I begin with our patient database, narrowing down my search to male patients only, then narrowing further by age group. A more manageable number of files come up, but they reveal zilch. Nothing to indicate that Donny Ray Smith has ever set foot inside Loveland before now.
I go back to the Internet. Donny Ray has been making headlines for months. With headlines come in-depth background pieces and, occasionally, older photos. I search through all the links for anything that might indicate we’ve previously crossed paths.
Nothing.
I continue skimming through headlines, then land on video coverage from one of the TV stations. About a minute in, it seems there’s nothing new here, a repeat of information I already know. Just as I’m about to move on, I zero in on footage of Donny Ray Smith as he’s being moved from a transport van to the court building for one of his hearings. Cuffed, shackled, and wearing a jail-issued, orange jumpsuit, he shuffles forward, then looks directly into the camera lens.
My skin flashes hot and cold.
Because I just saw something pass through those eyes, which, during my meeting with him, never once did I witness. An unforgiving cloud of darkness, devoid of anything that resembles even a modicum of human emotion.
Now a biting chill arcs through my entire body.
Which throws me back into a sea of swirling uncertainty. I still don’t know what to think. Everything associated with Donny Ray Smith seems laden with equivocality and unanswered questions: his appearance so innocent, the accusations so drastically opposite. Then there’s the odd string of disappearances all around him.
And that look I just saw.
Maybe we can both find it.
If it’s the truth my patient is after, he’s sure taking a circuitous route in getting to it, and so far, pulling me right along with him.
I need to talk this through with Adam.
10
“People do seem to vanish all around him.” Adam leans back in his chair and looks like he’s thinking. “But only one of the doctors is actually missing, and as for his attorney, he was all the way clear over in San Diego. I can’t imagine how Donny Ray could have anything to do with that. He’s been locked up. Besides, adults don’t seem to be his forte.”
“I know, but it does seem awfully coincidental.”
Adam shrugs. “I’d leave it at that.”
“But what if it’s not a coincidence? What if Ammon knew something? Or maybe Philips didn’t actually kill herself.”
He grins, and I catch that twinkle in his eyes I know so well.
“What?” I ask.
“We’re docs, remember?”
“I know what we are,” I say a little too defensively.
“We’re not detectives.”
I nod at his tie.
He looks down at it, then back at me.
“You’re wearing Scooby-Doo on your chest,” I say. “Doc.”
“Hey.” Adam straightens his tie. “Don’t go hating on Scooby, okay?”
“Yesterday it was George Jetson.”
“Don’t mess with my man George, either. Guy’s an American icon. His feet never touched earth. Like to see you do that.” He protectively rearranges the rubberized Gumby, Pokey, and Prickle figurines on his desk.
I’m positive there’s some sort of neurosis at play.
Adam takes a sharp poke at the air. “And don’t go analyzing me, either.”
“Doctor and mind reader, no less.” I grin. “Impressive.”
“Can we get back to Donny Ray?”
“Okay . . . Okay. Back to Donny Ray. So what do you think?”
“Well . . .” He runs a finger across his chin a few times. “The note from Ammon does seem to indicate a concern of some kind.”
“The question is, what?”
“Could be something less sinister than what you have in mind. He thought the patient was malingering, right? Maybe it was just a warning to be on the lookout for that.”
“Or maybe it was something more.”
“Well, I don’t know what he meant, but from one neurologist to another? I’m with Ammon. I think Donny Ray Smith is trying to sell us a bill of goods.”
“Your reasoning?”
He shrugs. “Tests don’t lie, and I’ve seen this scenario play out more times than I can count. From a purely medical standpoint, I can’t believe the defense is trying to use a minor head injury from childhood to explain ten dissociative episodes.”
“Just the last one,” I remind him.
“Right now, but trust me, that will become the precedent once those other charges start rolling in.”
I nod. He’s right.
“From where I stand, his legal team is just blowing smoke up everyone’s ass. What we have here are lots of moving parts and plenty of missing pieces. It’s quack science. Nothing adds up. I just can’t see this any other way.”
I don’t respond.
“Your turn now,” Adam says, not affording me the luxury of silence.
“I’m thinking.”
He motions with a hand. “Care to externalize?”
“I’m not saying I think he’s innocent.”
“But?”
“But my mind keeps seesawing.”
“Between what and what?”
“Stages of indecision? I’m just not sure what we have here.”
“You think he might be telling the truth.”
I shake my head. “I’m not willing to take that leap yet. But something’s missing here.” I tell him about Dr. Philips’ mention of an unidentified psychological issue and the conflicting test results.
“Well?” he says. “Do you think she was on to something?”
“Not sure. I mean on one hand, having her license suspended, and then committing suicide, definitely compromises her credibility.”
“But on the other?”
“It doesn’t mean she didn’t have the skill to see things as they were.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“I need to finish what Philips couldn’t. Dig into Donny Ray’s childhood and confirm whether this psychological issue she mentioned actually exists.”
“Fair enough. I’ll do my medical thing, and you do your clinical stuff. We’re good at that. But we don’t have much time, so you’d better get busy fast.”
I glance at my watch. “How’s five minutes from now sound? That’s when our first session starts.”
11