done. Maybe they could have actually rescued her without wasting anybody.'
'Or maybe they would have killed the whole bunch,' Chooch said softly. 'Delfina included.'
'We'll never know.'
They were all so tired that it was impossible to continue the conversation. The sun was just coming over the San Bernardino Mountains, throwing shafts of orange light into the gray, sterile corridors of the psychiatric ward.
They waited for further word from either the Westlake police department or the doctors examining Delfina, but none came. They were all bone-tired so they stretched out on the sofas, and almost before his head hit the imitation leather, Shane was asleep.
The dream was as disturbing as it was bizarre. Shane, who was dark and Mediterranean in life, was blond and pale in the dream. He was wearing a three-piece light gray suit, standing in a wood-walled stable or stall of some kind, washing a huge brown animal with a soft brush. Strangely, with each stroke, Shane removed pieces of skin from the howling beast, the hide coming off in ugly, bloody strips. The animal sometimes looked like a buffalo, and sometimes more like a Clydesdale horse. It bucked and cried as he scrubbed its skin off. Shane was alarmed at the damage he was doing and kept checking the brush, trying it on himself to see how it was possible for it to do such damage. When he brushed his own skin, the bristles felt soft as velvet. Reassured, he continued washing the animal, and once again, would be skinning the shrieking beast. Occasionally, he would look up and see his reflection in a mirror hanging in the grooming stall. Was it really him in the mirror with this strange three-piece suit and weird blond hair? Shane was frightened by his unfamiliar appearance and by the damage he was doing, but knew it was important for him to finish. Then he would turn to the animal and begin the torturous task all over again.
Suddenly somebody was shaking him. He left his bizarre animal-washing project and drifted up into a world that was equally disturbing. Shane sat up and found himself looking into the probing eyes of a gray-haired woman who introduced herself as Dr. Elizabeth Sloan. She said she was a psychiatrist and looked the part: horn-rimmed glasses and a white hospital coat with her name and degree stitched over the pocket. 'Could we have a little chat?' she asked as Alexa and Chooch sat up rubbing their eyes. 'We might all be more comfortable in my office.'
They followed her down a wide linoleum corridor lined with painted metal doors that had wire-reinforced glass observation windows cut in the center. Dr. Sloan turned the corner at the end of the hall and showed them into a cluttered office with an old sofa, a desk, and two pull-up chairs. She sat in one of the pull-ups; Chooch and Shane took the sofa, leaving Alexa the remaining chair.
'How is she?' Chooch blurted.
'It's very complicated, but I think you need to know what you're facing. Are you her mother?' Dr. Sloan asked Alexa.
Alexa reached into her purse, pulled out her badge, and showed it to the psychiatrist.
'Lieutenant Scully?' Dr. Sloan furrowed her brow. 'Do you know where her family is?'
'They're in Cuernavaca,' Chooch answered. 'She only has an aunt. Her parents are both dead.'
'But you're her brother?'
'No, I'm sorry. I lied. I'm her boyfriend,' Chooch confessed.
'Doctor, could you tell us what's going on? What's happened to her?' Alexa probed.
'She's a juvenile, only sixteen. I'm afraid I can only consult with the parents or a responsible member of her family.'
'She was kidnapped,' Alexa said, trying to control her frustration. 'One of her kidnappers died in a shootout while police were effecting her rescue. This is a felony abduction case with an attendant homicide. Her parents are deceased and she doesn't have any relatives here except for a second cousin who is a Mexican Mafia gang leader and a fugitive. She's an essential witness to a long list of class-A felonies. So why don't you forget all this neat med school protocol and help us understand her condition?'
Dr. Sloan smiled, then leaned back in her chair. 'Does this in-your-face style work well at the LAPD?'
'Works great. Gonna work here, too. If I have to go over your head, I will. How's it going to help her to withhold information?'
'Please,' Chooch pleaded.
Dr. Sloan saw the desperation on his face, then sighed and finally nodded. 'I think your friend has severe post-traumatic stress disorder. I'm prohibited from making PTSD her official diagnosis until I can observe her for at least two weeks. But from what I can see, particularly since I now know she was kidnapped and raped-'
'Raped?' Chooch interrupted.
Shane reached out and put a hand on his arm. Now that Alexa had her talking, he didn't want to break the doctor's flow. 'Keep going,' he said.
'We've done some vaginal swabs and, from our preliminary examination, it looks like she was sexually assaulted, maybe by more than one person. The DNA tests will hopefully sort all that out.' She paused to evaluate their reactions. 'There are certain diagnostic criteria for PTSD, and she fits quite enough of them to warrant the preliminary diagnosis.'
'What are they?' Shane prodded.
'When a person experiences a severe traumatic event outside the range of what we might call normal human experience, PTSD can occur. The kind of severe stressor I'm talking about might include the threat of violence, a deadly threat against a loved one, war experience, or abduction, and most certainly a multiple rape.'
'And the symptoms…?' Alexa asked.
'She doesn't remember much after last Tuesday, when she says she was walking near her aunt's house. This short-term memory loss is known as psychogenic amnesia. She's a little dazed and not focusing too clearly. She seems to have a feeling of detachment to events currently going on around her. Of course, we've sedated her, and that could be partially responsible, but she's also not falling asleep with tranquilizers or sleeping pills, which is very consistent with this condition. She has an exaggerated startle response-another supporting symptom. If you come up behind and surprise her, she almost jumps out of her skin. Once she finally falls asleep, she's most likely going to dream about the inciting traumatic event and, therefore, her subconscious fear of these dreams is keeping her awake. In short, since it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, in two weeks I'm probably going to be able to label it a duck: post-traumatic stress disorder.'
'I thought you only got that in combat,' Shane said.
'Well, isn't that exactly where she's been? But aside from military combat, it hits when we're emotionally overridden by an experience we can't absorb, and our defenses start shutting systems down until we can deal with it.'
'But she'll eventually be okay?' Chooch asked. He had flinched at the first mention of rape but was now focused on the more important issue of Delfina's recovery.
'She might; she might not. Sometimes things short-circuit in our heads when we're under too much stress. That's not a very medical way of putting it, but in essence, it's what can happen. All we can do now is wait and see.'
'I want to stay with her,' Chooch said.
'I don't have a problem with that,' Dr. Sloan replied. 'It might help to have a friend here.'
'This girl was being held in connection with the gang violence that's taking place in L. A.,' Alexa said. 'She's probably still in some danger, so I'm going to assign a police officer to watch her room.'
Dr. Sloan nodded. 'Okay, but you'll have to set that up with the hospital administrator.'
The three of them thanked her, then walked out of the office into the corridor.
'Chooch, if you stay here, I want the officer guarding her to keep an eye on you, too,' Alexa said.
'Come on, Mom, I'm not in danger.'
'No 'Come on, Mom.' Just call it a justifiable parental overreaction.'
'I agree,' Shane said. 'I did what you asked, now you do this for us.'
'Okay,' Chooch finally relented. They left him in the waiting room and walked to the elevator.
'I've got to go back to North Chalon Road and change clothes, then make a conference at the studio at noon,' Shane said. 'Unless you want the LAPD Detective Services Group to end up owing millions, I better not miss that meeting. I'm sure you and Filosiani can clean up this little mess I made out in Westlake Village.'
