“It’s a little too soon to tell you that yet,” Sherlock said. “How’s Ms. Golden?”
Dr. Saint bent over her, lightly touched his fingertips to her temple. “As you can see, she’s been better. We had quite a scare with her heart rhythm and blood pressure a little while ago, and moved her into the unit here. That could have been from blunt-force trauma or head injury, but it seems to be under control now. The primary concern is that she’s never been fully alert, and we’re simply not sure why. The CT and even the MRI were normal, no hemorrhages, no edema. As for the rest, she’s got some bruises, some contusions, and a nasty cut on her leg that Dr. Ring sutured up. Her vitals are stable now. She’s not in a coma, but in a sort of a twilight state, partly from the drugs we had to give her. Now we just have to wait because she doesn’t seem quite ready to come back to us. She’s been through quite an ordeal.”
“Yes,” Savich said, looking down at her, “she has. You’re sure her heart is all right now?”
Dr. Saint nodded. “Never any guarantees in life or in medicine, but I doubt it will happen again, not at this point.”
Kathryn Golden’s face was pale as the fog that had hung outside the Sherlocks’ windows that morning, except for the faint bluish bruises. Both of her arms lay straight at her sides, IV lines tethered to both wrists. Still, she didn’t look as bad as Savich had thought she would, which was a relief. He would have recognized her anywhere, since he’d seen her so clearly last night. He said, “We’d like to sit here with Ms. Golden for a while if that’s all right with you, Dr. Saint.”
“I don’t see why not. It’s your time, and she isn’t going anywhere. Sometimes the sound of a voice can actually help, so if you want, talk to her. If there’s any change we need to worry about, we’ll see it on the monitors.” He shook their hands and left, smiling and nodding to Sherlock. Savich looked from his wife to Dr. Saint’s retreating back, eyebrow raised.
“What can I say?” Sherlock said as she walked to the single chair by the window. “You combine the smell of smoke with my name and I become irresistible.”
Savich was smiling as he sat at the side of Kathryn Golden’s bed. He leaned close, picked up her hand, and lightly rubbed his fingers over her skin. Too dry, he thought.
He focused on her and began speaking. “I’m here, Kathryn. I hope you can feel that I’m here, feel my hand holding yours. You’re going to be fine, there’s nothing to worry about. You scared the doctors for a little while, but you’re okay now. It’s time for you to wake up. I’d like to meet the person I’ve been thinking about so much lately.”
There was no response, but Savich continued, telling her what had happened at the Mariner Hotel. He spoke to her for perhaps five minutes, then paused, and looked over at Sherlock. She simply nodded at him and so he turned back. “Let me tell you about my little boy, Sean. He’s with his grandfather today. My father-in-law is a San Francisco native and a federal judge. They’re over at the courthouse, way up on the nineteenth floor. Can you imagine the fun he’s having—the center of every adult’s attention. This morning he said he wanted to watch his granddad punch out a criminal.”
There was still no response.
“Kathryn, do you know Thomas Pallack? I understand he was a client of Dr. Ransom’s for many years, in fact right up to the time of Dr. Ransom’s murder.”
“Yes, I know him.”
Savich smiled down into her eyes, still vague with drugs, but she was finally awake. He nodded to Sherlock as he lightly squeezed Kathryn’s hand. “Hello. I’m Dillon Savich.”
“I would know you anywhere. Hello. I’m Kathryn.”
“Do you want me to fetch the doctor?”
“No, please, not yet. Let me get my wits about me.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. The doctor said you’ve got stitches in your leg, some bruises, and a concussion, but you’ll be okay. And that’s my wife Sherlock over by the window.”
Kathryn nodded to Sherlock, and turned back to him. “I’m glad I’m not going to leave this earth just yet. You asked me about Thomas Pallack. Yes, I know him.”
“Then you know his wife, Charlotte Pallack?”
“Charlotte Pallack—I’ve met her, but I really don’t know her well at all. All I do know is that I don’t like her. No, it’s more than that. Whenever I see her, I always see this strange aura about her, constantly shifting and changing. Sort of like a chameleon, like she’s someone, then she’s someone else. There’s something about her that leaves me with a nasty feeling. I can’t get a handle on it.”
“Did you know her brother plays the violin with the Atlanta Symphony?”
“I—well, maybe, that sounds familiar. Maybe I heard Thomas say something about him.”
“It seems he’s gone missing. No one’s seen him, including his girlfriend, for over two days now. Do you have any thoughts about that?”
Kathryn Golden focused her eyes on Savich’s face. Her eyes weren’t dark and intense like her colleagues’—like his—but a golden-green, a witch’s eyes, Savich thought, and had to smile at himself. She whispered, “I need to think about it.”
“You’re tired. I was really just talking to you to make sure you were all right.”
She clutched his fingers. “No, please don’t go.”
“All right, here, take a sip of water.”
She drank for a very long time.
“That’s good. Thank you.” She looked up at him, studied his face. “I tried to picture you in my mind by the sound of your voice, all deep and dark as a lava stone. I wasn’t that far off. I could see you, but you weren’t clear. Was I clear to you?”
He nodded.
She tried to raise her hand to touch him, but the IV lines didn’t allow it. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed them again.
“Do you need to rest?”
“No, no. Thank you for waking me up. I was busy scaring myself to death. That man—with the author’s name—Makepeace, you called him. He was very frightening.”
Savich felt her pulse speed up and backed off. “Yes, he is. Take a moment, Kathryn, relax, all right?”
She was silent a moment. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. He felt her pulse slow. “How do you feel?”
“Sort of foggy, I guess, kind of dull and heavy-feeling. No pain to speak of.”
Savich looked up to see Dr. Saint come into the room. He blinked when he saw that Kathryn was awake, one of her hands in Savich’s.
“Well,” Dr. Saint said, leaning over Kathryn, checking her eyes and studying her face. He eased his stethoscope to her heart, listened. He slowly straightened. “How long have you been awake, Ms. Golden?”
“Five minutes, something like that,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re Dr. Saint, right?”
“Yes,” he said. He studied her another moment, then announced, “You’re awake and you appear to be fine, Ms. Golden. I’m thinking I should spend more time in the nurse’s lounge concentrating on stealing Fig Newtons out of Nurse Joliett’s locker without getting caught. It seems to work miracles.”
“Do you know, I think I’d like a Fig Newton,” Kathryn said. Dr. Saint didn’t have a problem with that either, and luckily, Nurse Joliett didn’t mind sharing. “You don’t need both those IV lines anymore. We’ll free you from the one in your left wrist. You might find it easier to chow down on those Newtons.” Dr. Saint stood by her bed, fiddling with his handheld, an eyebrow arched at the two of them. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me you’re surprised Ms. Golden here suddenly woke up and wants to munch?”
“I suppose it was simply time for her to rejoin us,” Savich said easily. “I think I’d like a Fig Newton too.”
Dr. Saint started to tell Savich they really should leave now so his patient could rest, but something told him maybe he shouldn’t meddle. Sounding a bit ruffled, he said, “I understand you’re a psychic, Ms. Golden.”