The Missing Page 0,40

Jane Doe believes you’re this person named Terry?’

‘She did the other night, when I found her under the porch,’ Darby said. ‘Her name is Rachel Swanson.’

‘Is Terry a real person?’

‘Yes, she is. I can’t get into specifics, but Terry and Rachel knew each other for an extended period of time.’

‘Can you at least tell me the circumstances of their relationship? It might help me with a diagnosis and possible treatment.’

‘They endured the same trauma,’ Darby said.

‘Which is?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And Rachel Swanson? Can you tell me anything about her?’

‘Nothing that would be helpful,’ Darby said. ‘Has she spoken at all? Said anything beyond calling out for Terry?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’ Lomborg looked to Dr Hathcock, who was shaking her head.

‘TERRY, WHERE ARE YOU?’

‘I want to go in her room and see if I can talk to her again,’ Darby said.

‘I’ll be in there when you question her,’ Lomborg said.

‘Rachel won’t talk if you’re in there – if anyone is in there. She wouldn’t talk until I was alone with her.’

‘Then I’ll listen outside the door.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that,’ Darby said. ‘For whatever reason, this woman trusts me, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that trust.’

Lomborg stiffened. The dark circles under his eyes were covered with a light concealer so he’d look good for the camera crews camped out in front of the hospital.

‘Are you going to record your conversation?’ Lomborg asked.

‘I am.’

‘I want a copy before you leave.’

‘You’ll get one after it’s been reviewed.’

‘This is not only highly irregular, it’s against hospital procedure.’

‘TEEERRRRRRRRY!’

‘Dr Lomborg, I don’t want to argue, I want to get in there and calm Rachel down,’ Darby said. ‘What would you suggest I do?’

‘That’s difficult to say, since I don’t have much information about the case, or the circumstances causing her trauma. She’s in a highly agitated state because she wants out of her restraints. Under no circumstances are you to do that. Despite your success the previous evening, Rachel may not be as receptive this time. She attacked a nurse.’

‘Yes, I know. Dr Hathcock told me what happened yesterday.’

‘I was referring to this morning’s incident,’ Lom-borg said. ‘A nurse, thinking Rachel Swanson was still sedated, reached across her face to change a bandage, and Rachel bit her arm. Speaking ofwhich, what’s this business about the numbers and letters she wrote on her wrist?’

‘We don’t know.’ Come on, you stuffy bastard, let me in there.

‘You need to try and convince her that we’re here to help. She seems to think she’s being kept somewhere. That’s all I can tell you.’

Rachel Swanson screamed for help, her bed thumping against the floor.

‘Those two gentlemen standing outside her door, the ones dressed in hospital whites, they’re psychiatric orderlies,’ Lomborg said. ‘They know how to restrain patients, if it comes to that.’

‘That’s fine, but I don’t want them or anyone else looking through the window. It might scare her.’ Darby took out her microcassette recorder. It was a small model, easily concealed inside a shirt pocket, and held a brand-new ninety-minute tape.

‘I know you’re anxious to get in there,’ Lomborg said, ‘but please understand this: If anything happens to you, the hospital will not be held liable. Are we clear on that point?’

Darby nodded. She pressed the RECORD button and tucked the recorder in her shirt pocket.

It seemed to take a long time to reach the door.

Gripping the cold steel handle, Darby fished for some scrap of memory, some thought or image she could use to keep her anchored against the rising tide of fear. The summer when she came back home for the first time, Sheila told her there was nothing in the house that could hurt her and held her hand as they walked through the house together. Her mother wasn’t here, and nobody was going to hold her hand. Nobody was holding Carol Cranmore’s hand.

Darby took in a deep breath and held it as she opened the door.

Chapter 30

Rachel Swanson’s body was drenched in sweat. Her eyes were clamped shut and she was whispering to herself, as if saying a prayer.

Darby walked toward the bed, taking slow, quiet steps. Rachel Swanson didn’t stir, didn’t move. When Darby reached the side of the bed, she leaned in close to make out the words caught between Rachel’s pinched, wheezing voice:

‘One R L three R L.’

Rachel was chanting the words she had written on her arm.

‘Two L R two R L R R S L – no R, the last one is R.’

Darby placed the tape