Page 25 of Mirror Image

“Oh, now, Dr. Flores, no need to get so defensive. Believe it or not, your insights might actually be useful here. So—shall we?”

Before I can tell him where to shove his insight, there’s a knock.

“Come in!” he calls out. The office door opens, and a woman with short-cropped gray hair and a plum-colored suit joins us.

For a second, it’s like my brain short-circuits.

Joyce Danner.

The hearing rushes back in jagged images: the white glass table, the ticking clock, my palms sweating through the paper cup while Joyce coolly asked if I’d like to amend my statement “for accuracy.” I remember the scent of burnt coffee, the hum of the fluorescent lights above. Even in that windowless basement conference room, her words came out in a clipped courtroom cadence. It’s the first time I’ve actually laid eyes on her in all this time, but she had a recurring role in my nightmares for years. Come to think of it, all three of the people in this room did.

No wonder Gabe didn’t want me to take this job. He saw this little bout of PTSD coming a mile away.

This time I give the elastic on my wrist a sharp snap, forcing myself back to the room, to the present, to the woman who likely doesn’t remember breaking me. She nods in my direction, circling around to stand on the other side of the desk next to Kellogg.

“Dr. Flores. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to—” I start to reply, but the lie catches in my throat so I try again. “Sorry—nice to see you again, Joyce.”

She perches on the end of a chair that Julian has pulled up for her.

“Right, so let me tell you what we know so far,” she begins. “Yesterday morning a ranger discovered the body of Samantha Kinski floating in a canoe in a remote part of Everglades National Park. A short time later, he came across Mary—still alive but barely conscious. And, while it appears to be accidental, the two sisters had a rather . . . tumultuous . . . relationship. And the questions the police have been asking suggest they could be considering the possibility of foul play.”

At last, something substantial I can focus on beyond my own dark past. I grab onto it like a flotation device. “I presume they’re doing an autopsy on Sam?”

She nods. “Yes. We should have that report in the next day or two—there’s a bit of a backup at the coroner’s office going into the holiday weekend. But once that comes through, it will, hopefully, clarify things.”

I shake my head slightly and raise my palms. “I have to ask—is this evaluation really necessary, considering no one is accusing her of anything yet?”

“Right, well,” Julian begins cautiously, as if measuring how much to tell me. “Perhaps you noticed the Lloyd Langston Oncology Center on your way in?”

I had, and I already knew what he was getting at.

“Yes, I remember reading that Mary Langston is from the Langston Pharma family. Is that why she was brought here to Miami Killian?”

All three of them nod.

“I’ve known the family for many years,” Julian explains smoothly. “Her grandfather, Lloyd Langston, was a great philanthropist, and he bequeathed a substantial endowment to the hospital in his will. Mary’s parents, Doug and Theresa, have continued his work. In fact, they’re largely responsible for this new facility,” he tells me, gesturing to the walls and ceiling around us as if the whole place somehow belongs to him too.

Über-rich patrons of the hospital with a daughter in trouble. I’m hoping this isn’t going where I think it is, because I wouldn’t put it past any of these people. I lean forward in my chair and lock eyes with Joyce.

“I hope no one expects me to produce a bought opinion,” I say.

The lawyer doesn’t bat an eyelash at my accusation. “Not at all, Doctor,” she replies smoothly. “Yes, of course you’re being paid for your evaluation. But no, we’re not expecting anything other than your opinion—your honest opinion. The family would like to get a jump on this—before the district attorney’s office can have their own evaluation done. If I know what we’re dealing with, then I’ll know how best to proceed. How best to protect the hospital while also assuring the Langstons that we have Mary’s best interests at heart.”

“Which we do, of course,” Julian adds with a small, approving nod beside her.

Right. Because protecting Mary means protecting the massive influx of cash that comes with them.

“So what is Mary saying happened?” I ask.

“Not much. She says she can’t recall most of it. Just that she and Samantha were scouting a new canoe route. They ran a company, Wild Gemini, leading multiday Everglades trips. This one was a test run. Apparently, they were doing fine until they hit an eight-mile stretch known as the Nightmare.”

“Well, that’s not ominous or anything,” I comment.

“Yes, quite,” she agrees. “It’s a narrow cut-through that separates the north and south Everglades. It’s notoriously difficult to paddle through. We don’t have all the details of the recovery site at this point, but we do know that Sam wasn’t a strong swimmer. And, should the autopsy come back with drowning as the cause of death, they’ll most certainly consider the possibility that it wasn’t an accident. We just don’t know which way this thing is going to go.”

“We’re hopeful that, as the shock wears off, she’ll be able to tell us a bit more,” Julian adds.