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A shorter, dark-haired nurse came through the door, speaking soothingly to Jocelyn and telling us that we had to leave. She used one arm to keep Jocelyn’s arm lower so she didn’t pull out the IV, and then tried to get her to lie back down.
A dark-haired man wearing a white coat over business slacks and shoes came through the door with the first nurse behind him. Apparently, she’d found the doctor. “You cannot browbeat my patient like this,” he said as he pushed us back from the bed so he could help the nurse soothe Jocelyn.
Newman said, “We did not browbeat her.” His voice was firm and sounded convincing, but since Jocelyn was screaming, the doctor and the nurses probably didn’t hear him.
The tall nurse who had met us first made shooing motions with her arms as if we were wayward children. We could have forced the issue, but it might literally have taken force, and they’d just put another needle of something into the IV tube. Jocelyn was going quiet and passive as we let the tall, brown-haired nurse usher us out. Her name tag read PATRICIA. She didn’t look like a Patricia, far too athletic and forceful. Maybe a Pat or a Patty?
We walked far enough down the hallway to be out of earshot, and then we huddled together like a football team. We needed to figure out what had just happened and what we should do next.
“I didn’t mean to imply that she and Bobby were an item,” Newman said.
“Her reaction was a little over the top, don’t you think? Or is she always this high-strung?” I asked.
“No, I wouldn’t describe Jocelyn as high-strung or even the nervous type. She’s usually very calm, cool, and collected.”
“I guess finding your parent’s murdered body would unhinge anyone,” I said.
“By unhinged, do you mean, make hysterical?” Olaf asked.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding as if he needed that to go with the word.
“She was not hysterical.”
Newman and I looked at each other. “We just saw her act hysterical,” he said.
“Saw her, yes, but her emotions did not match what you saw.”
“Okay, explain,” I said.
“When Newman asked his question, she was afraid.”
“How do you know that?” Newman asked.
“I could smell it.”
Newman sort of blinked at him and then went with it. Good for him. “She’s been through a terrible event. Wouldn’t she be afraid to remember it?”
Olaf shook his head. “The spike of fear happened when you asked her the first part of the question.”
“You mean, ‘Bobby said he was with you last night’?” I asked.
Olaf nodded.
“She sounded outraged,” Newman said.
“She acted outraged, but her true emotion was fear.”
“I could see disgust, outrage, anger, but why fear?” I asked.
“Maybe any memory tied to the murder is fear inducing?” Newman suggested.
“I might believe that, except that her emotions after that did not match the show of grief and emotional pain,” Olaf said.
“How so or how not?” I asked.
“I smelled the fear, and there was panic to that, but then that went away. She smelled calm while she was screaming at us.”
“Are you saying it was an act?” I asked.
