𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

I smothered a frown in front of Mr. Bennett and stopped paces away from the elevator. Detective Spade and a tall woman with dark hair tumbling down her shoulders emerged from the elevator. She’s new. I’ve not seen her before. His partner? Possibly. Two detectives. This was serious.

My lingering concern grew when Mr. Bennett waved to me, saying, “I’ll see you around.”

Three of my patients were dead. I was starting to think the murders were connected. Looking at Mr. Bennett, my heart throbbed. What if he winded up like the rest? That was morbid, but could you blame me? Just then I remembered Mr. Bennett wasn’t my patient anymore. We had ended our professional relationship months ago. But that didn’t subside the anxiety I felt deep within me, which intensified when Detective Spade cast me a look.

I swallowed hard and brushed across my blouse, smoothening a crease. “Sure.”

I watched him walk past the two detectives and step inside the elevator. He smiled at me as the elevator slid close. I didn’t smile back. My view was blocked when Detective Spade and the woman halted in front of me.

“Good day, Dr. Newton,” Detective Spade greeted.

I glanced down at the stiff folder in his hand. The warrant. My pulse quickened. That was quick. They meant business. “Good day,” I said. “This way.”

I turned toward my office. They followed behind me, their footsteps thudding in my ears. I had thought he’d come alone. Why did he bring another detective?

I walked to my desk and tucked a couple of items away. “Please, have a seat.”

They ignored me and stood. I swung my eyes from the woman to Spade. Both had grim faces. Not welcoming. The woman was around my age. Thicker and taller than me. Years of training might have given her such a stature. I didn’t realize my fingers were trembling until I looked down. I willed myself to stay calm. Steady girl, you’ve got nothing to hide.

It didn’t help. Not when Detective Spade was pulling a document from the folder. I watched, my lips tightened as he placed the file on my desk.

“That’s your copy. You’re welcome to keep it.”

I looked at the file, my eyes moving across the sheet. I took everything in, making sure to understand what I was required to do. That way, I wouldn’t have to violate Rosalind’s privacy more than I had to.
The warrant said I was supposed to answer their questions to the best of my knowledge and surrender any file upon request. Not good. But there wasn’t anything I could do. Right now, I’d just cooperate and hope this would be our last meeting. Something in my gut—a nagging thought—told me this was only the beginning of something big.

I set the file aside and looked up. “What do you want to know?” My voice was pleasantly soft, and I wondered why I was mellowed all of a sudden when I disliked Detective Spade to the core.

He pulled the chair backward and sat down while his partner scanned my office. “Let’s continue from where we left off the other time. What were you treating Rosalind for?”

The sound of his voice made me sick. The look on his face wasn’t welcoming. I reminded myself once again there was a warrant, and I was under the authority of the court to answer their questions.

“She was in a toxic relationship. I was helping her realize it.”

“And how do you do that exactly?”

“Am I supposed to answer that?” I deadpanned, averting my eyes to his partner who stared right back at me, hoping she’d say something. At least tell him how I diagnosed my patients was unrelated to why they were in my office. I was met with utter silence. “I mean, that’s got nothing to do with Rosalind’s death.”

“I got you the warrant, Doc. Trust me, every question I ask is important.”

I heaved a sigh. “When a patient starts therapy with me, I ask a series of questions to get to know why they’re truly here. I don’t expect cooperation. It takes time for them to open up and let you in. After I gain their trust, they tell me things, and that’s how I get to know what’s bothering them.”

He bobbed his head. His eyes looked disinterested. “They tell you things, huh? What did Rosalind tell you?”

“About?”

“About her relationship that made you conclude it was toxic.”

I chose my next words very carefully. Even if Rosalind was dead, I still owed her some privacy, especially when we didn’t end our professional relationship. She never told her abuse to anyone, not even to her sister. Right now, I felt I was violating what she’d wanted me to do. To keep everything confidential. Legally, I was doing the right thing, helping the cops find her murderer. But my conscious wouldn’t stop tormenting me.

“She told me about her boyfriend, Lucas Cliffs.”

The expression on his face told me he didn’t know about him. But if they had her phone in possession, they should’ve seen the damning text messages.

“So you told her to break up with him?” he said accusatorially.

“No. That’s a very acerbic way of putting it, you know,” I snapped.

“No offence, but isn’t that what you do for a living?” Lines appeared on his forehead. “Ruin people’s relationship?”

At this point, I couldn’t stand his accusations anymore. He’d accused me of holding back information. Now this?

“I don’t ruin people’s relationships, detective,” I corrected, the lilt of my voice waning. I was determined to cooperate and help them find this killer, but now I had cold feet about it. “I don’t even tell my patients what to do. They make their own decisions based on our interactions. That’s how it works.”

He snorted. “I’m sure Rosalind did. Tell us something about the boyfriend.”

My lips refused to move. I didn’t want to talk. Then my eyes fell on the warrant. “You know his name. What you don’t know is, he’s abusive... verbally. Rosalind was scared of him.”

I remembered our many sessions where she’d told me Lucas was always accusing her of having an affair.

“Our last session, she was going to break up with him,” I continued. “I didn’t hear from her again until I received a call from the cops.”

He clucked his tongue. “If you knew your patient was in danger around her partner, why didn’t you report it?”

My fingers trembled again. I moved my hand from the desk and tugged my slacks. I could’ve broken my confidentiality if I thought Rosalind was in grave danger around Lucas. Could I have done something to save Rosalind? Was this my fault? Well, Detective Spade was making it clear I hadn’t tried hard enough.

“I didn’t think he’d try and kill her. That’s if he did kill her.”

“We’ll need Lucas’ home address,” he said.

“I can get that for you.”

He stood and I couldn’t hide the excitement of knowing they’d be leaving soon, which dropped when his partner sat on the same chair. Goodness, they’re not done!

She offered me a big smile. “Hi, Dr. Avery. I’m Detective Jane Meredith. We haven’t met before, but I’ve seen you on TV.” She giggled. “Big fan of yours.”

I couldn’t smile. Detective Spade had ruined my mood. I just nodded. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

“I want to ask you a few questions. It’s not about your dead patient.”

That was alarming. I thought they were here because of Rosalind. “All right,” I murmured.

“We think the murders are connected,” she said, her eyes fixated on me. “And you’re the connection.”

“If you’re also going to treat me like a suspect, then I should get a lawyer,” I said, glaring at Detective Spade. “Your partner already accused me of hiding something, which is absurd because all I want is for the murders to stop.”

Her eyes widened as she turned and cast a look at her partner, and then she faced me. “No. We don’t think you’re a suspect. We think you’re a target.”

The hairs on my hands stiffened. A cold wind wafted into my office, rustling the warrant. I placed a styrofoam cup on it. “A target?”

“Yes. The victims themselves aren’t connected. You’re the one connecting them. And the killer is murdering them because of you.”

My brows arched. I stared blankly at her face, then let out, “What are you saying? Why would anyone in their right mind kill someone because of me?”

“Vendetta. These murders are motivated by someone who isn’t happy with you. Tell me, doc. Have you pissed anyone off recently?”

Taken aback, I replied, “Not that I know of. I can’t think of anyone.” I stood slowly and walked to the window.

“You need to think harder. If what I’m saying is true, then the killer isn’t goin’ to stop until—” She trailed away.

I turned around swiftly and looked at her. “Until what?”

“They get to you,” she whispered.

“My life’s in danger?” The words slipped out before I gave it a thought.

“It’s just a hunch we’re pursuing. If you give us a name, we can neutralize this threat. A disgruntled patient? Coworker? Friends? Somebody. Anybody.”

“I don’t have friends, and none of my coworkers would be insane enough to embark on such a twisted revenge journey.”

“That leaves us with your patients then,” Meredith said, “can you recall having a patient who made you feel threatened?”

I paced around the space surrounding my desk. Which patient would do this to me? All my past patients were harmless. Emotionally disturbed men and women but sane. I hadn’t encountered a violent patient yet. In all my years as a therapist, I hadn’t felt threatened by my patients. Then it clicked. I remembered, but that wasn’t possible.

Meredith was staring at my face when I glanced up. “Looks like we’ve got a name.”

“Yes, but it’s not possible.”

“Why?” Meredith asked, her voice anxious.

“Because she’s in rehab.”