said, I don’t know kinds of cars, but his looked new and was gray, or silver.”
“Can you remember anything else about him?”
Ms. Cline gazed at Alexa over her glasses. “I’d guess older than you. Are you sure you’re an FBI agent? You’re awfully young and pretty to be one.” She smiled, trying to please the agent.
“Did you see his hair?”
“Red. Oh! I forgot about my cookies!”
“Thank you,” Alexa began, but Ms. Cline had already locked the dead bolt and disappeared. Through the sheers she looked like a body sinking in water.
Kenneth Decell, Alexa thought. That son of a bitch could have broken my neck.
She strode to her car, dialing Manseur as she went.
John Ramsey Miller
Too Far Gone
50
Alexa parked on Broad Street and hurried toward the front of the headquarters building. She was approaching the glass front entrance when someone yelled out her name. She turned to see Veronica Malouf carrying a briefcase hugged to her chest as though it were a baby in distress and she was trying to get it to the emergency room.
“Ms. Malouf,” Alexa said. “I tried to call you a few minutes ago to see what you’d come up with.”
“I couldn’t leave because Dr. Whitfield was closing the office early. So nonessential personnel could evacuate and I had to finish up. My phone battery was dead and I forgot my car charger, which I couldn’t find when I went home for these. Sorry.”
“The files I asked for?”
Veronica ignored the question. “They’re the ones you want. Call if you have any questions.”
Alexa took the valise and said, “If I have any questions, you’re going to answer them in person. After you.”
“But I need to get packed.”
They rode the elevator up in silence. Manseur looked from the papers he was reading as Alexa and Veronica walked into his office. “Agent Keen. Ms. Malouf,” he said.
“Veronica has something for us,” Alexa said, hanging her heavy purse on a chair.
“I hope you brought us a recent picture of Sibby Danielson.”
Veronica Malouf shook her head. “There isn’t one. I looked.”
“Let’s have a look at what you do have,” he said.
51
Alexa was amazed by what she read in the files, but Manseur might have been reading the phone book for all the reaction he showed. Veronica Malouf sat at the end of the conference table, looking into her lap-Marie Antoinette sitting in the ox-drawn cart being delivered to the Place de la Revolution, where a masked executioner with blood-spattered hands awaited her arrival.
“Dr. LePointe seems to have been Sibby Danielson’s sole attending physician during her stay,” Alexa said. “Might that not rise to the level of unethical, even in New Orleans?”
Manseur shrugged. “He lied about that.”
What hasn’t he lied about? Alexa thought. “This is a release form for Sibby, so she was released legally.”
“She wasn’t,” Veronica said.
Alexa looked at her. “This is a release form for Sibby Danielson and it’s signed by what I assume is an entire committee.”
“Dr. LePointe’s signature is on it?” Manseur asked.
“No. How do you explain that?” Alexa asked Veronica.
“They’re valid signatures,” Veronica said, looking nervously into Alexa’s eyes, “but not on Sibby Danielson’s release form.”
“How do you know that?” Manseur asked.
“Because that form was somehow altered. I think one patient’s name and number was removed and hers put on. That’s how I think they did it.”
“I can’t see any alteration,” Alexa said. “It appears to be an original.”
“That form was delivered to Dr. LePointe by Mr. Decell,” Veronica said. “He delivered it in an envelope and Dr. LePointe told me to tell him as soon as it arrived. In the fifteen minutes it took the doctor to come to the office, I opened it and looked at it.”
“How do you know it was altered?”
“Because one of the psychologists who signed it hadn’t worked at River Run for two years before it’s dated. He died from liver cancer. I…” Veronica stopped.
“Go on,” Alexa said.
“I think it might have been sort of illegal for me to do what I did with the files.”
“Go on.”
“Taking them and, you know, bringing them here. They’re hospital property and there’s privilege…”
Alexa thought for a moment. Then she said, “The main problem with them is that misappropriated files can’t be introduced as evidence in a court of law.”
“So they can’t be used against Dr. LePointe?” Veronica asked, a little frantically. “And what about me? Not because of the privileged content, but because I took them.”
Alexa looked at Manseur, then back at Veronica. “If you tell the absolute truth, there will be no legal repercussions from either Detective Manseur or myself. It will end here.” Alexa certainly didn’t want anybody knowing she’d intimidated a state employee into stealing confidential hospital files on a hunch.
Manseur nodded for Veronica’s benefit. The truth was that the police can lie to suspects with complete impunity. “Just level with us.”
Then Alexa saw it clearly. “You had these before we came to the hospital!”
Veronica sat frozen for a few beats, and then nodded once.
“It’s time to come clean, Veronica,” Manseur told the young woman. “We’re not going to judge you. We need to know everything you can tell us. If you’re afraid that your motives or intentions might paint you in a less than favorable light, don’t sweat it. Let’s just get the whole story out in the open.”
“We’re not interested in when you took them. A man’s life may be on the line,” Alexa said.
“Whose?” Veronica asked.
“Gary West’s,” Alexa told her. “He was abducted yesterday.”
“You think Dr. LePointe had something to do with it?” Veronica asked, alarmed. “That Mr. West could be dead?”
Alexa shook her head.
“He might be dead?” Veronica asked, fear in her pale eyes. “I won’t testify against Dr. LePointe or Mr. Decell. You better know that. I don’t know anything about any abduction. If Mr. Decell killed him, he could kill me.”
“Do you know Mr. West?”
“He came by the hospital a few times with Casey, Dr. LePointe’s niece. LePointe talked about him like he was a horrible person, but he wasn’t. He’d ask about a person and he was asking because he wanted to know and not just to be polite. He was good-looking, but it was like he didn’t know it, or think he was better because he had money. He wrote plays, but I doubt they were as bad as Dr. LePointe said, though I never saw one. Casey is the same way, and she’s also a big-deal photographer. Her assistant is a bitch, always throwing her weight around, acting like she’s all that, when she just works for Casey West. She always goes, ‘Mrs. LePointe-West wants this,’ or
