Antoinette van Heugten

by Saving Max (v5) (epub)

  A sudden silence convinces Danielle that she is gone. She rushes back to the bed and throws the needle and everything—even the torn T-shirt strip—into her purse. She creeps over to Max and presses her lips against his pale, moist forehead. She breathes deeply. He is still Max. He is still alive. And she will, so help her God, come back and get him out of this place. She slips to the wall, ducks beneath the camera, and removes her jacket. She leaves the same way she came in.

  By some miracle, she manages to retrace her path to Doaks’s car unobserved—she hopes. She crouches low in the seat as she slowly rolls the Nova through the Maitland gates and toward the small, wooded lane. Her heart pounds with the dreadful risk she has taken. From the ravages on Max’s arms. From the knowledge that she has to leave him there. Sweat pours from her body for the next twenty minutes as her eyes fix on the rearview mirror, waiting for the police to arrest her and take her away.

  Like the thief she is.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The next morning Sevillas takes his usual place at the head of the table. Doaks plops down somewhere in the middle and props his feet up on one of the leather chairs. Danielle sits next to Sevillas, trying not to let her nervousness show. Sevillas has called them together to tell them about his meeting with the D.A. His face is stern. “Here’s the bottom line. I think the D.A.’s trying to force Danielle’s hand.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “They want Max to plead out.”

  “No shit?” asks Doaks.

  Danielle’s heart races. “Why would they do that? I thought they wanted a high-profile trial—especially because of Maitland.”

  Sevillas shakes his head. “It’s because of Maitland that they want us to take a deal. Maitland is the biggest employer in Plano, Danielle. A mentally ill patient was brutally murdered in his room, with no one on the unit. Another patient, who was supposed to be in restraints, is found covered in blood with the murder weapon in the dead boy’s room. The civil negligence suit, which I’m sure Mrs. Morrison’s lawyer is preparing as we speak, will be in the millions. Given that the prime suspect is also a psychiatric patient with no criminal record won’t help Maitland’s standing in the community, its national reputation or its position in the Morrison lawsuit. Maitland has to limit its exposure—fast.”

  Doaks shrugs. “Makes sense to me.”

  “I can’t believe this,” says Danielle.

  “The D.A.’s also using this threat to bolster their bond–no bond argument against you,” says Sevillas. “With a murder charge, there’s a good chance the judge will grant their motion and no bond you until trial.”

  Danielle gasps. She won’t be able to try to find another suspect. She’ll be in jail, helpless to speak to Max or even attend his trial. She locks frantic eyes on Sevillas and braces herself. “Tell me what they want.”

  “They’ll give you deferred adjudication on the obstruction and accessory charges,” he says.

  “Sounds too good to be true.” Danielle gives him a piercing look. “What about Max?”

  Sevillas reaches across the table and grasps her hand. “The State will agree to drop all charges against Max in return for a plea by reason of insanity and a joint motion to the court requesting an order to confine Max to an indefinite stay in a private or state institution until it is determined that he is competent.”

  “Christ,” mutters Doaks.

  Danielle no longer feels Sevillas’s warm touch. All in her is ice. “You mean Maitland.”

  Sevillas clasps both of her hands in his and squeezes them. His brown eyes are solemn. “Yes. The D.A. made it clear that they will strongly urge the judge to keep Max at Maitland until they believe that he is well enough to be released into the general population. Maitland has agreed to treat Max without charge, but only if the terms of the plea are kept confidential.”

  Danielle pulls her hands free. “You want me to let them keep Max locked up in that lunatic asylum? They’re the ones who made him crazy in the first place!” Her voice shakes. “What about the state institution?”

  “It’s in Des Moines and has the worst reputation there is,” says Sevillas quietly. “The judge will never send Max there.”

  Danielle stalks to the other side of the room. She turns, fists balled. “I will never agree to this. I don’t care if they throw me in jail.”

  Sevillas sighs. “But are you willing to risk that Max may spend the rest of his life there? Even with good behavior, he’ll serve fifteen years.”

  Danielle leans against the wall. Bile rises in her throat. Thirty-one. He’ll be thirty-one when he gets out. His whole life will be forfeited. All he’ll know is what he’ll learn locked away with other…murderers. And if she violates the restraining order, they will try her for the obstruction and abetting charges. If convicted, she may not see him for years. She holds a cold hand to her forehead and then goes back to her chair. She puts steel into her voice. “I won’t do it. It’s too soon to even think about cutting a deal.”

  Sevillas shakes his head. “They want an answer before the hearing—two weeks from today. If not, they’ll rescind the offer.”

  Danielle crosses her arms and looks Tony straight in the eyes. “That means we’ve got fourteen days to find a killer.”

  It is after lunch. Sevillas and Doaks are in the conference-room office marshalling evidence for the hearing. Danielle has stepped into Tony’s office to call Max. Now that Max has his iPhone, she can call him, but she knows it is dangerous. Kreng and the staff could easily catch him at it and confiscate the phone—not to mention what Sevillas would do if he finds out what she did yesterday. Even though it was only yesterday since she broke into Maitland, she simply has to hear his voice. She slips into Tony’s office and shuts the door. Max answers immediately.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  He sounds so normal that she is taken aback. “How are you, honey?”

  “For being in this hellhole, I’m doing okay.” She hears him tapping away. “I’ve found out some stuff you aren’t going to believe.”

  “What is that noise?”

  He sounds preoccupied. “Doing research.”

  “On what?”

  There is a pause as the tapping ceases. “Fastow, what else?”

  “How are you doing that?”

  He groans. “On my iPhone.”

  “On the Web?”

  There is a sound that is somewhere between a chortle and a laugh. “Come on, Mom. Think outside the box.”

  She tries to keep her irritation at bay. “Max, tell me how you are. I worry about you constantly.”

  A sigh filters through the receiver. “I’m fine. I stopped taking the meds, and I act like a dumb cow every time they’re around me.”

  “What about the blood draws? Is that all they’re doing or are they also injecting you with something?”

  “Neither one. I don’t know why.”

  “Have you found out anything about Fastow?”

  “Not much,” he says. “Just stuff about how great he is. He’s won all kinds of awards.”

  “What else did you find out. Anything about the meds?”

  “I’m working on that,” he says absently. “I took some photos of them with my phone, but I don’t see anything that looks like the blue capsules in the Pharmacology Flash Cards, in Skyscape or Epocrates. The last one surprises me, because you can usually plug in any mystery pill and it comes up with a match in about three seconds.”

  Danielle sits down. “Max, what in the world are you talking about?”

  Another exasperated sigh. “Let me make it simple for you. The iPhone has access to lots of apps—applications. I down loaded the ones I thought I’d need, using your credit card number, of course….”

  She ignores the latter. “What applications?”

  “Hmm, let’s see.” She can almost see him ticking off his fingers one at a time. “The Pharmacology Flash Cards are really cool. They keep up with the latest head drugs, clinical trials—all that kind of stuff.�
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  “Max, how long have you been doing this?”

  She hears a snort. “C’mon, Mom, what did you think? That you could feed me those lousy pills for years and I wouldn’t find out what they are? Even a dumb-shit could tell they aren’t aspirin.”

  Danielle blanches. So he knows he’s been on antipsychotics.

  “It’s cool, Mom,” he continues. “Skyscape is another drug program, like Epocrates, except that Epocrates has pictures.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the meds, Mom.”

  “Did you find out what they are?”

  “No, that’s the weird part. I’ve looked at every drug that could even be close to the ones Fastow gives me, and nothing matches—at least not any of the lunatic meds.”

  She doesn’t touch that one, either. “This could be very important, Max. Were you able to do a visual comparison with—”

  “Other atypical antipsychotics?”

  Her heart stops. Oh, her son is no dummy. “Yes,” she says weakly.

  “None of them look like these. There’s no imprint code, no nothing. I’ve even read the clinical studies and description of the conventional meds and compared the side effects and drug-drug interactions.”

  My God, how long has this been going on? He sounds like a Harvard Medical School graduate. “It must be experimental. Max, I don’t want you taking a single one of the meds those people are giving you, even ones you’ve had before. And the more information you can collect, the better chance we’ll have at the hearing to get you out of there.”

  “God, Mom, I hope so. I try not to think about it, but…”

  “About what?”

  The silence is knotted, fragile. If sadness were a color, it would be a blue stripe wound tightly around Max’s voice. “Whether or not I’m crazy, even without that weird shit Fastow’s been giving me.”

  Danielle puts a hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. At least she doesn’t have to see him. She couldn’t bear it.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, honey.” The pause lengthens. “I don’t think you’re psychotic, Max. I think they’re wrong.”

  “But what if they’re not? I pass out at night just like I did when they said I killed Jonas.”

  “Max, stop it.”

  He is quiet a moment. “Okay.” Another pause. “Then let me tell you what else I found, and then I’ve got to go. It’s time for the Dragon Lady to make sure I’ve done my ‘personal hygiene.’”

  Danielle laughs. “You don’t do it at home. Why would you do it there?”

  “Right. Okay, here’s the scoop on Sylvius and Osirix.” Danielle sighs. From experience, she knows she is about to get another Asperger’s lecture, filled with minutiae she probably doesn’t need. It seems as if psychopharmacology has been Max’s obsession for a long time.

  “I hacked into Maitland’s database with my iPhone and then downloaded my MRIs using Osirix.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Got lucky,” he says. “The nurse’s station is right outside my room. I snitched the password when no one was looking. Man, they’re worthless.”

  Like mother, like son, she thinks.

  “Anyway,” says Max, “you can pan around it and see how your brain lights up when you take certain meds, and—”

  “Max…”

  “I know, I know, but this is important. With Sylvius, I sectioned through my own MRI, which I found in Maitland’s database, to try to find out what’s lighting up and what drugs might… Anyway, that’s what I was doing when you called.” He exhales deeply, as if his thoughts are racing ahead of his conclusions.

  Danielle hears a noise. Sevillas opened the door and points a finger at the conference room. Danielle waits until Sevillas is gone and then whispers quickly into the phone. “Max, I have to go. You’re doing amazing things. Send me everything you get, and I’ll forward it on to Sevillas and Doaks so they can see if it’s something we can use. I think it’s clear that Fastow is hiding something.”

  “You really think he murdered Jonas?” Max’s voice seems excited.

  Danielle can’t take any more. “Honey, I have to go. Call me later.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I can prove Fastow did it, then I’ll know I didn’t.”

  She puts her hand to her forehead, glad that he can’t see her. “You didn’t do it, Max,” she says quietly.

  He is silent for a long, painful moment. “I just don’t know anymore, Mom,” he whispers.

  “Sweetheart, I know you better than anyone in the world, and I don’t believe it.”

  The sad voice that comes through the line is that of an old man. “You’re my mom. You have to say that.”

  “No, I don’t,” she says. “Now stop worrying about all of this for a while and try to rest.” She utters a soft goodbye and sneaks out to the ladies’ room. Where she cries as if her heart is breaking.

  Back on the battlefield, they have spent the past few hours culling through the remainder of the State’s documents.

  “Not much there,” says Sevillas.

  “I didn’t expect there to be.” Danielle points to the tabs she has placed on a few of the documents the State has produced in response to their subpoena. “All I’ve found are a few minor discrepancies in Jonas’s application to Maitland.”

  “What do you think, Doaks?”

  “I always look at family first when you’re talkin’ about murder.” He shrugs. “Most people kill those they love.”

  “A rosy view of the world,” says Sevillas, “but it doesn’t seem to be the case here.”

  “No kiddin’,” says Doaks. “According to Barnes and the boys down at the station, Jonas’s mom is fuckin’ Mother Teresa.”

  There is a knock, and Sevillas’s secretary comes in with a manila envelope; hands it to Doaks; and leaves. He tears it open and pulls out a single piece of paper. He skims it and wads it into a ball. “Forget it. There ain’t no angle on the mother. Damn, all we need is one stinkin’ person who coulda, woulda, shoulda done it…and we ain’t got jack.”

  “What was that?” asks Sevillas.

  Doaks flops back into his chair. “Barnes sent it over. Told me he had a surprise for me. Man, just when you think those morons down there are dumber than stone, they turn around and do somethin’ really smart.”

  “Fill us in, John.”

  He sighs. “The cops luminoled everyone at the hospital right after they got there. They all came out clean as a whistle.”

  “Luminoled?” asks Danielle. “What’s that?”

  Sevillas picks up his pen and makes a note. “Luminol is a chemical used to detect trace amounts of blood. When shown under a black light, the areas in which blood has adhered to a surface are identifiable. It’s commonly used at a crime scene to see if and where a murderer might have tried to clean up after himself.”

  “Yeah,” says Doaks, “but you’ll never guess what those bozos did. They didn’t just luminol everybody’s clothes.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Sevillas.

  “I mean they sprayed their hands, that’s what.” He shakes his head. “You ever heard of such bullshit?”

  Sevillas stares at Doaks. “Their hands?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t even know the stuff worked on skin. You?”

  “I’ve never had a case where they used it on the body.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” says Doaks. “They’re all clean on that one, too.”

  “I’ll have to do some research and find out if the results are reliable when used on human skin,” says Sevillas. “It certainly wasn’t the manufacturer’s intended use.”

  “Well, don’t get your hopes up.” Doaks rubs his neck. “I’m strikin’ out on a few other fronts, too. That girl—Naomi? She wasn’t even on the unit the day of the murder. She was at the cafeteria eatin’ fried chicken in front of about fifty witnesses.” He shrugs. “Too bad about her. Just one look at her, and a jury would love to put her awa
y.”

  “Couldn’t she have gotten in somehow?” asks Sevillas.

  “Who knows?” grumbles Doaks. “All I know is that so far we got squat. At least it’s early on.”

  Sevillas coughs and riffles through some papers. Doaks stares at him. “What’s up? Why ain’t you lookin’ at me when I’m talkin’ to you?”

  Sevillas glances first at Doaks and then at Danielle. “Well, I’m afraid I have more bad news. I got a call from the court clerk late this morning. The judge has moved up the State’s motion on the bond and proof-evident hearing for next Tuesday.”

  “What?” Doaks splutters. “Are you outta your ever-lovin’ mind? I just got finished tellin’ you we got nada. Do I gotta translate that for you?”

  Sevillas shrugs. “It’s Hempstead. You know what that means.”

  “Who is Hempstead?” asks Danielle. “The judge?”

  Doaks rolls his eyes. “She’s the judge, all right. Well, strike three and you’re out.”

  Danielle feels a flare of panic. “What do you mean?”

  Sevillas takes a deep breath. “The judge who drew your case is Clarissa L. Hempstead, the youngest and toughest judge on the bench. She takes a very, shall we say, active role in her cases. Which means that if she wants a hearing on Tuesday, we’ll have it on Tuesday. Don’t worry, Danielle, we still have a few days to dig in and solidify our legal position.”

  Danielle gives him a worried look. “How much will it hurt us if we don’t have at least one viable suspect?”

  “We can still raise the specter of other patients and staff,” he says. “She knows it’s early in the case. Obviously it’s not good that the only suspect is Max. I won’t kid you, Danielle. The fact scenario is terrible. What worries me even more is that we don’t have a single witness to call.”

  Danielle’s heart sinks. The only one who can really tell them what happened is Max. And he doesn’t remember a thing. Her heart quickens. They need exonerating evidence, and they need it fast. And, she prays, she has exactly that. “Tony, I think I have something that will help us.”