Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)
“I don’t know. Maybe . . . Let’s see.” She picked up the file and flipped to the reports listing visitors.
“How about Liam Kress?”
Something twitched in Padgett’s face. “I haven’t heard from Liam in a long while.”
“Maybe he’d like to know you were able to speak and intent on leaving.”
Padgett shook her head. “No, I’m sure not. Now, let’s get on with it.” She made a looping motion.
“Just do whatever paperwork you have to and I’ll sign myself out of here. ASAP. I don’t see why we 362
Lisa Jackson
can’t get all of it done within the hour and you can see that I’ll have that car waiting for me at the front gates, just as I’ve seen other cars come and go over the years. It’s the McMurray Service, I believe.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Yes. I’ll need access to funds. I’m sure I have a bank account somewhere.”
“I don’t know. I’ll give you Mr. Tinneman’s phone number.”
“I’ll need more than that. I assume that there’s an account for me, here, at Mountain View. I’ll need a check for the balance.”
“That might take some time.”
Padgett smiled. “It’s my money, doctor.”
“Along with the paperwork, you’ll need to pack your things—”
“Oh. That’s right. You’re relatively new here,”
she said and folded her slim arms across her chest.
“You probably didn’t get the memo. I’m already packed. Everything I need is in my bag.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
Ramsby was puzzled. Felt she was being played.
“How did you know you’d be leaving today, that your brother had died?”
Padgett tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Because I pack up every week, and on Sunday, Farrell, the aide, unpacks my bag and washes the perfectly clean clothes. So, you see, Dr. Ramsby, I’ve been packed for fifteen years. My clothes are probably hideously out of style and faded, but they’ll get me out of here and once I’m free I’ll take care of buying a few things.”
She walked to the door, intent on leaving. “The
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way I figure it,” Padgett said over her shoulder as she tugged the door open and stepped to the hallway, the psychologist right behind her, “I’ll be able to afford some new things.” With an enigmatic smile and a wave, she headed toward the elevator, the very area where Ramsby had thought she’d fled not that long ago.
Jalicia stared after her, thinking hard. Padgett Long had anticipated that she would be leaving, as if she’d known her brother had been murdered before she’d crossed the carpeted threshold to Ramsby’s office. How the hell had she known?
The last person Dan Grayson wanted to see was Manny Douglas, but the weasel of a writer was on his way to the department.
Considering how things were going with the press in general, and the Mountain Reporter specifically, Grayson wanted to throttle the journalist, or at the very least tell Douglas to take a flying leap, but Manny had been insistent.