by KJ Kalis
Carson furrowed his brow, “Miles? Did you look at the picture?”
Alberto shifted in his seat as Miles’ eyes flickered up from his lap and rested for a split second on Hailey’s image. “I don’t know her.”
Carson sucked in a breath, getting ready to ask Miles to look again, but Alberto interrupted. “Detective, I think we’ve established that Miles doesn’t know the young lady. Do you have any additional questions?”
Carson nodded. Alberto was clearly a very skilled attorney that wouldn’t let him ask again. A ball of anger started to form in Carson’s chest, but he kept it under control. Carson slid the picture of Hailey back in his file, closing it, and resting his forearms on the table. He’d been in interviews like this many times before. Attorneys who made a lot of money had no scruples about shutting down an investigation. After all, it was their job to protect their client. Carson still couldn’t figure out the connection between Alberto Sosa, and Miles. Clearly, Alberto was being well paid. From the look of the foster mom, there was no way that she was paying the bills. Carson’s brain reached for answers. Who was paying the attorney? “I do have another question. Miles, after you played basketball, what’s the next thing you remember?”
Miles glanced at Alberto, who gave him a curt nod. “I don’t really remember anything until a policeman found me.”
Carson looked at Miles, trying to decide if he really didn’t remember, or if he was lying. From the look on his face, the relaxed way that his mouth moved, Carson suspected that he actually didn’t remember. How that was possible, Carson wasn’t sure.
Alberto interrupted Carson’s thoughts. “Detective, do you have any other questions for Miles?” Alberto looked at the gold watch on his wrist, “I know Barb said that she has some other things to do today.”
Carson sat for just a moment. Trying to hurry through an interview was a common tactic by attorneys. When the police needed to interview you, that’s where you needed to be. Carson wouldn’t fall prey to his pressure. Carson opened the file, tipping it toward himself, so Miles wouldn’t be able to see the pictures of Hailey’s body. He pulled out another photo and slid it towards Miles. “Do you recognize this person?”
Miles nodded. “Yes, that’s Dr. Kellum.”
“And how do you know Dr. Kellum?”
Miles licked his lips, “I go and talk to Dr. Kellum two times a week. I go on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Carson glanced at Alberto, whose face had stiffened. “What do you do when you go and visit Dr. Kellum?”
Alberto interrupted, “I think we're getting close to treading on patient-doctor confidentiality…”
Carson raised his eyebrows, “Miles, are you okay talking to me about this?”
“No, no, no.” Alberto shook his head. “Miles is a minor. He can’t give permission to talk about medical treatment. Only Barb can.”
Carson paused. He needed to take the next step very carefully. He could go out and ask Barb for her permission to ask questions, but if she said no it would shut down the interview. If he didn’t, he might not get the answers he needed. He decided to risk it. “Excuse me for one second,” he said standing up. Carson walked to the door of the interview room and pulled it open. “Barb?” Barb was sitting, perched on the chair right outside the interview room, her face buried in her phone. From where Carson was standing it looked like she was on her social media feed. She looked up. “Is it okay if I ask Miles about his sessions with Dr. Kellum?”
Barb nodded. “Yes. Whatever you need so we can get out of here.”
Alberto tipped his head as if he had lost a point in a tennis match. “Careful on your questioning, Detective. I won’t hesitate to get my client out of here.”
Carson nodded. His gamble had paid off. The question was what it would tell him. “So, Miles, what did you and Dr. Kellum do during your sessions?” Carson was hoping by asking what they did during their time together, that Alberto wouldn’t object. After all, he wasn’t asking what they talked about.
Miles fidgeted in his seat picking at the cuticle of one of his fingernails. “Well, for a while we would play games.”
“What kind of games?” Carson asked.
“Card games, mostly. We’d look at people’s faces and he’d ask me what I thought.”
“Did you like that game?”
Miles nodded. “It was fun.
Carson looked at him, “You said you did that for a while. Did something change?”
“I think Dr. Kellum got tired of playing cards.”
“Hmmm. So, what did you do instead?” Carson started to get excited, but he didn’t know why.
“He had me lay down on the couch. It felt like I was taking a nap.”
“During the whole session?”
Miles nodded.
Just as Carson was about to ask his next question, Alberto’s phone beeped. “I’m sorry, but I need to cut this short. I just got an urgent text from a client. As you know, Miles can’t speak to you without my presence.” Alberto stood up, lifting the briefcase with his left hand. “Come on, Miles,” he said, putting his long-fingered hand on the back of Miles’s shoulder, “It’s time to go now.”
Carson stood up, “I’m not done with my questioning.”
Alberto paused in the doorway, “I’m sorry, but we are done for today. Please forward any additional questions you have in writing to my office. We will make sure to get the answers back to you.” Alberto glanced down at Barb. “Barb? Are you ready to go?”
The three of them left without so much as a goodbye, Alberto’s tall, custom suited body, towering over Barb’s stout form and Miles’ frail figure. Carson watched as they wove their way through the desks and officers that were moving through the police department. He suspected there was something else going on.
Behind him, a door clicked open. The Chief stepped out. He shook his head, “That’s quite an attorney that’s representing that little boy.”
“You can say that again.”
The Chief narrowed his eyes at Carson. “What are you thinking?”
Carson shook his head, “At this point, I’ve got more questions than answers. I’d like to know how a foster mom has the funds to hire an attorney like that guy. She certainly doesn’t appear to be the kind of person that can pay five hundred dollars an hour for representation.”
Chief Jackson nodded, “I was wondering the same thing.”
19
Dr. Oskar Kellum sat gingerly on the side of his hospital bed, trying to listen to the doctor through the wave of pain that was going through his body. “You sustained some pretty serious injuries, but there is nothing that would require you to stay here any longer. You’re going to have to take it easy for a while. I’ll have the nurse come in and give you the discharge papers.” The doctor left without any other comment.
After spending two nights in the hospital, Oskar felt weary. His bones ached, and his eye was still fairly swollen shut. The swelling had gone down enough for the ophthalmologist to determine that his retina hadn’t been damaged. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wondered what to do next, but his mind was so foggy from the cocktail of pain medication and steroids that he could hardly think straight.
The nurse came into his room a few minutes later, her fancy tennis shoes in a range of orange yellows and pinks, making her look more like a medical track star than a nurse. “Okay, Oskar. I have all of your paperwork in order.”
Oskar didn’t hear much more after that. He stood up out of bed as soon as the nurse left, collected the bag that held what was left of his belongings — his keys, wallet, phone and the watch that had been his grandfather’s, the face of it shattered. He shuffled down the hallway and went to the elevator. Just lifting his arm to press the button for the first floor sent a surge of pain through his body. As the doors opened, he made his way out of the elevator and into an open area, where couples and families were walking together. He imagined they were either going to visit a loved one or friend, or worse, they were going for testing. For a moment he felt
their fear.
Oskar pushed the revolving door and felt the warmth of the morning touch his face. Normally, he wasn’t a fan of the overly hot summers in Savannah, but he felt different today. The cold, dry air conditioning that ran incessantly in the hospital had left him feeling chilled to the bone. The warm, moist air filled his lungs. He took as deep of a breath as his broken ribs would allow.
Oskar found a bench in front of the hospital and sat down. The nurse had been nice enough to order a cab for him so that he could get home. The police department had arranged to have his car towed to a local repair facility. He would have to deal with that later. He simply didn’t have the energy right now.
The cab driver seemed pleasant enough, chatting about the weather and the barbecue that he’d eaten the night before. He was a middle-aged man with a round face. The drone of his voice kept Oskar entertained on the way back to his condo. Once Oskar made his way out of the cab, he left the driver a nice tip. It wasn’t his usual custom, but he felt like if nothing else, he had learned that kindness was underrated.
Meowing met him at the door. His cat, Ralph, met him with a large amount of noise. Oskar imagined he was complaining about how he’d been left alone. Luckily, Oskar did know one of the neighbors, a woman named Susan, who had a key to Oskar’s condo. With the amount of pain he was in, he only managed to send her a text. She gave Ralph his food and a fresh bowl of water while he was stuck at the hospital. Oskar knew the litter would need to be changed, but the idea of bending over to do anything at that moment simply wasn’t going to happen.
Oskar eased his way down onto the couch, staring out the big windows that gave him a small view of the park, and a bigger view of the side of the building next door. He had lived a quiet life until now. He never even been in a scrape in elementary or high school, never late to class, never even gotten a parking ticket. The fact that thugs took him away and beat him left him reeling not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. He sighed, trying to adjust to a comfortable position on the couch. The bag he brought back from the hospital was next to him, resting on the cushions. He poured it out on the couch, a tumble of prescriptions, follow-up appointments, personal items and orange vials filled with medication settling in the cracks. It would all need to be sorted, but now wasn’t the time.
Oskar had always loved his work to the exception of everything else. That was until he found gambling. He never had any family to give him a reason to come home at night. The thrill of placing a bet was a stark contrast to the high level of control, quiet and focus that he needed to maintain in order to help his patients, particularly the pediatric ones. His mind drifted to Miles. Oskar wondered what he was doing right now. He had done as he had been trained, but the question was whether the memories would resurface or not. He hadn’t told anyone that there was a possibility that Miles could eventually remember what happened and Oskar’s part in it. Oskar closed his eyes. The way he was feeling at the moment, none of it mattered.
There was a sharp rap at the door. Oskar turned his head to the right, wondering who it was, contemplating ignoring it, when he heard a voice. “Dr. Kellum, Savannah Police. Open up.”
Oskar’s eyebrows twisted together. How did the police know he was home already? “One minute, please,” he croaked, his voice still hoarse from the dry air in the hospital. Oskar pushed off the couch, trying not to create too much pain in his ribs. No matter which way he moved, he was in pain. There was no avoiding it. He walked over to the door and peered through the peephole. Outside of the door to his condo, he could see two uniformed police officers and a man with dark hair in a suit. They were either all in uniform or had a badge visible. Oskar didn’t want to open the door to just anyone. Not after what happened to him.
He turned the knob on the deadbolt, realizing that as soon as the police officers left, he would be calling a locksmith to add more locks to the door. He had never felt so unsafe before. “One minute,” he said.
Oskar cracked the door open and peered out. The suited man that was standing on his doorstep was the same one that had met him at the hospital. “I just got home from the hospital. What do you need?”
“Let us in, Dr. Kellum,” Carson said.
Oskar pushed the door back with his left hand, feeling an ache run through the side of his body. It would be time for more painkillers soon. “I need to go sit down. Come on in but close the door.”
Oskar shuffled back to the couch, using both of his hands to brace himself as he eased himself back onto the cushions. “I’m sorry. I’m in a lot of pain. How can I help?”
“Okay if I sit down?” Carson asked.
Oskar nodded, realizing he didn’t have much of a choice. It was probably better to just be polite, answer their questions, and send them on their way. All he wanted to do was sleep.
Carson crossed his left foot over his right knee and leaned back on the couch. “Nice place you have here,” he said. “I have some follow-up questions for you.”
Oskar shifted from one side to the other, not feeling comfortable no matter how he sat. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Tell me again how you ended up at the hospital?”
Oskar pursed his lips together, not sure how much he could say without bringing the wrath of the thugs back down on him. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember much. I was driving home and then the next thing I remember was finding myself in the emergency room.” He hoped that pleading amnesia would keep the police from asking too many questions, questions he didn’t want to answer. The beating ran back through his memory, the feeling of his car lurching as it hit the nail strip, the rough way the men had pulled him out of the car and dragged him into the warehouse. He remembered the first and second punches, but as for the rest of them, he couldn’t remember them all. He thought there might be mercy in that.
Carson squinted at Oskar, “You’re telling me that after this drastic of a beating, the only thing you remember is driving your car and then ending up in the emergency room?”
Oskar felt a flush of heat go through his face. He hoped he didn’t start to sweat. He knew that would be a sure sign to the detective that he was hiding something, even if the detective hadn’t already figured it out. “Yes, yes. That’s really all that I remember.”
“Hmmm. That’s really interesting. Here’s what I don’t understand: we found your wallet on you and no cash was taken. Why do you think you got beaten up? Couldn’t have been a mugging, unless they took something that you haven’t told us about yet.”
Oskar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to deal with a new wave of pain that was surging through his body. He didn’t have the energy to fight with the police, but he was worried that if he told them anything the next meeting with them wouldn’t be quite so kind. “As I said, Detective, I really don’t remember anything. I can’t even begin to guess why those thugs beat me up. Maybe they thought they could steal my car.”
Carson shook his head. “But they didn’t.”
Oskar watched for a moment without answering. He saw Carson uncross his leg. He leaned towards Oskar, squinting. Oskar realized the more that he talked, the less plausible his explanations were. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t know what to say. If you’ll excuse me, I’m really not feeling well.”
“Just one other thing that’s bothering me, Oskar,” Carson said, “How is it that your name came up in another case of mine? Hailey Park? Do you know that name?”
Oskar sucked in a breath. It was clear the detective was on the scent of what had happened but hadn’t quite figured it all out yet. If he did, Oskar wasn’t sure what the consequences would be. He shivered. He didn’t want to think about it. “Detective, I treat many pediatric patients.” He wasn’t about to admit he knew Hailey’s name.
“Here’s the thing that I find to be interesting,” Carson said slowly. “You and Miles have something in common. He can’t seem to remember what happened while he was at Calhoun Park, but I have his fingerprints all over the knife that was used to murder a youn
g art school student. Similarly, you end up getting beaten nearly to death, but can’t seem to remember what happened. I’m sensing a pattern here…”
Oskar felt the blood drain from his face. He just hoped he didn’t throw up. “I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t know what to say.”
“Can you tell me anything about the work that you’ve done with Miles?”
Oskar shook his head, “As you can imagine, I am forbidden to talk about my patients and the work that I do with them unless I have a court order.” Oskar swung his legs up onto the couch, one at a time, grimacing in pain. “I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to rest. I’m simply not feeling well. Please show yourselves out.” A surge of tension ran through Oskar’s body. He had never been so forthright with anyone in the past, except patients that were frustrating him. He held his breath, hoping that the detective and the two officers would leave without an argument. He closed his eyes and listened. In a moment, he heard the squeak of the chair that Carson had been sitting on. Oskar fluttered his eyes open.
Carson stood over him, “I certainly hope that you feel better, Dr. Kellum. When you do, we still have a few things that we need to talk about. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Oskar started to breathe again. He felt trapped, trapped by the pain in his body, the work that he had done with Miles, the fact that the police were on his tail. He had no idea when or if the thugs would return. He turned his head to the side, and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep…
20
In an old Buick stationed down the block from where Dr. Oskar Kellum lived, a man sat, listening to oldies music and smoking, the tendrils of his exhales curling out the side window. He watched the two police officers and the detective walk out of the front door of Oskar’s building. The bug that they had put into Dr. Kellum’s condo while he was in the hospital worked like a charm. He had heard everything.
The man picked up the flip phone that was sitting on the vinyl seat next to him, opening it up. He’d only used it one other time, pretty much getting a new phone every couple of days. That was the way they kept things quiet. “The police were at the condo,” he said. “What you wanna do?”