THE BLACK PACKARD
Leon Voss arrived at Marrow Creek on Friday with a split lip, two broken fingers and a commitment order signed by a county judge who had apparently exhausted every other place to put him.
He was thirty-nine and difficult in a way Clara recognized immediately. Some violent patients burned hot and visibly, telegraphing their agitation through pacing, clenched hands or rapid speech. Leon was different. His aggression remained close to the surface but controlled until he decided control was no longer useful. He watched exits. He counted staff. When an orderly loosened one restraint, Leon’s eyes went to the man’s throat before the leather strap was fully open.
Everett requested that Leon be assigned to Cedar Hall.
Clara objected.
“We have no reason to house him beside Vale.”
“We have empty beds.”
“We have empty beds on South Hall.”
Everett signed the placement form without looking up. “Then South Hall can enjoy the luxury of keeping them empty.”
Leon went into Room Seven, two doors from Jonah.
Their first encounter occurred at dinner.
Jonah had finally been allowed into the communal room under Ben’s supervision. He sat alone at the end of a table, eating carefully with the concentration of a man who wanted no one accidentally brushing against him.
Leon entered between two attendants.
He stopped when he saw Jonah.
Jonah stopped eating.
Clara saw recognition on only one face.
Leon’s.
It lasted perhaps half a second before he smiled.
“Well, look at that.”
Jonah frowned.
“You know him?” Clara asked.
Leon dropped into a chair. “Everybody knows him.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Leon picked up his spoon. “Then ask somebody who works for you.”
Jonah stared at him until Ben touched the table beside his plate.
“Jonah.”
The big man lowered his eyes.
Everett appeared in the doorway during dessert.
Leon immediately became quieter.
Clara noticed that too.
Later she found Everett reviewing Leon’s property inventory.
“Since when do physicians inspect patient belts and loose change?”
Everett closed the file.
“Since nurses began auditing my work.”
“I asked a question.”
“And I declined to answer it.”
He walked out carrying nothing.
Clara waited until his footsteps disappeared, then opened the drawer.
Leon’s intake property was ordinary: wallet, eighteen dollars, cigarettes, a brass lighter, one damaged wristwatch, belt, shoelaces and a folded business card from a garage in Bellweather.
The card caught her attention only because the garage was owned by a man named Edwin Pike.
Clara remembered the name from somewhere.
She could not place it.
On Sunday afternoon, a patient knocked over a pitcher during lunch. Leon used the distraction to seize an attendant by the collar.
The ward erupted fast.
Ben grabbed Leon’s arm. Luis Ortega came from behind. Leon twisted hard enough to send a chair across the floor, then caught Jonah standing near the wall.
Leon grabbed the front of Jonah’s shirt.
“Stay out of it.”
Jonah’s hands closed around Leon’s forearms.
The effect was instantaneous.
Jonah screamed.
Not loudly at first. It came out as a broken gasp that grew into something Clara had never heard from him.
Leon released him.
Jonah did not release Leon.
His eyes were open but unfocused.
“Rain.”
Leon went pale.
“Get him off me.”
Jonah’s fingers tightened.
“A road. Headlights.”
“GET HIM OFF.”
Ben tried to separate them.
Jonah’s knees buckled, bringing Leon down with him.
“There are two boys.”
Leon stopped struggling for one stunned second.
Jonah jerked as though struck.
“Glass breaking. One of them is still moving.”
Leon hit him.
Ben and Luis pulled Leon backward while Clara dropped beside Jonah.
“Jonah. Look at me.”
He was breathing too fast.
“Peppermint.”
“What?”
“Somebody in the car keeps chewing peppermint because he’s been drinking.”
Across the room Leon stared at him with naked fear.
Then Everett appeared.
“What happened?”
Leon answered immediately. “Vale attacked me.”
“No,” Clara said. “Leon grabbed him.”
Everett did not look at her.
“Treatment room. Now.”
“For whom?”
“Vale.”
Jonah sat against the wall, hands pressed to his temples.
Everett crouched in front of him.
“What did you see?”
Clara heard the question.
So did Ben.
Jonah looked up.
Everett realized too late that he had asked it.
His tone changed. “What did you imagine?”
Jonah whispered, “You.”
Everett stood.
“That’s enough.”
He ordered two attendants to take Jonah into the treatment room. Clara followed before Everett could tell her not to.
Jonah was placed on the edge of the narrow bed. Leather restraints hung from its sides, though only one was fastened around his left wrist.
Everett opened the medicine cabinet and prepared a syringe.
“What are you giving him?”
“A sedative.”
“He is no longer violent.”
“He assaulted another patient.”
“You know he didn’t.”
Everett pushed air from the syringe.
“Your professional opinion has been noted.”
Clara stayed.
Ben and Luis remained near the doorway.
Everett approached Jonah.
“Hold him. I’m done asking.”
One attendant took Jonah’s shoulder.
The other reached toward his free arm.
Everett brought the needle down.
Jonah caught his wrist.
The movement was fast but controlled.
He did not twist the joint. He did not rise from the bed. He simply stopped the injection.
Everett’s face flushed.
“Let go of me.”
Jonah stared at him with an expression Clara had never seen before. Not fear of Everett.
Recognition.
“You were in the car when the Wren boys died.”
No one moved.
Clara looked at Everett.
“What car?”
His answer came instantly.
“There was no black Packard.”
The silence afterward felt physical.
Clara heard the faint clink of glass as the syringe trembled in Everett’s hand.
She kept her voice level.
“Nobody said black.”
Everett stared at her.
Then at Jonah.
For the first time since Clara had known him, Everett Sloan looked like a man who had entered a room expecting to control everyone inside and discovered the door had locked behind him.
He recovered quickly.
“Vale has spent six years reading newspapers about his own case.”
“The newspapers named a Packard?”
Everett pulled at his wrist.
“Release me.”
Jonah did.
Everett stepped back.
Clara said, “Were you there?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Then why did you know the color?”
“Because I know the case.”
“The prosecution never released a vehicle description.”
“You don’t know what the prosecution released.”
“My point exactly.”
His eyes hardened.
“You’re relieved of duty for the remainder of the shift.”
“You don’t have that authority.”
“I have authority over this treatment.”
Ben moved from the doorway.
“Not while I’m standing here.”
Everett looked at him.
Ben rarely challenged physicians directly. His voice remained polite, which made the refusal stronger.
“Mr. Vale is calm. There’s no emergency indication for sedation. If you want him restrained further, document the reason.”
Everett’s gaze moved between them.
Then he capped the syringe.
“Fine.”
He walked out.
Clara remained beside Jonah.
“What did you see when you touched Leon?”
Jonah rubbed his wrist.
“Pieces.”
“Was Everett in them?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
Jonah looked miserable.
“I told you. It isn’t like a picture show. I remember things that aren’t mine. Some of it comes wrong. Some of it comes backward.”
“What about the Packard?”
“Big black car. One headlight broken after.”
Clara crouched in front of him.
“Who was driving?”
“I don’t know.”
“Everett?”
“I saw his face inside.”
“Where was Leon?”
“Outside the car later. He was dragging something.”
Clara swallowed.
“The boys?”
Jonah looked away.
“I don’t want to say.”
She let the silence sit.
After a while Jonah whispered, “One was still breathing.”
Clara felt cold.
“Which one?”
“I don’t know.”
She stood.
Evidence, she reminded herself.
Not miracles.
Not memories.
Evidence.
She went first to Leon’s file and retrieved the garage card. Edwin Pike. Bellweather Auto & Coach Repair.
Then she remembered where she had seen the name.
Buried in an old newspaper article about Harlan Sloan’s first campaign for judge was a photograph taken outside a motor club banquet.
Harlan stood beside a large black Packard.
The caption thanked local businessman Edwin Pike for maintaining the judge’s “beloved automobile.”
Clara folded Leon’s business card into her pocket.
By morning she intended to know exactly what Edwin Pike remembered about that car.