there,” she said when they approached her comfort zone. “If you come any closer I’ll call the police. Speaking to me personally is inappropriate under the circumstances.”
They took several steps forward before stopping, Diane guessed to show that she couldn’t tell them what to do.
“So you’re the lying bitch who got our son in trouble,” the mother shouted at her. They now had the attention of all the patients and visitors in the sunroom. “Look at him, he’s maimed for life, and he’s not receiving the sympathy he deserves because your lies have the police believing he had something to do with the explosion. He’s the victim here.”
Diane didn’t say anything. She merely folded her arms across her chest and let them talk. “Sometimes when you remain quiet and just let people talk,” her old boss from her human rights investigation days told her, “they will reveal all sorts of things. There’s a whole set of people out there who really want to confess.”
“Blake told us how you lured him into your car.” The father said this as if it were some brilliant piece of evidence he had uncovered against Diane.
The kid’s eyes glittered with excitement. Diane was willing to bet he was used to this—setting his parents off against people, or each other, then sitting back to watch the fireworks. A disturbed kid with clueless parents who apparently had more money than sense. Diane said nothing.
“He was asking for help, damn you. You know he found that gun in your car. It was your damn gun, yours. He didn’t have it until you lured him into your car. He was just trying to break the window to get out. How dare you accuse him of trying to hijack your car.” His mother was speaking through gritted teeth now and her voice was a low growl.
“So you are the director of the museum,” his father said when his wife ran out of breath. “I hope you aren’t too attached to your job. I know several members of the board and I serve on three charity organizations with Vanessa Van Ross.”
And you couldn’t know any of them very well, thought Diane, or you would know that particular threat is empty.
Diane watched as her silence irritated them. The mother’s eyes were dark slits, her mouth turned down in a deep frown. The father’s mouth was a thin straight line. His dark eyes were full of malice.
“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” his mother said. Diane expected her to stamp her foot.
“Nothing,” said Diane. “I have said everything to the police. Anything else I’ll say in court.” She turned her back and walked out the door.
“Don’t you turn your back on us,” screeched his mother, so loud that Diane was sure she cracked the windowpanes.
Diane continued walking down the hallway, but soon heard high-heeled footfalls behind her. The woman was following her! Diane didn’t know why this astonished her. She stopped and turned.
Before Diane could say anything, the woman came at her with long red fingernails on hands formed into claws. Diane dodged, but was hit with a fist in the shoulder and knocked flat against the wall. Before she could take more evasive action, the policeman who had been guarding the son was putting cuffs on the mother.
“What the hell are you doing, you oaf! You can’t do this!”
“Let go of my wife. I’ll sue you, the police department, and the city. Get those handcuffs off her.”
Through all the yelling, Diane could hear the policeman reading the woman her rights. By the time he finished, not only were several hospital staff gathered at the scene, but hospital security had shown up, along with another policeman.
“What are you arresting me for? You stupid jerk,” she spat at him.
“Attacking Dr. Fallon here.”
“I didn’t attack her. She attacked my son.”
“Lady, I saw you hit her. She’s not just the director of the museum, she’s the director of the crime lab, and that makes her a member of the Rosewood police department. So you just struck an officer to boot, and I’m taking you to jail. You can call a lawyer from there.”
“We didn’t know she was a police officer,” said her husband.
“Sir,” said the policeman, “is it your belief that it’s OK to assault private citizens who are not police officers?” He turned to the other policeman. “Jackson, go watch that Stanton kid. Make sure he hasn’t run off. I’ll be back after I book Mrs. Stanton.”