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That was the understatement of the year. Jalicia had pulled Padgett Long’s records and Tinneman’s name was not on any of the visitor lists. The only people who had seen Padgett in the last eighteen months were her brother, Brady, over a year earlier, and Liam Kress, a family friend whose visits had been fairly regular. No one from the firm of Sargent, McGill, and Tinneman had ever set foot here.
“What is it you’re suggesting?” she asked, checking her watch.
“That Padgett might be upset if she learns about her father. That she might even want to come to the funeral, if that’s possible.”
Dr. Ramsby considered the patient in room 126. Would she even know? Register to the news that her father was dying? She flipped through the records. Padgett Long had come to Mountain View voluntarily. There was no court order. She could leave any time she wanted to, though it was doubtful she understood her rights.
CHOSEN TO DIE
137
“Would her brother or some other family member take her?”
“I don’t know.”
“A caretaker?”
“There is none. Unless we hire someone.”
“Someone from your firm.”
“Oh, well, I don’t think so.”
“What is it you want me to do, Mr. Tinneman?”
“I’m just informing you of the situation,” he responded curtly.
“Okay.”
They were at an impasse. There was clearly something more Tinneman was trying to impart, but he seemed to be dancing around the subject. Finally, he said, rather coolly, “Do you know Padgett Long, Dr. Ramsby?”
Jalicia bristled. “I’m her doctor.”
There was a long pause and the voice on the other end of the connection lost all its country-boy charm. “You’re fairly new at Mountain View. Maybe you haven’t had time to really get to know Padgett. I’ve worked with the Long family for years.”
“She’s my patient. If there’s something you’re trying to tell me . . .” Jalicia’s own voice was cool. She struggled with people who were too cagey.
“She has her rights, too,” he said, as if trying to convince himself. “I realize that. And she probably does, too. I don’t know how she’ll react to her father’s condition or his death. As I said, they were extremely close. Good-bye.”
Jalicia hung up and stared at the phone. What kind of a phone call was that? And what the hell was up with Padgett Long? She opened the thick file and decided to start at the beginning, fifteen years 138
Lisa Jackson
earlier, when sixteen-year-old Padgett Long, mute and skittish, the result of a head injury and near drowning, had become a resident at Mountain View. She’d spent half her life here, all of her adult years, behind the locked gates of this private psychiatric facility.
Her feeling that something wasn’t right had just been compounded by Barton Tinneman’s enigmatic call. Pescoli’s right wrist was raw. Bruised by the handcuff that was welded to the cot’s leg. The skin was scraped and broken even though she’d used the corner of the blanket the bastard had left for her to give her some cushion as she flung her weight away from the cot, trying to weaken the weld. Her left wrist, at the other end of the handcuffs, was relatively unscathed. Don’t think about it. Keep trying. Time is running out. The son of a bitch will be back soon.
You know it. She was sweating. Salty drops running into her eyes and down her back despite the frigid temperatures. But the leg of the cot was giving a bit. She was sure she felt it and if she could just keep at it, she would be able to get free. Right?
But how long?
Is there enough time?
Can you do it?
Setting her jaw, she threw herself back into her task. She hadn’t come up with a better idea for escape and this would have to work. It had to!
Over and over again she stood up as much as her manacle would allow, hunched over since there was
