Striker nodded. That made sense.
‘Any return calls from Dr Richter?’ he asked.
‘None, Detective.’
‘And you have no idea when the doctor will be back?’
‘Next Monday, the book says.’
Monday. That figured.
Striker had had enough of waiting for doctors. He asked the receptionist for Dr Richter’s billing number. When he wrote it down in his notebook he saw that it was indeed the same number as on all the prescription pads. He thanked the receptionist for her time and hung up. He immediately called up the College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC, gave his badge number, and asked them to verify that the physician number did, in fact, exist. The clerk got back to him within seconds. ‘Yes,’ he said. And the name corresponded.
Dr Riley M. Richter.
There was no permanent clinic listed with the College of Physicians and Surgeons. No home address either. Just one contact number – the pager he already had.
Frustrated, he hung up. Frowned. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Another goddam headache was coming; he could feel it, right behind his eyes.
‘Tylenol?’ Felicia asked.
He ignored the offer. ‘Mandy Gill and Sarah Rose were both taking their SILC class—’
‘Social Independence and Life Coping skills.’
Striker nodded. ‘Yeah. Under the EvenHealth programme. I got that. Point is, they were both doing sessions there, along with Billy. Now the three of them are dead. Larisa was also taking therapy sessions at Mapleview, and from Dr Richter, who was writing all the prescriptions. Larisa is one of the links in all this. We’ve got to find her.’
Felicia touched his arm. ‘And we will find her, Jacob. I promise you that. But don’t lose focus here. This case is done. And it looks pretty straightforward.’
‘Does it?’ Striker asked.
‘It does to me. Billy Mercury was a delusional psychotic who had an obsession with Mandy Gill first, and then Sarah Rose. We don’t know all the details involved but we do know this – both women are now dead.’
‘And what about Larisa’s message?’ Striker asked.
‘We’ve already been over this. Larisa said she knew it was murder, yes, but her warning came after we’d been plastered all over the TV news. And even if she does know something about the murder, what she probably knows is that Billy was responsible. And that’s why she wanted to come forward. Now that she’s gone into hiding because of this mental health warrant, it’s kind of thrown a monkey wrench into everything. But it makes perfect sense – she doesn’t want to be institutionalized again.’
Striker thought this over before speaking. ‘And what about the palm print found on the fridge at Mandy Gill’s crime scene – it doesn’t match Billy’s.’
‘It doesn’t match anyone’s,’ Felicia reminded him. ‘And it’s just a partial print at that. It could belong to the former tenant, a guest of the former tenant. A squatter, even.’
Striker listened to every word she said.
‘It all makes sense,’ he admitted.
‘It does make sense. You’re just too close to Larisa to see that. You don’t want to see that. That’s why you’re having problems with closing the case.’
‘Not because of Larisa,’ he said, ‘but because there’s holes.’
‘What holes?’
Striker counted them off. ‘The videos, for one. Both Mandy Gill and Sarah Rose had their deaths filmed. I know it, you know it. And yet there was no video equipment inside Billy’s apartment. I looked for it.’
This didn’t sway Felicia one way or the other. ‘He’s obviously kept it somewhere else. We’ll check into it. Maybe he’s got a storage locker somewhere. Or a second pad. A safety deposit box. There’s a million places. We’ll do some foot work.’
Striker just nodded, but he didn’t like it. He couldn’t help feeling like this was just too easy. Too convenient. And more than that, he was worried for Larisa. Billy Mercury and the whole case aside, the woman needed professional help.
He was determined to get her that.
He took out his iPhone, logged into his Gmail account, and sent her a message. In the subject heading, he typed: URGENT!!! Then he worked out a few sentences:
Larisa, I know about the medical warrant. And the murders. We may have caught the person responsible. Can’t say more. You and I need to talk. Now. Please call me or email back ASAP. I’m here for you.
Striker
He sent the email, then put his iPhone on top of the dashboard and grabbed the remainder of his burger. He brought it to his mouth, found he couldn’t eat, and threw it in the bag. He sipped his coffee and watched the sky slowly turn a darker shade of purple. He wished to God there was something else he could do for the woman. He wished she would just get back to him.
But the minutes passed and his cell never rang.
Felicia finished her Filet-o-Fish and looked over at him. ‘Hey. You okay?’
Striker said nothing. He just looked at the world beyond the windshield and frowned. It looked like a cold and dark place out there. And to Larisa Logan, it was. He blamed himself for that. For not responding to her calls until it was too late.
It had been a terrible mistake.
Sixty-One
Sweat dampened the Adder’s body. He could feel it as he lay there on the cold hard concrete of the floor. Drips of sweat, sliding down his cheeks. Drips running down his neck. Down his back. Everywhere.
His heart was racing. And the more he thought of the woman detective surviving the attack, the worse his heart pounded.
No more, he thought.
Please, no more.
As if on cue, the bell rang. The high bell. Not the one that was low and resonated all through his chamber like the call of some ungodly demon – that was the one that summoned him to the Doctor’s office. No, this one was the sound of the angels. The chimes. And it told him he had done well today.
The Adder struggled to sit up. Wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. Looked daftly around the room.
Broken in two in the middle of the floor was a DVD. Try as he might, the Adder could not recall breaking it. His memory failed him. All he knew now was the lost feeling that filled his insides.
That terrible, terrible feeling of grieving.
The bell chimed again, this time twice. And the Adder knew it was time to go. The Doctor was alerting him, and as always it was best not to keep the Doctor waiting.
He climbed to his knees. Then to his feet. And made his way towards the ladder. He climbed the rungs numbly, mechanically, until he reached the hatch. As he undid the latch, a sense of surreal awareness came over him. It was time to play the part again. To put on his outer-world face. His mask. To become one with the facade of the upstairs world.
His reward was waiting.
Sixty-Two
When Striker’s iPhone went off on the car’s dashboard, he snatched it up like it was a bomb ready to go off, and read the screen. He was hoping to see Larisa’s name, or an email notification. Instead he saw the name Jim Banner across the display.
Striker hit the Talk button and put the phone to his ear.
‘Noodles,’ he acknowledged.
The technician sighed. ‘God, I hate that nickname.’
‘Just be happy you didn’t choke on Fish Balls. Now what do you have for me?’
‘How about another partial print, for starters?’
Striker leaned forward in the seat. ‘Where?’