Master bedroom, Striker deemed.
He waited patiently as the footsteps grew louder, until Dr Ostermann appeared at the top of the stairs. Even from a floor away, the beads of sweat on the man’s skin were noticeable, as was the heavy breathing of his chest. His dark eyes were acute and flitted constantly around the foyer, even if his body moved lethargically. He took one step down the mahogany staircase and, upon seeing Striker, came to a sudden stop.
‘Detective,’ he said. He could not hide the surprise in his voice. ‘This is rather . . . unexpected.’
‘You and I need to talk.’
Dr Ostermann nodded slowly. ‘Need to talk . . . Well, yes, of course. Why don’t you drop by tomorrow morning and we—’
‘Not tomorrow. Now,’ Striker said.
He closed the door behind him.
Seventy-One
For some reason, the library was excessively hot and humid. Hot air blew in from the furnace ducts all around the room, strong and steady. Striker closed one of the vents with the toe of his shoe. As he looked around the room, he saw the Ostermann family’s photographs on the mantel once more. Staring back at him were the pictures of Lexa and Dalia, Dr Ostermann and Gabriel. The first time Striker had come here, something about these pictures had bothered him. At the time, he didn’t know what.
Now he understood.
It was the smiles. Each one near perfect, as if carved into their faces. But there were signs within those expressions of other emotions. The fear in Lexa Ostermann’s eyes; the hollowness in Dalia’s stare; and the way that Gabriel looked back, eyes acute and focused, the smile on his lips never causing a wrinkle near his eyes or brow.
It was all plastic.
Only the doctor looked truly happy, his smile stretching his goatee across his face. The rest of the family looked like they were all wearing masks. Striker wondered what was behind each one. As he considered this, Dr Ostermann stepped into the room behind him. His face looked tired and his slumped posture was no different.
‘This is about Billy again, I would presume.’
Striker gestured towards the picture of Dalia. ‘She’s a beautiful girl.’
Dr Ostermann nodded, almost hesitantly. ‘She is that. She is also stubborn and defiant and complicated.’
‘How is her hearing?’
The doctor blinked. ‘Her hearing? Why, it’s fine, as far as I’m aware. Why do you ask?’
‘Because she ran out of here like a bat outta hell, covering her ears. So I’m thinking either she’s been hearing things she doesn’t like, or there’s a problem with her ears.’
Dr Ostermann’s face turned slightly pink. ‘What are you here for, Detective?’
‘I came here to discuss some . . . oddities that keep popping up with Billy’s case, but then when Dalia came racing out of the front door, I reconsidered.’
‘I can assure you, Detective, you do not need to worry about Dalia.’
‘I think I do.’ Striker took a step closer to Dr Ostermann and gazed at the side of the man’s neck. At the crimson bands in his flesh. ‘Where’d you get those marks?’
Dr Ostermann’s face reddened further. ‘I hardly think that’s any of your business.’
‘Then we got a problem here, because I do think it’s my business. In fact, I think it’s my duty.’ Striker took his hands from his coat pockets and explained. ‘I got a girl racing out of here like the house is on fire, and I got you with marks up your neck and back, moving about with the sensitivity of a burn victim. All in all, it makes me ask myself: is everyone here all right?’
For a moment, Dr Ostermann’s eyes took on a strange, panicked look, and Striker half expected the man to run. Or maybe even attack. But the doctor did none of this. Dr Ostermann took a long look at him, as if to compose his thoughts, and then let out a jovial laugh.
‘You think I’m abusing my family?’ he asked.
‘It crossed my mind.’
Dr Ostermann finally stopped chuckling, and when he did all humour left his face. ‘You are quite the investigator, Detective Striker.’ He pulled his collar away from his neck, so that Striker could better see the marks. ‘It’s called shingles.’
‘Shingles?’
‘Yes. Brought on by the herpes zoster virus. I’m sure you’ve heard of it before – the chicken pox virus.’ When Striker said nothing back, Dr Ostermann continued. ‘It usually only comes out when a person is at their weakest. Which, I guess, would make it my own fault. I’ve been working weeks of sixty and seventy hours for half a year now. Stress at Mapleview; stress at Riverglen – it’s no wonder my body has become run-down. And then all the drama that was happening with Billy – well, I guess that was all it took to put me over the edge.’
‘Shingles,’ Striker said again.
Dr Ostermann nodded slowly. ‘It’s been a very unpleasant two days now. I have marks down my neck and back and waist – and I can hardly move. Even showering is painful.’
Striker said nothing back as he thought this over. ‘And Dalia?’ he asked.
Dr Ostermann sighed. ‘Fighting her mother – as usual. Which is why I was upstairs in the first place. They’re too much alike, those two, and when they get like that, it’s best to just leave them alone. Retreat to a place of solace.’
‘And where is your wife now then?’
‘In the bath, I would think. She was drawing one when I heard the doorbell.’ Dr Ostermann gave Striker a long look before sighing. ‘If you insist, I can get her out of the tub to come down here and talk to you.’
Striker ignored the comment and focused the conversation back on other matters. ‘How long were you treating Mandy for?’
Dr Ostermann raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re changing subjects, I see. How long did I treat Mandy Gill for? I’m not sure. A couple of years, I would think.’
‘And Sarah Rose?’
‘About the same.’
‘What about Billy?’
‘I’ve been treating Billy ever since he came back from Afghanistan and was recommended to my programme, which would be about three years ago – is there a point to all this, Detective?’
‘What about Larisa Logan? How long were you treating her?’
Dr Ostermann’s face took on a look of understanding, and he nodded. ‘I see now. Larisa. I’m afraid I can say little about her.’
‘I know you were treating her.’
‘I will neither confirm nor deny that.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Striker said. ‘I already have confirmation. I know that you were seeing all four patients – Mandy, Sarah, Billy and Larisa. Now three of them are dead and Larisa is missing. Does that not seem odd to you?’
Dr Ostermann gingerly sat down in one of the library chairs, letting out a tender sound as he did. ‘Unfortunately, Detective, it does not. All it tells me is that I should have seen how dangerous Billy was in the first place. It tells me that I failed at being his doctor and it cost two innocent people – maybe even three – their lives.’
Striker was unmoved. ‘It tells me something else – that maybe I’ve been looking at the wrong person.’
Dr Ostermann’s face had a lost expression; then it tightened and turned pink. ‘I understand your insinuation, Detective, and it is not appreciated.’
‘I wouldn’t think so.’
Dr Ostermann stood up from the chair. ‘I think it’s time you took your leave, sir. And when you return next time I should hope you have a warrant, for I will surely have spoken to my own counsel – criminal and civil. It would appear our friendly conversations are over.’
Striker nodded. ‘That choice is entirely yours.’
When Dr Ostermann gestured towards the library exit, Striker took a long look around the room, purposely taking his time, then walked down the hall towards the front door. When he reached the foyer, he ran right into Lexa Ostermann.