Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [167]
A quiet double tap sounded at the door. Felder glanced at his watch: ten thirty precisely. Punctual. He rose and opened the door.
The apparition that stood in the doorway did little to relieve Felder’s misgivings. He was tall, thin, and immaculately dressed, his pallid skin a shocking contrast to the black suit. His eyes were as pale as his skin, and they seemed to regard Felder with a combination of keen discernment, mild curiosity, and—perhaps—just a little amusement.
Felder realized he was staring. “Come in, please,” he said quickly. “You’re Mr. Pendergast?”
“I am.”
Felder showed the man to one of the consultation seats and then took his place behind the desk. “I’m sorry, but it’s actually Dr. Pendergast, isn’t it? I took the liberty of looking into your background.”
Pendergast inclined his head. “I have two PhDs, but, frankly, I prefer my law enforcement title of special agent.”
“I see.” Felder had interviewed his share of cops, but never an FBI agent, and he wasn’t quite sure how to begin. The straightforward approach seemed as good as any.
“Constance Greene is your ward?”
“She is.”
Felder leaned back in his chair, casually throwing one leg over the other. He wanted to make sure he gave the impression of relaxation and informality. “I wondered if you could tell me a little more about her. Where she was born, what her early life was like… that sort of thing.”
Pendergast continued to regard him with the same neutral expression. For some reason Felder began to find it irritating.
“You are the committing psychiatrist in the case, are you not?” Pendergast asked.
“My evaluation was submitted as evidence at the involuntary-commitment hearing.”
“And you recommended commitment.”
Felder smiled ruefully. “Yes. You were invited to the court hearing, but I understand that you declined to—”
“What, precisely, was your diagnosis?”
“It’s rather technical—”
“Indulge me.”
Felder hesitated a second. “Very well. Axis One: schizophrenia of the paranoid type, continuous, with a possible premorbid Axis Two state of schizotypal personality disorder, along with psyphoria and indications of dissociative fugue.”
Pendergast nodded slowly. “And you base this finding on what evidence?”
“Simply put, on the delusion that she is Constance Greene: a girl who was born almost a century and a half ago.”
“Let me ask you something, Doctor. Within the context of her, ah, delusion, have you noticed any discontinuity or nonconformity?”
Felder frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Are her delusions internally consistent?”
“Beyond the belief that her child was evil, of course, her delusions have been remarkably consistent. That’s one of the things that interests me.”
“What has she told you, exactly?”
“That her family moved from an upstate farm to Water Street, where she was born in the early 1870s, that her parents died of tuberculosis and her sister was killed by a serial murderer. That she, an orphan, was taken in by a former resident of 891 Riverside Drive, about whom we have no record. That you ultimately inherited that house and, by extension, the responsibility for her well-being.” Felder hesitated.
Pendergast seemed to pick up on Felder’s hesitation. “What else did she say about me?”
“That your becoming her guardian was due to guilt.”
There was a silence.
“Tell me, Dr. Felder,” Pendergast asked at length. “Did Constance tell you of her existence between this earlier period and her very recent crossing on the ship?”
“No.”
“No details at all?”
“None.”
“Then I submit to you that, under a diagnosis of 295.30, schizotypal personality disorder cannot be assumed. At the very most, you should have specified a schizophreniform disorder for the Axis Two diagnosis. The fact is, Doctor, you have