Nothing, not a shudder or a quiver.
Vail moved in closer. “Do you have him tied up somewhere?”
“Does he have who tied up?”
Dixon and Vail swung their heads toward the door. Standing there, an icy expression on his face, was a man dressed in a white lab coat, stethoscope draped around his neck.
“You are?” Vail asked.
The man stepped into the room. “I think the question is, who are you?”
“I asked you first,” Vail said, not yielding her ground.
The man stared at her. “Do I have to call security?”
Dixon held out her badge. “Investigator Dixon. This is Special Agent Vail. FBI.”
“I’m Mr. Mayfield’s surgeon. Dr. Koossey.”
“Well,” Vail said, “I guess that makes us related. We’re Mister Mayfield’s arresting officers.”
Koossey threw his chin back. “So you’re the ones who shot him.”
“I wish,” Vail said. Koossey didn’t like that answer. Tough shit, doc. You don’t know who your patient is.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Are you two about done here?”
Vail stepped closer to Koossey. With a smirk, she said, “Doctor, if I was done here, Mayfield would be flatlining.”
“Karen.” This from Dixon, whose face was a deep shade of red. Vail had to admit that was a stupid thing to say. One thing to think it. Another to speak it to the patient’s physician. Certainly not when she wanted answers. Her “pleasantness filter” was failing her. Lack of sleep, stress . . . she was pissed off and, frankly, she just didn’t give a shit.
“Sorry about that, Dr. Koossey. My partner’s sleep deprived, she’s not exactly exercising her best judgment at the moment.”
His eyes flicked down to her holster. “Yet she’s still carrying a loaded weapon. Very nice.”
This guy’s got a set of balls. Wonder if he’s from New York. “I think I’ve heard just enough out of you, doctor. But I’ll tell you how you can make yourself useful. How about telling us when Mister Mayfield here is going to be able to answer questions?”
Koossey snorted and tossed a look at Dixon, as if to say, “Is she for real?”
Dixon must’ve read the same thing from the man’s face, because she said, “Look, doctor. Your patient is an extremely dangerous serial killer. He’s murdered several innocent men and women. Including a couple local cops.” Dixon yanked down on the collar of her blouse and craned her neck back, exposing her throat. The remnant of Mayfield’s work was apparent in blood red, with emerging hints of eggplant-shaded hues. If it had been a sunset, it would’ve been memorable. It wasn’t a sunset, of course—but for Dixon, it would forever remain a memory. To Koossey, she said, “Mayfield tried to kill me.”
Vail likewise exposed her neck. “I’m a member of that club, too.” Whaddya think of that, doc? “We’ve got another potential victim of his out there somewhere, a detective. Until we can question Mayfield, we’ve got no way of finding him. And we’re hoping to find him alive.” Vail folded her arms. “So.”
Koossey worked his jaw from side to side. “We’ve induced a coma. Do you know what that means?”
“I know about comas,” Vail said, flashing on her son’s recent experience with the condition. “But only traumatic ones.”
“Drug-induced coma is used these days to treat refractory cases of status epilepticus and in some cases of neurosurgery.”
Dixon held up a hand. “Status ep—you mean epilepsy?”
Koossey looked annoyed at being interrupted. “Yes. Mind if I continue?”
Dixon and Vail stared at him. Maybe it’s not just me. The guy’s a little arrogant. Probably would have something in common with Mayfield. Maybe they’d have been buddies.
Koossey apparently got the message. “Its use in traumatic brain injury is a bit more controversial. The idea behind it is reduction of intracranial pressure and metabolic activity, to allow the brain to heal.”
“How about we bring him out of it long enough to answer questions?” And then put him under again, this time permanently. Wait, did I say that last part aloud? Vail’s eyes flicked from Dixon to Koossey. No reaction. Phew.
Koossey lifted the metal clipboard from Mayfield’s bed. “It’s not like that. I put him in the coma because his brain is too ill to function properly. The injuries were quite severe. So even if I were to bring him out of the coma, it’s unlikely he’d awaken.”
“How long are you going to keep him under?” Dixon asked.
Koossey canted his eyes toward the clipboard. He looked over the progress notes, flipped a page, then said, almost off-handedly, “A medically induced coma is incrementally lightened as the patient demonstrates elements of recovery. And that, Agent Vail, like it or not, depends on Mr. Mayfield. He’s in control of the situation now.”
He was in control of the situation before, too. That was the problem.
“We’ll be monitoring his electroencephalographic patterns and intracranial pressure, as metrics to help determine when to lighten the coma. More than that, I can’t help you.” Koossey replaced the clipboard, then turned toward the door. “Miss Dixon, you seem to be the level-headed half of your duo. Can I count on you to keep your partner in check so I can finish the rest of my rounds?”
Dixon ignored his comment, but said, “Will you call me as soon as he’s potentially capable of answering questions?” She pulled a card from her pocket and offered it to him.
Koossey frowned.
“Because of Mayfield’s extremely violent nature,” Dixon said, “if we have adequate notice, it’ll enable us to increase security. To prevent him from murdering you and your staff.”
Koossey gave Dixon a long look, then took the card and walked out.
Dixon moved around the bed to Vail, placed a hand around her shoulders, and said, “C’mon.”
They stopped at the nurses’ station. Helen glanced up from her file. Dixon handed her a business card as well. “I’d appreciate if you’d leave instructions for all the staff to notify me when you’re preparing to bring Mr. Mayfield out of his coma.”
“He’s violent and extremely dangerous,” Vail said. “He’s murdered several people. And mutilated a number of women. Sliced off their breasts.”
Helen glanced over at Mayfield’s room. Vail figured she was about to piss her pants, if she hadn’t already.
“Okay?” Dixon asked.
Helen, still looking in the direction of Mayfield’s room, said, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
As they walked away from the nurses’ station, Vail’s BlackBerry buzzed. She reached to her belt and yanked it off. It was Jonathan. “Hey, sweetie, how you doing?”
“You okay, Mom?”
Vail sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight, as if Jonathan could see her, 2,500 miles away. “I’m fine. Why?”
“I—I don’t know, you just sounded different. Unhappy.”
“I’ve just got some stuff going on here I’m trying to deal with. How are things at home? Aunt Faye treating you okay?”
“Fine, she’s fine. I’m actually having a good time with her.”
“You are? I mean, that’s great—I’m glad you’re getting to know her better.”
“Listen, Mom, I gotta get to class—”
Vail shifted the phone to her other hand. “Right. Okay—but I need you to do something for me.”
“Wow, if you’re making me late for class, must be important.”
“I need a photo of Robby. You remember that one you took of me and him at the academy a couple weeks ago? Can you cut me out and email it to me?”