The Colour of Death by Michael Cordy Read Free Book Online Page B

Tozer.
    Fox thought of his own inability to recall the murder of his family.  “Do you know of a patient who’s repressed good ones?”
    “ Touché ,” said Tozer.
    “Drugs?” asked Kolb, adjusting his thick glasses.
    “All the tox screens were negative,” said Tozer.  “No traces of drugs or alcohol.  And she isn’t taking any hallucinogenic medication.”
    Fox studied the file.  “What medication is she taking?”
    “None, apart from sedatives and analgesics in the first few days.  She’s clearly psychotic but when I prescribed risperidone she refused.  She refuses to take any anti-psychotics.  She won’t even take diazepam for her panic attacks.”
    “What about talk therapies?” asked Miller.  “Have your people tried cognitive behavior therapy or acceptance and commitment therapy?”
    Tozer laughed humorlessly.  “My people?  You mean me.”  He crossed his arms defensively.  “We haven’t enough staff to give her CBT, ACT, DBT or any talk therapy.  I’ve recommended it but the earliest she’d get any with us would be three months.”
    Fox nodded sympathetically.  He worked long hours but they were varied and as a staff member of a well-endowed research hospital, he had access to first-class resources.
    “Any parting advice for us, Dr. Tozer?” said Fullelove.  “Anything you want to tell us off the record?”
    Tozer gathered his papers together, keen to leave.  “Honestly?”
    “Of course.”
    “I’m glad the wealthy father of one of the American girls she rescued put up the money for Jane Doe to come here.  She deserves the best care.  But I’m also relieved to hand her over.  Even here I think you’ll have your hands full trying to treat her.  It’s not just the media spotlight, which adds obvious pressures.  It’s the patient herself.  Aside from her psychiatric problems, Jane Doe is difficult, impatient, aggressive and uncooperative.  She has zero respect for our profession.  So far she’s claimed that every doctor who’s treated her, medical and psychiatric, has been the wrong color.”
    Professor Fullelove raised an eyebrow and her black skin creased into a frown.  “The wrong color? ”  Before Tozer could elaborate, Fox heard a distant, terrified scream.
    “Calm down,” soothed a far-off voice.  “There’s nothing to be frightened of.”
    “Let me out,” the first voice cried.  “I won’t stay here.  Why don’t you understand?  I can’t stay in this room.”
    Tozer smiled wryly.  “That’s her, the famous avenging angel.  I’d recognize those dulcet tones anywhere.”  He stood up, fastened his briefcase and hurried to the door.  “She’s your avenging angel now.  Good luck.”
     
     
    The commotion was coming from a room in the original Victorian building, at the end of the corridor leading to the new wing.  The door was ajar and as they approached Fox glanced inside.  A doctor and two orderlies in white coats were trying to reason with a tall, agitated young woman who was shaking her head from side to side and holding her locket like an infant clutching a security blanket.  “I keep telling you,” she shouted.  “I can’t stay in here.”
    Fullelove went into the room, flanked by Kolb and Miller, while Fox waited behind in the corridor.  “What’s the problem, Dr. Feinberg?”
    “Jane Doe doesn’t like her room, Professor Fullelove,” said the junior doctor.  The room was typical of all the rooms at Tranquil Waters:  freshly painted walls; comfortable bed; large window overlooking the beautiful grounds; TV; chair and desk; private bathroom.
    “What’s wrong with it, Jane?  It’s a nice room,” Fullelove reasoned gently.  The terrified young woman kept blinking as if trying to see something more clearly — or trying not to see it.  Fox couldn’t take his eyes off her.  He had thought her striking on the television news but her sculptured features and haunted eyes were beautiful in the flesh.