38

Aligned Design

Ch 53

"Now you understand, Mr. Canvettelli, you cannot let on to Jenese and Tillman that you are working with us. Are you certain that they are not violent? I don't need to worry about one of them hurting you? I certainly don't want to put you at risk. Undercover work is not for everyone." Eames was making sure Canvettelli would cooperate without screwing up.

"Oh, no, Detective, those two boys may like it a little rough at times, but violent – don't you worry your pretty little head." Canvettelli dismissed the notion with a head toss, a tsk-tsk, and a wave of hand.

"All right, you just go on like always. I'm sorry I cannot tell you when we'll be by to pick them up, but you understand how busy we are here." Eames stood and Canvettelli followed her lead.

"Of course, dear; this is important work you do here. What with keeping your own under control, it is a wonder you can get anything done for we poor citizens. Well, I shall be on my way. I look forward to the excitement when you come by. Oh, I can't wait to see the look on Jenny's face when you slap on the cuffs, as you say." He wrapped his arms around himself and gave himself a delicious hug. Detective Eames smiled, nodded and pulled open the door.

"This officer will escort you to the elevators." Eames then said to the officer, "Make sure no harm comes to Mr. Canvettelli here. He's an important associate of the NYPD."

The officer looked at Eames as if she had lost her mind. Eames smiled and nodded.

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Eames saw Bobby with two screens lit up. He was standing, one arm across his chest, the other bent at the elbow, fingers on his lips.

"Find anything good?" she asked.

Bobby turned and said with mild excitement, "Yeah. Jenese shot Navicky and Pangborn. Watch this, see, I can show footage of a single event shot from two cameras at the same time. Let me back up these – "

Bobby had a remote in each hand; he clicked away, jockeying the images, and then said, "Here, this is it. See, this screen shows Navicky and Pangborn driving up. They stop, they get out, they walk back to the trunk, they open the trunk, they open the unit, they go inside, they . . ."

Bobby articulated every bit of action on the screen and Eames looked up at him. She wanted to say, "I can see what they are doing," but she let him go on. He sounded better.

Bobby continued, "See, they take out a crate, it won't go in, they set it down, they fool around with the back seat, they try again, they – "

"Bobby, you are making me crazy. I can see what they are doing," Eames was sorry, but she couldn't take another second of his narration.

Bobby looked down at her, and nodded, he put up his two hands, palms out, his 'no more' action, then crossed his arms again. Together they watched the two men unload the crates.

"Ok, here, right here. Watch this. You have to kind of look from one screen to the other. This is great." Bobby clicked one of the remotes at the second screen and Eames watched a blue car enter the image. She watched Jenese exit the vehicle, sidle back along the end of the unit, saw him peek around the corner, and then saw the two puffs of smoke. She immediately looked at the first screen and saw Pangborn drop to the ground. She glanced back to the second screen, saw Jenese shoot again, two more puffs of smoke, and then she glanced at the first screen and saw Navicky drop.

Together they watched as Jenese came around the corner, kick at both bodies, return to his car, back it up around the corner of the unit and begin to shift crates from the one car to his. They saw Jenese move the roll of hose from his trunk to the back seat.

Bobby paused both screens. "Well?"

"This is superb, Bobby! Wait till a jury sees this."

Just then Deakins walked in, "Everything ok?" he asked.

"Wait till you see what Bobby found," she told the boss.

"Ok, impress me," Deakins said to Bobby.

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Late Tuesday afternoon, Bobby left work and drove home. He changed his clothes and then he packed panties, an undershirt, a top, socks, tennis shoes and jeans into a bag and walked to his vehicle. Bobby drove to the hospital not knowing how he got there. He parked in the visitor's lot and took the bag to her room.

Gleason was sitting in the chair, looking out the window. She turned when he walked in and then turned back to the window.

"I brought you some clothes," he said softly. He set the bag on the bed. She got up, took the bag and went into the bathroom. Bobby crossed to the window and looked out.

"She real sad," said the woman in the other bed.

Bobby turned. "She gonna be like dis for a while, ya know? Dis her first one? It real hard witt you first one. It real hard evy time, ya know?"

Bobby nodded and turned back to the window. He looked out over the tarred roof of another wing. Empty plastic soda bottles, papers, and broken glass littered the roof's surface.

Gleason came out of the bathroom and went back to the chair. Bobby went to her, wanting to touch her, talk with her. He went behind the chair to stroke her head, her shoulder. Gleason stood and moved away. She stood in front of the window, her arms across her chest.

A nurse notified Dr. Wiley when she saw Bobby enter Gleason's room. Dr. Wiley came in, looked at Bobby and said, "May I have a word? Gleason, we'll be right back." Gleason didn't move.

Bobby followed the doctor into the hallway. Dr. Wiley began, "I wanted to speak with you about your wife's –"

"She's, she's not my wife. We live together, but . . .," Bobby said softly, not continuing, waving away the rest of the words.

"I see. Well, I want to speak with you about Gleason's situation. I stopped in this morning, but you had gone."

"I had to get to work."

"Let's go find a place to sit, shall we?" Dr. Wiley led Bobby to the small conference room where Dr. Fairchild and Gleason had spoken. "Can I get you anything, Mr. –"

"Goren, Detective Robert Goren." He put out his hand and the doctor took it. "No, thank you."

Bobby waited for the doctor to sit and then he did. She began, "I asked Dr. Fairchild to speak with Gleason this morning. Dr. Fairchild is the women's health psychiatrist here at Methodist. After speaking with Gleason, she said Gleason has ADS, apathetic denial syndrome. Dr. Fairchild said it is fairly common in these kinds of situations and will pass in time. She indicated that an understanding, loving environment is needed to make that happen." Bobby nodded.

Dr. Wiley continued, "However, I think something else is going on. I am concerned about Gleason's complete lack of affect. She seems to have no emotive response whatsoever and appears to have an amplified level of denial. She refuses to believe she was pregnant. How was she at home, did she think she might be pregnant?"

Bobby thought a moment and then answered, "She refused to consider the possibility."

"Do you have any idea why she feels this way?"

Bobby's head tilted left, his right hand rubbed the knuckles of his left. "Gleason's early childhood was – unusual. Her image of family is corrupted. She grew up in the UK and children's services there removed her at age seven. She spent several years in a home for children; a family adopted her at age nine, and she emancipated in her early teens. Gleason has been on her own nearly all of her life. The idea of a family is frightening to her; alien to her."

Dr. Wiley nodded. "That might explain the denial, the denunciation of her pregnancy. What about her lack of emotion? Her abject indifference to interactions and her surroundings is unusual."

Bobby did not know how much to tell about Gleason's past. He knew Gleason had developed this technique of shutting down, shutting out when Clive would burn her. Just say it, he told himself.

"She, uh, Gleason was horribly abused by a former lover. He, he burned a design into her back with hydrochloric acid. It went on for months. She told me that she endured it by retreating inside her mind, self-induced catatonia. She was able to go in and out at will. It kept her alive."

Dr. Wiley was fascinated. "This is incredible, detective; and it explains everything. Gleason is protecting herself against this current reality by hiding behind the emotional blockade." The doctor thought a moment and then said, "So, Gleason will recover physically and emotionally. The physical healing will be within a week or two. Her emotional recovery may take longer. Are you prepared to help her through this?"

Bobby looked at the physician and said, "Of course."

Gleason still stood looking out the window, her arms wrapped across her chest, when Bobby returned, some thirty minutes later. He stood by silently. Gleason had not spoken a word to him since he had screamed his accusations at her less than twenty-four hours ago.

"Are you ready to go home?" the nurse said, coming into the room. She was too perky and spoke to Gleason's back. "We'll have a transport up here shortly. You need to see Dr. Wiley in two weeks; the appointment is on this card. These prescriptions need filled today, as you need to take the one at bed and in the morning for seven days. This second one is your new heart medication; I guess the other was no longer effective. And, the third script is the birth control pill; take it once everyday. Do you know how to use the birth control pills? Have you taken them before?" Gleason continued to ignore her.

"We'll figure it out," Bobby said softly. The nurse turned to him and nodded.

"This is your shirt; we disposed of the clothing that could not be cleaned. These pamphlets explain what Dr. Wiley told you." At this, the nurse turned to Bobby and spoke to him softly, "No intercourse for at least one week after all her symptoms subside. You know, no more bleeding, no more cramping." The nurse turned back to Gleason and held out the appointment card, prescription slips, pamphlets and bag, expecting Gleason to turn and take them. Gleason did not even acknowledge her.

"I'll take those," Bobby said.

The nurse handed the items to Bobby and nodded, knowingly. "It won't be long."

Bobby folded the prescription slips and slipped them and the appointment card into his money clip.

"You might want to go get the car and bring it around to the front. We'll be down in a few minutes. Just put on your blinkers when you pull up."

Bobby looked at Gleason's back, hesitating, wanting to say something. What could he say? He said every wrong thing last night. He turned and left with the bag containing her shirt, he put the pamphlets inside.

Bobby stood at the elevator with a young man and an older fellow who might have been his father. They were chatting about "his hair, so much hair!" Bobby's heart broke all over again.

"Your wife up here, too?" the young man asked Bobby.

"No."

"Ah, girlfriend, then. Really doesn't matter any more. Babies come regardless, huh?" The guy had no idea.

Bobby just looked away, praying for the elevator to arrive.

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They didn't speak. They moved through the small apartment, staying away from each other, not looking at each other; two lone satellites in a barren universe. Bobby slept in his chair, Gleason slept in the bed.

Gleason barely ate. She slept. She sat and thought. She did not cry. She tried to work on her book, but she couldn't hold a thought. She forced her mind to go blank, like she did when Clive would burn her, and afterward when it hurt. Gleason felt hollow, a shell. Her heart was empty; she made her mind be empty. Her soul was ice. Time passed so slowly.

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