Page 26 of The Drowned Woman
Leah sighed and pushed back her desk chair to stand. Maybe she was destined to spend the rest of her career tied to a desk after all. A vision of herself buried in a mound of unfinished paperwork flashed through her vision.
“Let’s go talk to Dr. Chaudhari while we wait for Luka,” she told Harper.
“Thanks, doc. Knew you’d sort it out for us.”
As they left the office, Leah glanced longingly at her computer, feeling the compulsion of the stalker’s words. She understood why Risa couldn’t let it go.
Fifteen
Luka hoped he’d done the right thing, sending the kids home with Ruby. He wished he had time to take them to Jericho Fields himself, but blowing off one of Ahearn’s interminable meetings was one thing; missing the interview of a vital witness—and their only viable suspect—was something else completely.
He was having second thoughts about how he’d handled things with the vice principal. They all knew the reason why Nate would be targeted by kids like the Homan twins—and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a newcomer to the school. Was saying nothing, focusing only on finding the truth of what happened instead of why—was that the right thing? It worked for Luka in his professional life. But was it right for Nate?
Anger seethed through him and he almost turned the car around to go back and give Driscoll a tongue-flaying, like his gran would have—or Pops for that matter. But the vice principal hadn’t done anything overtly racist, not that he’d seen, and Nate needed her on his side. It rankled, though, the thought of giving an eight-year-old “the Talk” and adding to the burdens Nate already carried after Tanya’s death and having his life uprooted. But the kid had to be prepared—in this country, in this world, in this city, this wouldn’t be the last time he would have to deal with people who only saw the color of his skin and not the person inside.
He’d calmed himself by the time he pulled into Good Sam’s parking garage and followed the instructions Harper had texted him to the secure neuro-psych ward. A guard at the reception desk had a pass ready for him and buzzed him through glass doors into a short hallway decorated with soft, woven tapestries and Amish quilts. No sharp edges, he realized. Just as there was no furniture lining the walls, only thick, rounded handrails, at the right height to catch a patient who lost their balance. The ward even smelled different than the rest of the hospital. Instead of the strange scents of cleansers and fake citrus air freshener, here it smelled almost like… A memory filled his vision: Christmas or Thanksgiving, his gran and mother pulling pans and pans of cookies from the oven, waving him away when he and his sister tried to sneak one.
He followed the signs to the counseling room Orly’s physician had said they could use for the interview. Like the CIC facilities down in the ER, it was a suite of rooms with an observation area in the center. That’s where he found Harper, Leah, and a middle-aged man wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, with no tie. His hospital ID saidDr. Chaudhari.
“You can’t be in there asking questions,” Harper was telling Dr. Chaudhari as Luka entered the tiny room. Harper, only a few inches shorter than Luka, practically towered over Chaudhari. Add in the intimidating posture she’d assumed, her face mere inches from Chaudhari’s, and he was surprised the man appeared so placid, almost amused. “We can’t have any information you elicit thrown out as hearsay.”
Leah moved to intervene between the two—reminding Luka of the way Ms. Driscoll had separated her warring first-graders. “I understand why Dr. Chaudhari wants to be the one to conduct the interview. He’s right. A familiar face will help keep Walt calm and focused.” Chaudhari aimed a smile at Harper that was subdued yet triumphant. “But Officer Harper is also right. We need to make it clear for everyone involved, especially Mr. Orly, that this isn’t a medical interview but a witness interview so that we avoid the hearsay exception. I can ask the questions in my capacity as a consultant for the police, while Dr. Chaudhari monitors Mr. Orly’s mental and physical status.”
Luka rapped his fingers against the wall since it seemed no one had noticed his arrival and Harper immediately backed off.
Luka stepped forward and offered his hand. “Dr. Chaudhari, I’m Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho. I’m in charge of the investigation into Trudy Orly’s death.” They shook hands and Luka continued, “I think Dr. Wright’s solution is the best all around. I know your primary goal is to protect your patient, but learning the truth behind his wife’s death could also have serious implications for his welfare.”
“I’ve been treating Mr. Orly since his initial diagnosis three years ago and I have never seen any evidence that he’s capable of violence.” Chaudhari’s composure slipped, but only for a brief moment. He gathered himself. “But I do agree with you. Dr. Wright and I were discussing this, and I am concerned about the ramifications to Walt’s prognosis and treatment if he does believe he caused his wife’s death.”
“Now that we have the court order, I checked his chart. There was an incident several days ago, was there not?” Leah asked.
Chaudhari blew his breath out. “An isolated incident. Walt has been fixated on driving again; he stumbled across the keys Trudy had hidden from him and became irate.”
“What happened?” Luka asked in a low tone, noting that Harper had pad and pen out, documenting everything. Because of Walt’s cognitive decline, they had a court order for his medical records and permission to interview him, but anytime a doctor–patient relationship was involved, things could get dicey in the hands of a good defense attorney.IfWalt was their actor, his case might never make it to court, given his diagnosis.
“No one was hurt,” Chaudhari said. “Not seriously. Walt grabbed Trudy by the arms, shook her, shouted at her. Left a few bruises. She called me and I adjusted his medication, arranged for respite care. And that’s when we both decided it was time.”
“Time?” Luka asked.
“To find an alternative living arrangement. I gave Trudy a list of several facilities in the region and she visited them. I believe she decided on one in Smithfield, placed Walt on a waiting list for the next available bed.”
“And that’s the only time, to your knowledge, that Walt has laid hands on his wife?”
“The only time Trudy told me about.”
“Patients with Huntington’s—I understand they can be volatile, unpredictable. Could they snap, do something in the heat of the moment, but not realize it or remember it a short time later?” Leah asked.
“Mr. Orly definitely seemed to have no awareness of hurting his wife, or even that she was dead, when we finally calmed him down,” Luka explained to Chaudhari. “Despite witnesses saying that he’d been at the railing, had seen his wife’s body, probably moments after she fell. Is that normal for someone at his stage of the disease?” He didn’t add the question he could tell by Harper’s scowl she was itching to ask. Could Walt Orly be faking his confusion after his wife’s death? Maybe he’d pushed her in the heat of an argument, then realized what he’d done.
Chaudhari considered carefully. “Unfortunately, with this particular disease, almost anything is possible, Detective.”
“Does he know Trudy is dead now?” Leah asked. Last thing they needed was to agitate Walt with news of his wife’s demise.
“Yes. I explained it to him and he seems to have retained the information. But I can’t predict how long that clarity will last. Which is why, although he’s much calmer and more coherent, I doubt this interview will yield anything helpful. But let’s not keep Mr. Orly waiting any longer.” He opened the door and waved Leah through it, leaving Luka and Harper to watch and listen from the monitoring room.
“Talk about your bedside manner,” Harper said to Luka as they closed the door.
“He seemed fine to me.”
