Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

cause that much of it.”
    Temporary Jane put her hands over her eyes because the tears had started again. “What if I killed someone and I don’t remember?”
    They were interrupted by the arrival of a tray full of stainless steel covers and the smell of toast. Covers were removed, revealing a bowl of oatmeal, pats of butter, small containers of milk and orange juice. Coffee.
    “I hate oatmeal, and I don’t drink milk.” She buttered her toast.
    “What do you eat?” Rachel Hirsch asked. She pulled over a chair and sat down.
    “Bagels and black coffee.”
    “Where do you get your bagels? H & H?”
    Temporary Jane savored the buttered toast, her hands shaking. “Never! They put sugar in their bagels.”
    “I didn’t know that. So where do you go for bagels?”
    “Zabar’s.” Jane paused, hand halfway to her mouth.
    Rachel Hirsch smiled. “Yes. You see. It’s coming back. In all probability you live on the Upper West Side. The most important thing is to relax and try not to be afraid.”
    “I’ll try, but I can’t stand feeling so ... so ... helpless.” She took a sip of the coffee. “This is terrible coffee.”
    “I’m afraid you’re right.”
    “How am I going to pay for all this?”
    “Don’t think about it. You probably have some kind of insurance, and if you don’t, we will absorb it. It’s the law in this state.”
    “That’s a relief. Did I have shoes?”
    “Yes, but they were sodden. They’ll be of no use to you.”
    “Sodden? Blood?”
    “That and snow, too. I’ll get you some booties.”
    Temporary Jane waited until the door closed, then she got to her feet, gingerly, and padded to the door. She opened it just a crack. Fairly quiet. Where were the other patients? A man wandered by in pajama bottoms, a hospital robe hanging open. Hairy belly, barefoot. He was talking to himself. He looked crazy. She shut the door.
    What did she look like? She became aware of her own hair, touching it. It was long, falling over her shoulders in what felt like straggles and snarls. There were no mirrors on the walls. No paintings. It come thundering down on her: this was the psychiatric floor. She could feel the panic building again, short erratic breaths.
    “Here we are.” Dr. Hirsch was back carrying a pair of green booties. She set them on the table near the bed. “Your shoes were black patent leather with fabric bows. Nice shoes. You have good taste.”
    Jane felt her breathing moderate. “They’re Ferragamos. That’s what I wear.”
    “Do you feel up to finishing our interview?”
    She nodded, walking around the room, her energy askew. Pausing, she said, “Do you want me to sign that paper?”
    “Yes.” Rachel Hirsch took some folded papers from the pocket of her white coat and put them on the table next to the tray. She handed Jane her pen. “You are signing yourself in.”
    The pen was heavy in her hand. She didn’t move, except to rock back and forth slightly. “Just like that?”
    “Until you know your name and where you live, or—” she smiled “—someone in your family takes custody.”
    “What do I sign? Make an X?”
    “Sign in as Jane Doe. Go easy on yourself. When you feel the anxiety coming, take deep breaths.”
    She signed the papers. “What if my memory never comes back?”
    “It will and sooner rather than later.” Dr. Hirsch took the papers and put them in her pocket, hooked the pen to the breast pocket of her coat. “I’ll see what we can come up with in the way of clothing, okay?”
    “Okay. And a comb and a mirror, too, please.” She-who-was-now-Jane watched Rachel Hirsch leave, then she scurried to the door and once more opened it a crack. An elderly man passed by wearing normal clothes. Was he a visitor?
    Voices came to her from beyond the door.
    “You’re Dr. Hirsch?” a woman said.
    “Yes. You wanted to see me?”
    “I’m Detective Holly Hogan. I want to talk to your Jane Doe.”

6
    H OLLY H OGAN was a hefty woman, and tall, her sturdy body forced into clothing that looked a size or two small. She wore pants that stopped at the ankle, thick-soled running shoes, a bulky sweater, and a navy, quilted down vest. Her light brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She dwarfed the chair.
    “Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” She gave Jane a reassuring smile and reached into an inside pocket.
    “If I don’t know who I am and what happened to me, how can I answer your questions?” Irritated, Jane focused on Holly Hogan’s