C 𝐡 𝐚 𝐩 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫  𝟑

     Detective Meredith filled the styrofoam cup with coffee and stood upright, then turned away from the machine, walking across the long hallway to one of the offices in the police precinct. She brought the cup to her thin lips and took a sip.

     A uniformed officer walked past her with a wide grin stretching across his face. “Hi, Meredith. How’s your arm?”

     She smiled back. “Better. Thanks, Tom.”

     “Don’t mention. I’ll see you around.”

     “Sure.” She increased her steps to the end of the hallway and then veered left. The door was ajar. Her ponytail swinging behind her back, she crossed the threshold into the big office and neared the desk.

     Detective Spade sat in a chair, his eyes glued to crime scene photos.

     “How did it go with the Doc?” Meredith asked, handing him the cup.

     He bent down, blew over the beverage, and took a sip. “Well, she demanded to see a warrant, so it didn’t go well. She’s not cooperating.”

     Meredith sat slowly in the chair across from him. “Can’t say I blame her. She’s doing her job.”

     His face crinkled into a frown. Depositing the coffee on the desk, he said, “Oh, come on, Meredith. The person’s deceased.”

     “It still doesn’t change the fact she’s bound by a code of ethics.”

     He glared at her. “You know something? You sound just like her.” He shook his head. “I hate shrinks.”

     Meredith giggled. “Tell her that when you see her.” She finished the coffee and tossed the cup into the trash can.

     Spade scoffed. “I will.”

     Meredith glanced at the photos, picking one and perusing it. “What have we got so far?”

     Spade passed a hand through his hair. “Three murders in the past months,” he replied and fingered the photo she was studying. “Our first vic, Mallory Blake, was stabbed multiple times in her house on February twelve. It was a silent kill. No witnesses. None of her neighbors heard her scream, which makes me believe the killer knew the vic. There was no sign of forced entry too.

     “Then we’ve got Cameron Caldwell. A thirty-three-year-old married man living in Beverley Grove.” He leaned forward and tapped on the grotesque photo of Cameron submerged in a bathtub. His bloated eyes stared into the void.

     “Cause of death was drowning,” he said and then went for the last photo. “Our recent victim was Rosalind Danvers. Twenty-four years old. Daughter of elite suburbanites Mr. and Mrs. Danvers. She was killed brutally in her house. Cause of death was gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen.”

     Meredith replaced the photo and picked another, turning it at different angles. “Rosalind had defense marks on her hands and arms. She tried to escape from her killer but got caught.” She dropped it. “You think we’ve got a serial killer on the loose?”

     “Not sure.” He pulled open a drawer and brought out a file, then flipped through.

     “All three victims were killed using different methods,” Meredith said. “Three people whose paths wouldn’t have crossed in any way. The victimology doesn’t quite add up. The killer isn’t sticking to one MO.”

     “Exactly. Three disparate people, killed in different ways and the only connection is one woman,” Spade said, then scratched his temple. “Dr. Avery Newton.”

     A silence fell. Meredith reclined in the chair. A while later, she moved forward and assembled the photos, moving her eyes across each one of them. “What do you make of the doctor?” she asked, looking up from the photos.

“I think she’s hiding something.”

“Could she have killed her clients?” Meredith said.

“Unlikely. Assuming she had something to do with their deaths, what’s her motive?”

“Serial killers don’t always need a reasonable motive. Some kill for the sake of killing. Take Teddy. He killed at least thirty women just for the thrill of it. The only reason why a therapist will go on a killing spree is if she’s psychotic, and Dr. Newton is very rational. She couldn’t have killed her clients. If she’s hiding something, then they aren’t the answers we’re searching for.”

     “You’ve not met her before. How do you know she’s rational?” Spade questioned.

     “I’ve seen her a couple of times on TV. She’s good and very beautiful too. She knows her stuff.”

     Spade smirked. “Don’t tell me she got into your head with her shit.”

     Meredith scoffed. “Oh, so you watch her too. Gotcha! I thought you said you hated shrinks.”

     “Yeah. That wouldn’t change. I’ve seen her on TV too, and what she talks about is bullshit. I don’t believe in relationship therapists. They’re a bunch of cons who make money from listening to emotionally debilitated people.”

     “Whoa!” Meredith exclaimed. “That’s a hell of an accusation. Shrinks would be pissed to hear you say this, you know.”

     He shrugged. “I don’t care!”

     Meredith rested her hands on the desk and stared blankly at Spade with a mischievous grin.

     He turned his attention away from the file. His eyes met with Meredith’s, who still hadn’t broken her act. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

     “Just curious,” she murmured, “after Irene ditched you, have you been in any other relationship?”

     “That’s none of your business, Meredith. I don’t doubt you still hang out with big fat Joe.”

     “At least I’ve got company,” she said, smiling. “I think you should see Dr. Avery. Who knows?” She withdrew her hands. “You too might end up dating.”

     “Geez! Are you drunk? That’s never happening!”

     “Why not? She’s blonde and pretty. The type of girls you date.” Lowering her voice, she said, “She’s single too.” She winked at him. “Just give it a try.”

     “I’m not goin’ to date a suspect in what looks like a serial murder.”

     Meredith went silent. “Wait,” she murmured, pushing closer. “You said Dr. Avery is the only connection in the three murders?”

     “Yeah.” Spade looked inquiringly at her. “What’s on your mind?”

     “What if this isn’t about the victims?”

     “Elucidate.”

     “Maybe the victims aren’t the targets of this killer, and that’s why he’s not sticking to one modus operandi. The killer’s main target might be Dr. Avery, and he or she is murdering her clients for unknown reasons.”

     “That’s ol’ school. So, if I got it right, you’re saying this killer is murdering people to get even with Dr. Avery?”

     “Exactly my point. It’s just a hunch. It explains why the victims are random people with zero connections whatsoever,” Meredith said, arranging the photos. “Dr. Avery surely pissed someone off. And if I’m correct, she’s going to be a victim very soon.”

     “So there’s no deranged serial killer on the loose we’ve got to worry about?”

     “Nope.” Meredith stood and grabbed the jacket across the desk. “There’s only one connection and it’s the therapist. The warrant should be in by tomorrow. Let’s go see this doctor.”

     “What if we’re wrong?”

     “Then we’ll pursue another lead, but right now my gut is telling me these murders are motivated and very premeditated by a sane individual whom Dr. Avery pissed one way or the other.”

     “All right. I will see you tomorrow.”

     “Tomorrow,” she said and started toward the door.

     “My regards to Joe. Tell him it’s high time he came to see your mom. You guys are wasting too much time dating.”

     “Sure. He’ll only come if you agree to see Dr. Avery. I can link you guys up.”

     Spade crumbled a paper and threw it at her.  It hit her back. She stopped momentarily, bent down, and picked it up. Lifting a hand, she hurled at him, and he caught it.

     “You got lucky. I’ll see you later.” She walked to the door and paced out, closing it.

     “Yeah, sure. Later.” Spade sighed and fell back on the chair.