Dangerous Attachments (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 1) (7 page)

BOOK: Dangerous Attachments (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 1)
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Erwin Salcido stayed just behind and to the left of Anderson.

"All right, Watson! Take it easy, man!" Anderson moved forward as Watson slumped for a moment, his hands on his bleeding skull. Then Watson raised his eyes until he was staring at Anderson. Flecks of spittle hung from his chin, his lips curled into a snarl. Anderson did not move a muscle. Neither did Erwin Salcido.

Suddenly, Watson screamed so loud that Anderson's ears rang with pain. All three men crashed to the floor, Anderson carried by the force of Watson's body, and Salcido thrown off balance. An animal smell filled Anderson's nostrils as his head slapped sharply against the pipe beneath the sink. His arm hurt; he kicked away from Watson. Erwin struggled to regain his feet.

A sharp ache shuddered into Anderson's calf. He hollered, and turned to see Watson with his teeth sunk deep through pants and flesh. "Ah, Jesus," Anderson wailed. He imagined bone hitting bone. He flashed on AIDS and rabies.

Just then, Erwin landed like a blubbery whale, full force, on top of Watson. There was a sickening snap, and Anderson dragged his wounded leg free.

Before Anderson pulled himself up, he saw the pouch. It was under his nose. Watson's prized possession. He scooped it into his freckled paw as backup arrived.

They had to gas Watson before they could get his hands behind his back, put the cuffs on, and pull him from the cell. The din coming from neighboring
inmates was deafening as it echoed off the old concrete walls of CB-1. Six tennis shoes, eleven socks, three briefs, and four pairs of pants were flushed down cell block toilets that Friday night.

After the shakedown, the contents of Watson's cell were listed on a separate sheet and attached to the incident report and use-of-force forms filed by all relevant personnel. Contrary to persistent rumors, Angel Tapia's pinkie was not located anywhere in the cell.

Erwin Salcido filed his report with Lieutenant Cobar, contents as noted:

      
corn flakes

      
1 box ritz cakers

      
toothpaste + brush

      
jergens lochun

      
soap

      
pills looking like aspiren

      
some pages from a doctor report

      
some other mail

      
P.S. after he bit C.O. Anderson he tried to eat some paper + he did

Later that night, as Anderson dozed fitfully, alone in the officer's lounge, he remembered those few moments before the bite when Lucas Watson stared back at him with mad dog eyes. Anderson had not been able to move his feet. He had been frozen in place by the malevolent force of Lucas Watson.

T
HE PENITENTIARY ADMINISTRATION
offices were deserted, the hall lights dim on Saturday morning. In the psych office, Sylvia collected a thick stack of notes
and drawings. She'd just finished a two-hour interview with a schizophrenic, a nineteen-year-old convicted rapist, whose functioning was rapidly deteriorating; penitentiary cockroaches were sending him messages with their antennae. His lawyer wanted him reclassified and out of general population. With luck, he was bound for the psych unit at Los Lunas.

Her mind still on the session, Sylvia left the office. On the stairwell, boots clattered behind her and a hand clutched her shoulder. She turned abruptly to find herself face to face with a C.O. It took her several seconds to register his name: Anderson, the officer who had accompanied Lucas Watson to the evaluation. She was unnerved by his disheveled appearance. Forty-eight-hour shifts were not uncommon at the pen, but this man looked as if he'd been worked over by a grizzly bear.

She flinched as Anderson pressed a manila envelope into her hands. "You for-for-forgot this," he stammered.

"This isn't mine," she said.
Be careful, jita
. The hair on the nape of Sylvia's neck stood up.

Anderson wouldn't touch the packet. "Keep it. If he gets it back, he'll do more bad things."

She felt as if she was holding liquid metal the way the C.O. kept backing away from the envelope.

"You're a doctor," he said.

Sylvia stared at the towering, dish-faced man. His skin was flushed and rivulets of perspiration ran down fleshy, freckled cheeks. He smelled of fear—acrid and rank.

She extended her hand, and the envelope. "Whatever this is, give it to the investigations office—"

"Don't you get it?" Anderson snapped. "Lucas read your report."

Sylvia stared at the guard, trying to take in his words.

"It made him crazy."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know." Anderson gaped at her, his upper lip tight and paper white. "They didn't tell you?" He jabbed an index finger in the air above the envelope. "You keep it," he whispered. "You're the only one who knows."

Sylvia watched him turn and limp up the stairs.

With the bulky envelope in her hands, she stood alone for several seconds deciding what to do. Then, resolutely, she tucked the packet into her briefcase, pivoted, and walked toward one of three gates that would slide open to the world outside the prison. Her curiosity had won out.

I
T WAS LESS
than nine miles from the penitentiary to downtown Santa Fe. During the fifteen-minute drive, Sylvia's gaze returned repeatedly to the envelope on the passenger seat.

The office lot was full, but she outmaneuvered a man in a Porsche and parked on the street near the corner of Chapelle and McKenzie. Sylvia gathered up her briefcase and the envelope and walked the short block to her office. The air had snap and carried the savory punch of a piñon fire. She moved briskly through the dormant courtyard garden and up the stairs of the historic two-story adobe. Her office was the third on the right. She unlocked the door, dropped her briefcase on her desk, and stared at the envelope. Just as she slid an ornate brass blade along the paper seal, the phone rang.

"Dr. Sylvia Strange? This is Duke Watson."

Even behind the white noise and static, Lucas Watson's father sounded like a man who was accus
tomed to being obeyed. Sylvia felt cornered, instantly exposed, as if he'd been spying on her. She dropped the envelope.

He continued, "Sorry about the connection, but I'm in my car." His voice was inaudible for a moment, then, "—haven't met, I felt I could call—some sort of misunderstanding. I'd like to take you to lunch so we can clear things up."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Watson, but we don't have anything to discuss."

Electronic snow obliterated reception for several seconds before the Duke's voice reappeared. "—love my son—a bad mistake four years ago, but—his debt."

"Mr. Watson, this phone connection is extremely poor, and this conversation is inappropriate. You're familiar with the parole process. The ultimate use of any psychological evaluation is between your son and his legal representative."

"I hear you just fine, Dr. Strange." The line was silent for a moment before Duke continued. "How's this? Can you hear me now?" He kept his voice as even as a mowed lawn. "You and I both know that you can influence my son's future."

Sylvia tried to focus from Duke Watson's perspective. He was a political animal. His criminal son had cost him votes, and worse, had stained his name. The fact that Duke had risen as high as he had was a testament to his determination, his savvy, his connections. Now, he was being groomed for the next gubernatorial race. Problem: In political circles, having a son who was labeled "crazy" was worse than having a son who had been convicted of manslaughter.

"Dr. Strange . . . are you still there?" His voice was soft.

"I'm here."

In a new, businesslike tone of voice, Duke said, "I'm asking you to drop the reclassification issue. I'll see that my son gets the care he needs, the best care possible."

Sylvia paused, considering her words. "I think I understand some of your concerns, Mr. Watson, but your personal wishes are not my business—your son's welfare is."

There was a pause while Sylvia waited for Duke Watson's response. Instead, she heard the soft click as the receiver was replaced.

She walked into the bathroom and ran a glass of water from the tap. The face staring back from the mirror looked pale, the eyes were sharp, as she considered the phone call.

Duke Watson was setting high stakes on her ability to influence his son's fate. True, Santa Fe was a small town, but Herb Burnett could bury her report so that repercussions with the parole board would be minimal. Minimal unless C.O. Anderson was right, and Lucas Watson had flipped out. Sylvia set the glass on the sink, clicked off the overhead light, and stood in the dim light.

Her heartbeat accelerated. A fine sweat broke out on her skin.

Within minutes, the anxiety subsided, but two unpleasant thoughts lingered.

The Watson family was . . .

In a word: ominous.

And she could easily get in over her head.

She crossed her office to her desk, sat, and reached for the half-opened envelope. A small package was tucked inside. Sylvia pulled back the layers of tissue, like
the petals of a flower, until a small leather pouch was revealed. It was secured by a ribbon and the leather had an oily sheen from repeated handling.

Sylvia worked the ribbon loose—using the tip of her pencil, carefully avoiding touch—and stretched the neck wide. The contents of the pouch spilled onto a sheet of white paper, and she studied the objects. There were eight: a gold wedding band, a leather thong strung through six human teeth, a tangle of hair, a smooth brown stone, a silver and turquoise cross, a bundle of delicate bones, a tiny clay figurine, a chewed stub of a blue pencil. With a shudder she recognized the pencil as the one Lucas Watson had chosen during the evaluation session. When she shook the pouch a tiny sprinkle of white chips shimmered out. At a closer look, Sylvia realized they were the clipped remains of fingernails. Still, there was something else caught in the leather, and the pouch was softly extended around the bottom edges as if a form held it in place. At first, she didn't differentiate it from the skin itself, but her fingers probed and pushed and a ninth item slid out of the pouch. Dark and dried like an old apple, the ear was so weathered, Sylvia didn't immediately recognize it as human.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HERE WAS A
waiting list for Sunday brunch at Tortilla Flats, but Rosie was already seated in a booth. She raised a lipstick-stained coffee cup and smiled when she recognized Sylvia.

"Coffee for me, too," Sylvia told a waitress. She slipped out of her coat and tucked it over the edge of the seat. The air smelled of spices and tortillas, and neighboring tables were filled with parents, teenagers, and toddlers.

"What's up?" Rosie asked.

"I'm in a tight spot," Sylvia said as she slid into the booth. She waited while the waitress set a huge platter of stuffed tortilla, beans, rice, and a side of grease-puffed sopaipillas in front of Rosie.

"I ordered a burrito," Rosie said. "I couldn't resist."

The waitress placed a clean cup on the table and poured coffee from an insulated pot. Sylvia dabbed at the base of the cup and a small brown stain spread out onto the napkin.

"Share these with me," Rosie said, pushing the basket of sopaipillas and a plastic squeeze-bottle of honey toward Sylvia. "I'm listening."

Sylvia set the envelope containing the pouch on the table. She let the baggie slide out onto Formica. Through the slightly opaque layers, it was impossible to identify the contents.

Rosie pointed to her full mouth and wrinkled her nose quizzically. After she swallowed, she said, "What is that?"

"I didn't bother to put it back together," Sylvia said. "I didn't want to screw around with evidence." She watched while Rosie slit open the plastic runner with a polished nail and surveyed the contents of the bag. From an adjacent booth, a three-year-old tossed a wadded napkin over the Formica divider; it bounced off a salsa bottle and fell into Sylvia's lap. She aimed it gently back in the direction of the child.

"Is this what I think it is?" Rosie asked, pointing at one corner of the bag.

"An ear?" Sylvia kept her voice low and ignored the large woman, probably the mother of the three-year-old, who glared at the two women.

"Where the hell did it come from? Whose is it?"

Sylvia took a swallow of coffee, brushed a strand of hair from her eye, and stared at the overweight mother until the woman turned back to her family.

She held up her thumb and said, "First, I'd like to avoid getting my source fired. Second," her index finger joined her thumb, "I'm not at liberty to speculate on the ownership of the pouch. It should've gone directly to you in the first place."

"Why didn't it?"

Sylvia dropped her hands to the table, tore off a piece of sopaipilla, and leaned forward. "Because he was scared." The crispy golden dough disappeared between her lips.

"Who is the damn source?" Rosie stabbed at her burrito, tore into the soft tortilla with her fork, but she didn't bother to eat.

"One of your C.O.s," Sylvia said.

"One of my boys? And the pouch belongs to Watson?"

Sylvia's features settled into a neutral mask. She tipped her cup and glanced at the brown ring of fluid trapped in the bottom. "I want to know exactly what happened with Lucas." The cup fell back into the saucer with a clatter.

"You're handing me a severed ear, but you won't tell me which C.O. gave it to you, and I'm supposed to tell you the details of an active investigation?"

"Yes, I'm giving you the damn ear," Sylvia whispered. "I shouldn't even do that much." She paused and took a breath. "Anderson. He's your C.O."

Both women sipped coffee, and then Rosie nodded slowly. "It happened Friday night; Lucas went berserk. The doctor says psychotic break. He's medicated now. He had a copy of your evaluation; that seems to have been the trigger."

Sylvia slammed her spine against the vinyl seat cushion.

A busboy chose that moment to refill coffee cups and water glasses, and Rosie put her arms around her plate protectively. "I'm not finished," she said. When he disappeared with his coffeepot, Rosie relaxed her body and exposed the plastic baggie tucked next to her breakfast
plate. "If this is a human ear, then I have to seriously consider the likelihood that it came from my body snatcher."

BOOK: Dangerous Attachments (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 1)
12.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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