Blind Spot (Blind Justice Book 1) Read online

  BLIND SPOT

  By Adam Zorzi

  BLIND SPOT

  Copyright © 2016 by Adam Zorzi.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: November 2016

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-886-6

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-886-9

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Ai fantasmi di Richmond

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

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  CHAPTER ONE

  July

  “New details have emerged in the murder of a nurse at Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital in Petersburg, Virginia. Monday afternoon, Nurse Richard Bonham, forty-three, of Dinwiddie County, was killed during a session with a patient. The suspect's name has not been released.”

  The serious young reporter obviously couldn't access the hospital grounds. He stood at the gated entrance with a 3D map projected on the TV screen.

  “As you can see, the hospital is a sprawling campus. The forensic hospital, which is the only one in the state, is housed in a secure freestanding building. It's where defendants who are awaiting competency hearings reside as well as those persons found Not Guilty of crimes by Reason of Insanity or NGRI.”

  Mug shots of patients who had spent time there for competency evaluations scrolled across the screen. The most famous was Lorena Bobbitt, who was acquitted of cutting off her cheating husband's penis while he slept.

  “Although lead investigator, Lieutenant Douglas Winston of the Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigation, has not spoken publicly about details of the crime, this station has obtained an exclusive interview with a hospital staff member who asked not to be identified.

  “The staffer said the murder occurred when Nurse Bonham attempted to restrain a twenty-two-year-old female patient. The patient, who remains anonymous, was being put in restraints for multiple violations of hospital regulations when she allegedly strangled Nurse Bonham with a white cotton bra. The patient denies any involvement in the murder. She claims a ghostly young woman strangled Nurse Bonham.

  “According to the patient, the ghost said she had died from extreme cruelty at Commonwealth Psychiatric. Her doctor prohibited her restraint because she had epilepsy. Use of restraint during a seizure could be fatal. Nevertheless, the ghost said she'd been secured to a bed in five-point restraints and left unattended in a locked seclusion room for forty-eight hours. She died of asphyxiation during a seizure. Her motive in killing Nurse Bonham is believed to be protection of this patient from a similar fate.

  “Sources who were on the scene immediately following Nurse Bonham's death say the patient was the only occupant of the treatment room. No one reported seeing a ghostly woman.

  “I spoke with our own medical correspondent, Dr. Charlene Branch, who said hallucinations and delusions are not unusual for patients in the forensic unit. Such patients suffer psychotic episodes in which they may violently act out. Dr. Branch is not involved in this case, so she cannot comment as to whether the patient suffered such an episode and killed Nurse Bonham.”

  An array of fuzzy images of purported ghost sightings of female residents at the hospital were shown.

  “As most of our viewers know, Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as Commonwealth Lunatic Asylum, was established in 1869 as an institution for African-Americans of unsound mind. It was opened to all races in 1967. The hospital has a long history of suspected hauntings and paranormal sightings. The chapel, which is the oldest section of the hospital, is on the National Register of Historic Places.

  Back to you…”

  ***

  Dan turned off the TV on the kitchen counter where he was helping his wife load the dishwasher.

  “I hate when he does that revisionist history. He made it sound like Virginia was at the cutting edge of mental health care, devoting an entire hospital to African-American psychiatric care. The place was built after the Civil War for freed slaves who had TB, epilepsy, and nowhere else to go. It was called Commonwealth Lunatic Asylum for Colored Insane and segregated until the Civil Rights Act forced it to integrate.”

  “Whatever it's called, I feel sorry for that poor man,” said Jill. “I read that he had a wife and twin boys. What an awful way to die.”

  “What about that poor patient? Can you imagine being in five-point restraints? For forty-eight hours? If you weren't insane, you would be after treatment like that.”

  Jill shivered. “I think it's tragic for all of them. I don't want to hear anymore news reports about it.”

  Dan softened. “I don't either. I'll make sure to turn it off if they keep up intense coverage. I'm glad Katie is at camp and not here, where she could see it on TV. The whole episode is gruesome.”


  “She might not think so. She loves those vampire romance books. I think we have the only kid in the universe who isn't taken with Harry Potter. I don't want to discourage her from reading, but I wish she'd try something else.”

  “She's fine. She knows vampires aren't real.”

  “I think they're awfully gory for a nine-year-old.” Jill frowned.

  “Hey, I grew up with Friday night horror night on TV—The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Rob, of course, tried to scare me even more by saying most parts were true or making me jump at just the right moment. I could barely sleep on Friday nights.” Dan moved to stand directly behind Jill, put his hands around her waist, and swept her shoulder length brown black hair aside to nuzzle her neck. “It's Friday night. Know any reason why I might not be get to sleep immediately?”

  “Too much exercise right before sleep?” She turned around and kissed him in a way that let him know she was interested in exercise.

  “I'm in,” said Dan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  November

  “Hey, Norm. Norman Rockwell,” shouted the driver of a silver Porsche Boxter that glided to a stop on the quiet, residential street. He stuck his tanned arm out and motioned for Dan to come over. His expensive gold watch caught the glint of the morning sun.

  Dan jogged across the lawn to the car. “What's up?” said Dan to his former neighbor.

  “Man, I just had to stop and say how sick you are.”

  “Why?” Dan rested his hands on the driver's side door of the idling convertible. It was an elegant machine. He got a blast of heavy sandalwood cologne he could have done without.

  “It's Thanksgiving Day morning. I just dropped my kids off to spend the weekend with their mother and her latest boyfriend, going to the gym because I've got nowhere else to go, and boom! I round the traffic circle and see you jumping in piles of leaves in your front yard with your hot wife, your kid, and even your dog. Your life is friggin' perfect.”

  Dan laughed. “Thanks, I guess.” He looked over his shoulder at his house and family. Picture perfect. They lived in an older neighborhood of spacious lots and mature trees in Henrico County just outside Richmond, Virginia. Pumpkins lined the brick steps to their front door where husks of Indian corn hung instead of a wreath. One side of the lawn had been cleared of fallen leaves. The other was filled with leaves where his wife and daughter were screeching with laugher as they fell back into the hollow, crunchy piles. Abbie, their black Schnauzer mix, barked and ran around the circle of leaves. Yes. It did look perfect.

  “Don't screw it up,” he said before he lowered his sunglasses, put the car in gear, and vroomed out of the neighborhood.

  Jill walked to the curb and took Dan's hand. “How does he fit three kids into that two-seater?”

  “I don't think he intended it to be a family car.”

  Jill looked disgusted. “What did he want?”

  “Just to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving,” he said before he slung his arm around her shoulder and walked toward the house.

  CHAPTER THREE

  That afternoon, Dan sat on his bed. Despite the happy “Normal Rockwell” morning, he was stalling. Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday, but this year he dreaded the family dinner. Even the peaceful surroundings of the pale peach bed, white furniture, and large, sunlit windows in the master bedroom didn't comfort him.

  He seemed to be the only one in the family who minded that this would be the last gathering in his childhood home where his parents had lived for more than fifty years. His older brother might remember his parents' starter house, but he didn't.

  Dan's parents planned to move to a two-bedroom villa in Boynton Beach in January. They talked a lot about getting rid of baggage—he cringed at that word—and enjoying good weather year round. Dan's dad said he didn't want to climb stairs anymore. He wanted to play golf and live in a low maintenance house. His mom loved the idea of a smaller place with a pool and a clubhouse.

  “Dan,” said Jill as she came into the bedroom putting in her earring. “You're not ready. We don't want to be late.”

  She walked around the bed to where he sat staring at nothing. She sat next to him. “What's wrong, Dan? It's not like you to be down on Thanksgiving Day. Is Mørk coming?” she asked using the nickname for the depressive episodes he suffered. It was a shortened version of the Norwegian Mørketid or Dark Night.

  He nodded and took her hand. “I keep hoping they'll change their mind and not move to Florida. I love having Thanksgiving with my parents. I like the intimacy of a small family. Mom and Dad, Rob and Suzanne, and us. All safe. All healthy. All under one roof.”

  “It's pretty great and not at all like stuffy formal dinners with my parents.” She reached to stop a tear falling on his cheek. “Dan, your parents want to move. They don't need to maintain a big house. They want a small place in the sun near their friends. You can't object to that.”

  “I do. Why can't they continue to rent during the winter months? They've been snow birds for the past few years.”

  She squeezed his hand. “They've made a decision. The house they've rented all these years became available for sale and they bought it. We can't interfere. In some ways, they're doing you and Rob a great favor.”

  Favor. What was she talking about? How did moving nine hundred miles from their granddaughter become a favor?

  “Your dad is pragmatic. He wants the house sold, the furniture gone, and their personal keepsakes chosen. He doesn't want you and Rob to have to act in a rush if something should change in their health.”

  She was pissing him off. Dan stood. “There's nothing wrong with my parents. They're healthy,” he insisted. “They're not going to die or need assisted living anytime soon.”

  Jill stood, too, but she didn't touch him. “They might need assisted living one day.” She handed him his socks and shoes. “Your dad's thinking ahead. He's a planner just like you. He prepares for the worst and hopes for the best. In the meantime, he wants to play some kick-ass golf with his buddies. Be happy for them.”

  He managed a smile. “I'll try. At least Katie has what I did. Memories of Thanksgiving with her parents and at least one set of grandparents.”

  “And she's going to have another one today.

  “Thank you for reminding me. I don't want to spoil her day.” Dan kissed Jill lightly. “You're my sunny day.”

  “I love you, too. Let's go.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dan savored the meal of comfort food and smell of a burning fire drifting from the living room. Conversation swirled around him, but he didn't participate. He was content to sit back and enjoy snippets of familiar topics—Rob's analysis of the University of Virginia Cavalier's bowl game prospects and grousing about his Homeowners Association, his sister-in-law Suzanne's upcoming holiday concert schedule as a cellist with the Richmond Symphony Orchestra as well as her string quartet and solo gigs, Dad's redirection of any topic headed toward politics or controversy, and Mom's delight in her granddaughter. Jill went with the flow and added a dash of cheer as needed.

  He dreaded any mention of his parents' upcoming move. They'd made that decision without consulting their sons. Rob didn't seemed bothered by it. Of course, Rob and Suzanne's sons each had eighteen years of gatherings in this house. Katie only had ten. The decision weighed heavily on Dan. It mystified and infuriated him.

  “No holiday performances for me this year until the first week of December,” Suzanne was saying. “Last year, the RSO wanted to start Messiah concerts the day after Thanksgiving and play three concerts that weekend. Even though we're not unionized, the orchestra members unanimously refused. Thanksgiving is ruined if we want to be with our families or travel. I don't believe people want to hear Christmas music on the heels of Thanksgiving.”

  “I don't either, Suzanne,” said Jill. “I love Christmas, but I like fall best of all. I want to make it last as long as it can. No Christmas decorations until after December fifteenth.” She smiled at Dan
, who would postpone them until Christmas Eve if he could. “Suzanne, the table decorations are beautiful. I can't believe you can make all these things grow at home. I'm happy we have grass.” Jill eyed the centerpiece with orange lilies, dahlias, and greenery as well as other freshly cut autumnal flowers in small vases around the living and dining rooms.

  “And she makes beeswax candles,” added Rob with a nod to his wife. Fat yellow candles on wooden pillars cast soft golden light across the ecru linen table cloth.

  “I have a high bar. The table decorations have to live up to Selma's cooking.” She smiled at her mother-in-law. “There were some new dishes this year, I noticed.”

  “Great food, as always, Mom.” Rob snuck another roll from the linen covered bread basket.

  Selma laughed. “I can't take credit for the new additions. Jill made them.”

  “I certainly did. With a little help from Kaitlyn and, thankfully, none from Dan,” laughed Jill. “Our specialties are the spinach soufflé, baked whole yams with marshmallows, and cranberry relish. Thanks for the compliment, Rob.”

  Selma sighed. “Both of my daughters-in-law are so talented. Suzanne, you're a gifted cellist working all kinds of hours and wonderful gardener. Jill, you work, cycle like a demon, and make beautiful quilts. I can't believe someone so athletic can sit still long enough to quilt.”

  “It's soothing, gives me a creative outlet, and let's my mind wander. Cycling requires concentration.”

  “How did you learn to quilt?” asked Suzanne.

  “My sisters and I learned from our grandmother. My mother thinks quilting and sewing can be done by seamstresses. Needlepoint, on the other hand, is an art and the mark of a real southern lady.”

  “Mom, am I a real southern lady?” asked Katie.

  “No, I think you're a modern woman.”