Did you know he lives on the Bridle Path?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Did you know he was married?” Sam asked.
Emily nodded. “Widowed. His wife died about five years ago. Why?”
“Adaline Beauregard was exceptionally wealthy. Mathias inherited her estate,” Sam said.
The news appeared to trouble Emily. “He’s always been tight with a dollar, but it disturbs me that he lied about his inability to invest in our clinic.”
“I don’t know what his financial situation is currently, but I’m looking into it,” Sam said.
“He more than makes up for his personal lack of investment,” Emily said, perhaps reading disquietude in Sam’s face. “Mathias is able to connect with potential investors on a personal level. He’s gifted at persuading them to see our vision.”
Emily seemed oblivious to the fact she’d just described a con artist. They succeeded because of their ability to appeal to their marks. They were calculated, cunning people who exuded confidence. Just like Mathias Beauregard. Sam didn’t view manipulation as a redeeming quality.
“It worries me that he wanted to terminate the pregnancy and cover it up,” Sam said, watching Emily’s reaction.
“It was a knee-jerk reaction to a crisis,” she replied dismissively. “Mathias wouldn’t have followed through with it any more than I would have allowed him to.”
“He was very determined not to put a camera in
Fadiya’s room,” Sam said.
Emily shrugged. “He stands by his principles and strongly believes that in-room cameras breach the patient’s trust,” she said. “When it comes to our patients, he’s very dedicated and refuses to sway from his medical values.”
Sam had witnessed that bullheaded arrogance herself but her gut told her that Mathias’s values served him first and foremost. After speaking with her stepfather, who saw the good in everyone, Sam’s opinion of Mathias Beauregard had dropped even further. It was possible that her personal bias against the odious little man was tainting her objectivity but she intended to trust her gut.
“Please don’t discuss this with him,” Sam insisted. “The fewer people who know what we’re investigating, the better.”
“Benjamin Franklin: Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.” Emily reached to answer her phone. She listened for a moment, then thanked the caller and stood. “Mrs. Basha and Aazar are waiting in the board room.” She held her hand out to Sam. “Again, I’m so sorry for my unprofessional and emotional reaction. Are we okay?”
There were thin lines on Emily’s face that hadn’t been there a week ago. Her skin was dry, with small scaly patches around the corners of her lips. Red streaks tinged the whites of her eyes, and the skin beneath was discoloured and puffy. Her trousers hung loosely against her hips, and beneath her white silk blouse, her collarbones were pronounced. Emily was under tremendous stress, and Sam wasn’t going to hold a lapse of judgment against the exhausted woman.
“We’re fine,” she said sincerely.
Emily blew out her breath with a weak smile and straightened her back. “Let’s do this.”
They walked to the end of a long corridor and entered the boardroom, where Aazar sat across from his mother. Emily chose a chair at the head of the long table, flanked by the family. Sam sat beside Aazar so she could watch Mrs. Basha, not that she’d discern much. The pale blue shuttlecock burka would make it impossible to judge the woman’s reaction to the news of her daughter’s pregnancy.