Page 29 of Her Last Whisper
“Of course, Detective, anything I can do.”
“What do you call her?” she asked.
“Jane, as in Jane Doe, until we find out her name.”
“Dr. Smith, where was Jane found and what was the approximate date?” she asked.
“It’s my recollection that she was found near South Lincoln. I don’t know the name of the street. And as for the date, it was about two and half months ago.”
“She was found near the Basin Woods Development?”
“I believe that’s correct. I’ll have to check my notes to make sure. I can email you some information. Would that be sufficient?” he said.
“Yes, please, that would be helpful.”
“Whatever you need, Detective.”
Katie thought that was a strange response, but smiled politely and hoped that he meant what he had said.
He called to an orderly. “When Detective Scott is finished, please escort her back to the main entrance.”
He nodded and took up position next to Jane’s door to wait.
“If you have any further questions, please don’t hesitate to call me directly,” the doctor said, not waiting for Katie’s reply before turning on his heel and heading back down the corridor.
Katie gave an apologetic smile to the orderly before giving the door a polite tap and twisting the handle.
The room wasn’t as dreary as Katie had imagined. A large window with protective wire allowed for natural light to spill in even though it was overcast outside. A small writing desk and chair was in one corner, and a two-shelf bookcase sat across from it. There was a side table with a paperback with the cover torn off, a paper cup filled with water and a straw, as well as a torn pill packet.
The woman sat on a twin bed, feet on the ground, motionless, her head hanging forward. She wore light gray sweatpants and a white long-sleeved T-shirt that appeared to be two sizes too big on her slight frame. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her posture and downturned expression made her seem much older than she was—but she wasn’t really any older than thirty or thirty-five.
“Hello?” said Katie.
The woman remained still, dark-ringed eyes fixed on the floor, clearly heavily sedated.
“Jane, are you up for a visit?” Leaving the door slightly ajar, Katie looked around at the bookshelves and noticed that there were books about cats, gardening, and cooking; old and extremely worn, they were most likely donated. “I’m Detective Katie Scott from the sheriff’s department. I wanted to chat with you for a bit. Is that okay?”
No response.
“I’m working on a case that you might be able to help me with,” she continued.
Jane kept her head down and eyes averted.
Katie tried to think on her feet. “Do you like to garden? I wish I had more time to work in my garden,” she said. “I’m surprised everything hasn’t died, but I love my roses. My mom always loved roses. That’s probably where I get my love of them.” She sat gently next to her on the bed. “Jane, do you like roses?”
At last, just as she was thinking about leaving, Katie heard the woman speak.
“What color are they?” she quietly said.
“What?” Katie turned in surprise.
The dark-haired woman raised her head, staring directly at Katie, and asked again, “What color are your roses?”
Katie smiled and said, “Yellow.”
“Like Texas?”
“You mean the yellow rose of Texas?”
