“Conversion disorder is not a new problem. In the nineteenth century, doctors used sexual instruments on women to treat it. You see, many more women suffer from this than do men. Sometimes the instruments worked, though I believe they did so by removing cortical suppression that is often the cause of hysterical symptoms. But I see I’m losing you.”
“A little.” Max was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his thighs, trying to absorb what the doctor was saying. He was still lost, and obviously showing it.
“Conversion disorder is the conversion of internal conflict and/or stress into a physical symptom. That symptom is a loss of a bodily function—for example, blindness, paralysis, or loss of speech.”
Max snapped his fingers. “I worked with a boy who wouldn’t speak for a year after watching his father murder his mother.”
“Wouldn’t? Or couldn’t? That is the key to conversion disorder. Because the sufferer of this condition does not realize he or she is suppressing the function. It’s all on a subconscious level. It is triggered by a traumatic event, such as that boy witnessing his mother’s murder. However, there is always another ongoing stress factor that keeps the person from regaining their function. That stress is relieved by the loss of the function.”
“Do you mean that Olivia—I mean, that a person could subconsciously suppress their vision? That’s incredible.”
Dr. Bhatti gestured to a model of the brain that was sitting on a shelf. “The mind is a powerful organ. We don’t know what it can do, but I have seen some amazing things. Even Freud had a theory about hysterical blindness. He thought it was due to the sexual pleasure in looking at forbidden sights. That the repressed sexual instinct shut down the eyes that were allowing those sights into the mind. Not that I subscribe to that theory myself.”
Max ran his hand through his hair, taking it all in. He glanced at her file. “How sure are you when you make this kind of diagnosis?”
“Very. We run every test available. Then I urge the patient to seek psychotherapy. The underlying stressor must be identified, and the sufferer taught to deal with that stressor in an effective manner. If this is done soon after the onset of conversion disorder, the symptoms literally disappear.” He gave the file a chagrinned glance. “I assume, given the facts and high chance for recovery, that the person will be taken for the necessary therapy.”
Max felt his chest tighten. “Her parents never took her for that therapy.”
“Sometimes it’s hard for the patient—and their family—to accept a diagnosis such as hysterical blindness. They argue that the person is not hysterical at all. That is one of the symptoms, however. It is called la belle indifference, which means that the sufferer seems to take the loss of function in stride. And if that family member is perhaps the cause of the stress factor, that could be another reason to avoid therapy. If, say, the mother were oppressive and overbearing. If she chose to see things only as she wanted to see them.”
“Her mother is dead. If she were the cause of the stress, wouldn’t Olivia’s sight return after her death?”
“After that many years, the eyes and the brain aren’t used to communicating.”
“Wait a minute, though. She flinched when my partner moved his hand in her direction. She seems to know where things are. She’ll reach for a bag, for instance, and go right to it.”
“Ah, that is why you think she is malingering.”
“Partly. Mostly.”
“She could have felt the air from the motion, or it could be blindsight.”
“What’s blindsight?”
Dr. Bhatti gestured with his hands. “It’s a feeling or impression of something not seen. To put it in layman’s terms, what we see with our eyes goes through two pathways to our brain. One is a ‘where’ pathway that determines that something is there, where it is, and how it relates to us spatially. It’s a primitive pathway. The second is the ‘what’ pathway, which then tells us what the object is and how we should react to it. That first, primitive pathway sometimes still works in blind people. She may sense something is there, even if she can’t see it. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think I do.” He sat up in the chair. “What can I do to help her see?” There he went again, wanting to save her.
“Confronting the patient is the worst thing you can do. They believe their condition is physical, and as such, it must be treated that way, along with psychotherapy.”
“Will she be able to see again?”
Dr. Bhatti shook his head. “After this much time has passed, the prospect of recovery is very low, I’m afraid. I once operated on a patient with a longstanding squint. The part of their vision that was blocked by their eyelid is still blocked. The brain was so used to not seeing that area, it still couldn’t. I believe that our minds can influence neuronal plasticity and thus alter the neuronal processing of information indefinitely.”
Max didn’t even bother to ask him to clarify that jumble of words. “There has to be something…”
“Charcot introduced hypnosis to treat conversion disorder. I have heard of case studies where this has supposedly healed a patient, though it is controversial. There’s a doctor in Miami who has had success using this method. I can give you his name.” After flipping through his Rolodex, Dr. Bhatti scribbled down the information on the back of his business card and handed it to Max. “Does this help clear Olivia?”
“I hope so. Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your time.” He started to head out, but paused. “One more question. If someone had…psychic tendencies, could a head injury enhance it?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t give Max the crazy look he’d expected. “I have heard of head injuries giving people enhanced extrasensory skills, but I’ve never seen it myself.”
Max smiled. “Thanks.”
He grabbed a sandwich on the way back to the station. First, he’d tell Sam to back off from Olivia and explain about her blindness. When he’d broach it with her was another matter.
He hadn’t even made it to his desk when Detective Holland set down the gory book he’d been reading while he ate and said, “O’Reilly’s got your suspect in the interrogation room. Mathers just came out for coffee and told us what she’s been saying.”
“My suspect?”
That’s when he spotted Stasia peering around the corner of John’s desk. “Yeah, the one who’s”—He made a crazy gesture with his hand—”The blind one.”
CHAPTER 15
Max dropped his sandwich on the nearest desk and shot out of there. What the hell was Sam doing? Had he connected Olivia to Mike Burns? Something inside him rebelled at that thought. Not when Max had finally proven, at least to his satisfaction, that she wasn’t malingering.
He jerked open the door in time to hear Sam say, “I’m going to ask you again: why are you lying about being blind?”
“O’Reilly, can I see you for a moment?” Max asked in a strained voice. Amazing, since he was ready to yank him out of there by his collar.
Olivia lifted her head at the sound of his voice but didn’t say anything. A mixture of anger and confusion lit her face. Tom Graham settled into his chair, his dark eyes glittering as he readied himself to enjoy a fight.
Max said.
Max pulled Sam out into the hallway, and leaned in to Tom. “We won’t need you anymore, Tom.”
Tom slid by them and made slow progress back to his desk.
Max waited until he was out of earshot. “What is going on? Did you tie her to Mike Burns?”
“No, but I’ve got plenty of reason to bring her in.”
“Then why didn’t you call me? I told you to let me handle her.”
Sam’s laugh was bitter. “Yeah, you’re handling her, all right. And falling for her, too.”
The door made a clicking sound and popped open an inch. Tom hadn’t latched it. Max shoved it closed and walked into the adjacent room.
“I’m not falling for her. I’m trying to get her to trust me so if she does know so
mething, she’ll open up.”
“I think you’re hoping she’ll open up something else.”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“You lied to me when you left last night. You went to her place. I saw you.” The disappointment in his voice made Max feel like a kid caught in a lie.
“That’s why I lied, so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea.”
“And you’re withholding information.”
“I told you I had things to check out.”
“Like that she knew about the shamrock charm? That’s a biggie. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore, and dammit, I hate that.”
Max swung one of the orange chairs around and sat down backwards. “What did she tell you?”
“Stood by her supposed connection with Phaedra Burns. She thinks it’s the same guy who abducted her sixteen years ago.”
“It isn’t. He killed himself right after she got away. I don’t know what to make of her story. It’s one of the things I’m checking out.” So she hadn’t mentioned that the man who’d taken her was Max’s father. He wasn’t ready for Sam to find that out yet.
Sam perched on the table. “You can’t believe this crazy psychic stuff. It’s…it’s…well, it’s crazy, that’s what it is.”
“I’m not discounting it.”
“What about the false clues? A boat, for Pete’s sake.”
“She said she got that information from a psychic cop. Someone here. That was the Bill Williams I asked you about.” So she was still trying to protect the guy. That both annoyed and worried him. “So far, I haven’t been able to verify that a Bill Williams works for us.”
“Big surprise. She made him up as a scapegoat.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know about the shamrock?”
Sam at least bothered to look chagrinned. “I looked at your file when I came back after our talk outside. You left it right out on your desk. I’m not the only one who’s wondering what’s going on inside your head. Mathers was looking at it too. I didn’t read all of it, but I got a glimpse of your notes about the shamrock. Look, I know what’s going on. She’s getting to you. It happens. She’s probably using her suspicions that someone is breaking into her apartment as a ruse, just like Helene, my neighbor did. It put her in that victim role, and it’s all too easy for guys like us to respond to that.” He cleared his throat.
“That’s not what it’s about.”
“You think her being a kidnap victim makes it unlikely that she’s helping someone else do the same thing, right? Ever hear of Stockholm Syndrome?”
Max rested his chin on the back of the chair. “That’s when a victim becomes emotionally involved with their kidnapper while they’re still being held captive.”
“It’s not always during the abduction. I’ve been doing some checking. Sometimes it’s after the victim is no longer with the kidnapper. A twelve-year-old boy was abducted in Idaho in 1982. He was tortured for two weeks before he escaped. Five years later, guess what? He takes a young boy and does the same thing to him. Olivia didn’t take the girl herself, but maybe she met up with some sick bastard who pulled her into his game. If she confided her own experience, he could have used it against her. We’ve seen some twisted stuff.”
Sam ran his fingers through his short, blond hair, making the ends stand up. “Look, Max, she knows about the shamrock because she’s been with the girl. She’s probably seen the girl. I was this close to getting her to crack.”
“She’s blind, Sam. I talked to the neurologist her eye doctor referred her to. Ever heard of conversion disorder?”
Even after Max explained what he’d just learned, Sam was clearly skeptical. “But she reacted to my hand when I waved it in front of her face. You saw it. She grabbed the bag right out of your hand. She’s done a lot of things like that.”
“That’s what bothered me, too.” Max explained the concept of blindsight as best as he could remember. “If she’s involved in the kidnapping, I want her as badly as you do. But my gut says she’s not.”
“There’s more, isn’t there? Max, I want it all. And if you’re involved with her—”
“There is more, and it’s complicated. But you’ve got to trust me.” His butt would be yanked off the case if anyone knew how close this was to him. Thank goodness he hadn’t included his father in his notes. “I’m not sure how it relates, if it relates. I’m asking you to keep her connection and the shamrock under your hat for a little longer. I’m not endangering the case. If anything, I’m getting closer to finding Phaedra Burns.” Max crossed his arms on the back of the chair and pressed his forehead against them.
“If Huntington finds out you’re still talking to Olivia … Remember when he locked Samson in the bathroom stall for an hour because he was always reading magazines in there? Or what about—what was his name?—Detective Johnson. He’d had some real problems shooting a guy in self-defense, but he wouldn’t see a shrink. Remember Huntington making him sit in his office and write five pages of how he felt about the shooting? He wouldn’t let the guy leave before he was done filling the very last line. I can only imagine what he’ll do to you. I’m giving you another day, that’s it. I can’t keep working at cross-purposes with you. One of us is going to have to walk away from this case.”
“Let’s agree on this: there are two ways she could about the shamrock: either she’s involved with the kidnapper or she’s psychic. Give me a chance to find out which it is. If you haven’t blown it for me.”
Sam hesitated, an unhappy expression on his face. “Just be careful that you’re not thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy. A little girl’s life is on the line.”
Max didn’t even dignify that with a response other than pushing out of the chair. He knocked on the interrogation room door before opening it.
She turned toward the doorway. “Who is it?”
Oh, yeah, she was pissed. Anger saturated her voice.
“It’s Max Callahan.”
She was the only bright spot in the otherwise generic room. Her blue-green shirt set off her yellow pants. Both clashed with the red and orange paint staining her fingernails. He glanced at the slim window in the door and saw Sam watching, probably looking for some sign of their involvement. The problem was, there was involvement, more than Max wanted to admit.
“Why did that other detective accuse you of falling for me?” she asked as soon as he sat down across from her.
Damn, why hadn’t he made sure the door was closed? “He’s misinterpreting my actions and intentions.”
“And those would be?” A direct challenge.
He lowered his voice. “I admit to feeling a certain…protectiveness about you.”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “I don’t want your protection, Detective Callahan. Or anything else you have to offer. I’m tired of men pigeonholing me into the innocent, fragile category. I’m neither, and I haven’t been for a long time.”
She’d opened up an intriguing avenue of question. One he didn’t need to explore because it had nothing to do with the case.
Her mouth tightened. “Why was your buddy accusing me of faking my blindness?”
He wasn’t sure how much to tell her, because of Dr. Bhatti’s warning about confronting her. But she’d already been confronted and now she needed to hear all of it. “Because your eye doctor said there was nothing wrong with your eyes after the kidnapping.”
He saw her blanch at that. “You’ve been checking into my medical history?”
Had he imagined the slight emphasis on the word you? “We needed to verify that you are, in fact, blind. It’s been a point of doubt from the beginning. If you were lying about that—”
“Then I was lying about everything,” she finished in a flat voice. “So even you thought I was pretending to be blind?” This time there was no doubt about the emphasis.
“As a cop, I can’t discount any possibility. Especially with a girl’s life hanging in the balance. I just spoke with Dr. Bhatti.”
“I thought doctors weren’t supposed to talk about their patients.”
“He only gave me some general information—that just happened to apply to you. He was doing it to clear up the matter of your blindness—to help me clear you as a suspect.”
Her laugh was bitter as she shook her head. “Well, you handled me well.”
This time he blanched. Why had he used that phrase? He didn’t have a chance to comment, because she said, “I trust you got your answer, which brings me back to my question: why was he accusing me of faking it?”
“You’re not blind, Olivia.”
A moment passed as she absorbed his words. “You have got to be kidding.” She waved her hand in front of her eyes in a jerky motion. “I can’t see. Doesn’t that qualify me as blind?”
“It’s called conversion disorder. Your mind isn’t letting you see.”
She sat back in her chair. “That sounds like crazy.”
He touched her hand, but she jerked away from him. “I don’t need you to hold my hand to soften the news, to protect me.”
“You’re not crazy.” He wasn’t going to use the word hysterical. “It was a way for your mind to protect you from the terror of the abduction.”
“Then why didn’t my sight return after I was rescued?”
“There was some other element in your life that being blind let you avoid.”
“This is ridiculous. Is this another way of handling me, Detective Callahan?”
“Talk to Dr. Bhatti. He thought your mother was going to take you for therapy. Did she?”
“I saw a psychologist for a while, but that was for the nightmares and residual fear. She enrolled me in a special school for blind children and collected pity the way other people collect donations.”
He found himself wanting to explore that further, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “If there is a possibility that you could see again, would you want to?”
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 18