Free Close Encounters by Sandra Kitt Page B

thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess I’m curious. Why?”
    “Well, I’m curious, too,” Lee improvised. He looked around, found another chair and positioned it at her side, then sat down. He didn’t want to sit directly opposite her, already knowing he would stare too openly.
    Carol Taggart didn’t appear to be ill or incapacitated or in pain. The only evidence that she was a patient was the sling around her neck that held her left arm immobile against her chest.
    “Don’t tell me you were just in the neighborhood. Don’t you have patrol or rounds or something you should be on?”
    He couldn’t help grinning as he shook his head. “You’ll be happy to know that we’ve discontinued the surveillance of your room.”
    Carol shrugged. “I didn’t know that having the police outside my room meant house arrest. It didn’t really bother me. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
    He shifted in his chair, glancing around the plain room. “How is your family taking the news? I suppose they’ll want to speak to someone at headquarters.”
    Carol knew he couldn’t have missed noticing the unusual makeup of her family the day of her parents’ arrival. She held her chin up, fighting the urge to become defensive.
    “My father called the head of the investigation this morning. He went over there this afternoon, but I haven’t heard from him.”
    “There may not be a lot they can tell him yet. He’ll probably want to speak with a lawyer first, anyway.”
    “Do you think I’ll need one?”
    Lee shifted again. He shouldn’t have said that. “I think it’s important for you to know what your rights are and what recourse is open to you, given what’s happened. Just to protect yourself.”
    She stared off into space for a second and nodded. “I’ll talk to my father. See what he thinks. But… I don’t see any need to make a fuss.”
    That surprised him. “You don’t,” he half stated, half asked.
    “Not yet,” Carol clarified. “The police don’t need that kind of publicity, and I don’t want it. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
    “Oh, yeah. But you might still get swept up in something.”
    Carol’s expression was reflective. “Not if I can help it,” she said softly.
    “Can I see?” Lee suddenly asked, wanting to get off the subject.
    “What?”
    “Are you sketching?” He reached for the pad and waited until Carol handed it to him.
    Lee looked at a line drawing of the old woman sitting watching TV. He briefly glanced in her direction and saw that she hadn’t moved an inch since he’d entered the room. To Lee she appeared to be hypnotized by the action on the screen. But Carol had seen much more. The pencil lines accurately captured the slope of the woman’s back, shoulders, and neck with their evidence of slight osteoporosis. Her hair had the wiry texture of the aged, her face lined and flaccid. Her expression was gentle and distant, and Lee studied the sketch long and hard because it seemed that Carol had sympathetically rendered not just a picture of an old woman but a likeness of someone who had lived a long and full life.
    He found Carol watching his reaction closely, but not as if she was anxious for his response or held any store by it.
    “You’re very good,” he said simply.
    “Thank you,” she whispered.
    “Are there more?”
    “A few.”
    Lee began to leaf slowly through the rest of the drawings. Neither spoke while he looked at the half dozen or so pictures. It was a diverse collection. One of a doctor bent over the counter of the nurses’ station. A picture of a small child sitting on the lounge floor entertaining himself with toys while two adults conversed in the background. What looked like an incomplete portrait of a man. Other studies included the flowers in her room, an old black man sleeping in a wheelchair in the hallway.
    She was very good.
    After a while he returned the book to her. “Outstanding. I’m impressed. My daughter likes art.