Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [107]
“Eat eat eat eat eat,” Benny singsonged, holding out his first concoction for Karen.
The head nurse took it from him, smiling her thanks.
“Eat eat eat eat eat.”
D.D. watched in fascination as Karen swallowed an honest-to-God spoonful, smile never slipping from the nurse manager’s face. Benny clapped his hands in glee. Jamal finally crawled out from beneath the other table to join the party.
In no time, Karen had him set up with his own fruit-smashing project. Then the nurse manager summoned another staff member to take over the table, freeing herself to join D.D. in the hallway.
“Whatever they’re paying you, it’s not enough,” D.D. told Karen.
The nurse smiled faintly. “Trust me, I’ve been fed worse.”
“But you ate it. Can’t you fake your way out of something like that?”
“Do you have kids, Sergeant?”
“No.”
“Well, someday, if you do, you’ll understand.”
Dismissive and curt. D.D. warmed to the challenge. “Your place or mine?” D.D. asked, gesturing to either the Admin area or down the hall, where D.D.’s team had set up shop. Karen arched a brow, no doubt tempted to remind D.D. that, technically, it was all Karen’s. But finally, the administrator sighed, and pointed to her own office area. She located the key on the lanyard around her neck and opened the door. D.D. followed.
“How long have you known Lightfoot?” D.D. asked as they entered the cramped warren of rooms. Karen led her back to a tiny staff room, where they could both have a seat at a table.
“Two years.”
Consistent. “How’d you meet him?”
“Parents of a child who came to stay. Their son liked to capture bullfrogs, stick firecrackers in their mouths, and light the fuses. He also enjoyed covering the walls of their home with pictures of his mother being killed in various manners. It was amazing the level of detail he could capture using only red crayons.”
Also consistent. “How old was the child?” D.D. asked, curious.
“Ten.”
“Scary.”
Karen shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. The boy, however, was not responding to medication and the parents were frantic. So they brought in Andrew. I was initially skeptical, but Andrew was calm and courteous, respectful of our staff and the other kids. And I have to say, within three weeks we noticed a marked improvement in the boy’s behavior. Incidents that previously would’ve thrown him into a rage were greeted with more tolerance. We’d see the child tense up, but then he’d mumble, ‘Find the light, seven hugs from seven angels.’ He’d relax, a remarkable feat for a child with his level of psychosis. Naturally, I started to ask Andrew about his work. As did many of our doctors.”
“What do they think?” D.D. asked.
“Most of them have no issues with it. Medicine is already starting to note the role of love and laughter in the recovery process. It’s not so much of a stretch to acknowledge that faith and spirituality can also make a difference.”
“Angels healed a troubled kid?”
Karen smiled. “Do you know everything there is to know about the cosmos? Because if you do, you’re a smarter woman than I, Sergeant.”
D.D. scowled at her. “How many of your kids has Andrew worked with?”
“You’d have to ask him. I rarely refer his services; mostly, other parents do.”
“Sounds like he worked with the Harringtons.”
Karen didn’t say anything.
“Danielle implied that he interfered with your care of their son, recommending that Ozzie be discharged before the docs thought he was ready.”
Karen shrugged. “It was a gray area. Ozzie was definitely improved. I would’ve liked more time to ensure his recent changes in behavior stuck, but they felt it was more important to get him back to a home environment. There was logic to both sides of the argument. Now, for the record, Ozzie never bounced back here. So I have to believe that the Harringtons’ approach worked for their son. Andrew worked for their son.”
“The Harringtons were murdered.”
“By the father, I thought.”
“We’re not sure of that.”
Karen faltered for the first time, hands dropping to the table, blinking behind her wire-rimmed glasses.