‘You almost say that with relief,’ Striker said. When the woman didn’t know how to respond, he smiled at her and lowered his voice. ‘It’s okay. I’ve dealt with her only twice – and that’s been enough for me. But duty calls, you know.’
The receptionist laughed softly. ‘Yes, Mrs Ostermann can be a bit . . . demanding at times.’
‘She’s a pill,’ Felicia said boldly.
The receptionist laughed again.
‘So she hasn’t been in here today?’ Striker clarified.
‘No. She shouldn’t be in until one o’clock. And you can pretty much set your watch by it. Mrs Ostermann is always extremely punctual and orderly with everything she does. Even the group sessions. God forbid one of them comes in even a minute late. She kicks them out and sends them home.’
Felicia asked, ‘Which group is that?’
‘Oh, all the groups. But especially the SILC classes – are you familiar with the programme?’
‘Yes, we are,’ Striker said. ‘Does she confer with Dr Ostermann before sending his patients home? These are, after all, his sessions, right?’
‘Yes, they are. But Mrs Ostermann does fill in.’
Striker found this interesting. ‘Fill in? A nurse holds the session in place of a qualified psychiatrist?’
For a moment, the receptionist’s face tightened, as if she was worried she had said too much. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t—’
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Striker told her. ‘I’m not going to press Mrs Ostermann on anything. You got my word on that. I just find it surprising.’
‘It’s not without its merit,’ the woman replied. ‘Mrs Ostermann does have extra training.’
‘What kind of extra training?’ Felicia asked.
‘I don’t really know, for sure. But she took much of her training in Europe, and she’s not one to talk about it. Not one to talk about anything, really. Especially not with staff.’
‘Where in Europe?’ Striker pressed.
‘The Czech Republic.’
He nodded. ‘How would you know that when she never talks about it?’
‘Dr Ostermann did once. A long time ago. Over a year maybe.’
Striker rested his arm on the front counter and tried to look casual. ‘Really? And you remember it.’
The woman’s face took on a distant look. ‘It’s kind of hard to forget. Dr Ostermann was talking to Dr Richter about what courses were considered transferable from overseas. During the conversation, he mentioned that Mrs Ostermann had grown up in the Czech Republic and had had problems transferring her university credits.’
‘Which university?’
‘Charles, I think. I’m not sure exactly where it is.’
‘It’s in Prague,’ Striker said. ‘Charles Bridge.’
‘And what next?’ Felicia asked.
The woman’s cheeks reddened further. ‘Next? Oh, Mrs Ostermann got angry. Very angry. I’d never seen her so . . . enraged – she is a very private person, you know.’
Striker nodded at this.
Private, he thought. And full of secrets.
He took out a business card and wrote down his cell number on the back. When he handed it to the receptionist, he made sure they had eye contact. ‘If Lexa or her children return here, I need you to leave the building right away. Do you understand me, Pam?’
The woman looked confused. ‘Leave the building?’
‘Immediately,’ he stressed. ‘Make an excuse. Leave to check on one of the patients. And then, the first chance you have, I want you to leave the building and call my cell. Right away. Do you understand?’
The woman nodded slowly.
‘And if Dr Ostermann comes in?’
Striker smiled wryly.
‘Then I don’t think my number’s gonna help.’
Eighty-Three
After fully debriefing the receptionist on what had happened with Dr Ostermann’s suicide and the subsequent disappearance of his family, Striker and Felicia asked to see Lexa’s office.
The receptionist, still looking rattled, nodded daftly. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a key. ‘She locks it,’ she said, and led them down the hall. When they rounded the east corner, they came across one room with a dark red door. ‘This is Mrs Ostermann’s office. She wanted it on the east side of the facility; all the other doctors are on the west.’
‘I didn’t realize the facility was so big,’ Felicia said.
‘It’s actually not,’ the receptionist said. ‘It’s just a strange layout.’ She unlocked the door for them. Before moving out of the way, she fixed Striker with a hard stare. ‘Please . . . if you’re going to take anything, let me know. I should at least keep a record of things.’
‘Of course, Pam,’ Striker said. ‘Have you ever been in there before?’
She shook her head. ‘No one has. Like I said before, Mrs Ostermann is a very private person. She doesn’t even allow the other doctors inside. It is always under lock and key, and to be honest, I think she would fire me on the spot if she ever saw me in there – no matter the reason.’
Striker nodded. He said goodbye to Pam, then went inside the office with Felicia and closed the door behind them. As he turned around, he scanned the room.
It was very drab, and surprisingly, very sparse. Just a black walnut wood desk, a burgundy leather chair, and a computer terminal. No plants or flowers decorated the shelves. No pictures or diplomas adorned the walls. There weren’t even any photographs of her family.
Felicia saw the oddness of it too. ‘Talk about taking minimalism to the extreme.’
Striker walked over to the desk and opened both drawers. Not much was inside them, except for basic office supplies and a short row of file folders. Striker went through them all, carefully reading each one. All of them contained numerous patient files, but none of the names stood out to him. He took down the names so they could run them through the system later.
Then he looked at the computer. The screen was black, but when he moved the mouse the screensaver vanished. No password. No logon. Just right to the desktop. Striker started browsing through the system. He found nothing, not even one file.
‘A new computer,’ he said.
‘Or a fresh install,’ Felicia added.
He looked around for an external backup drive, but found none. He then scanned the office shelves. They were filled with medical and psychological textbooks. They all looked brand new. Like they had never been touched.
He opened one – The Diagnostics and Statistics Manual – and felt the inflexible give of the book’s spine. None of the pages had been marked up, and no hidden papers were tucked inside the book.
He went through all the books, flipping the pages of each one and finding nothing inside. When done, Striker put the last book back, and paused. At the end of the shelf sat a lone file folder. Red in colour. He picked it up. On the tab were the words: Medical Billing Codes. He opened it up, saw the list of codes, and showed it to Felicia:
10-14141ML-MG900412,
09-29292TIG-SR730128,
and more. The list was several pages long.
‘Strange,’ he noted. ‘If these are Medical Service Plan codes, why not just print them out from the government website? Why go to all the bother of writing them down yourself?’
Felicia looked them over. ‘And what do they mean, for that matter? Look at them, they’re all in a different format.’
Striker was confused. ‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Most computer programs use similar codes,’ she explained. ‘Look at PRIME, for example. Everything there is separated by four-digit codes: 2117 is a Suspicious Circumstance. 2118 is a Suspicious Person. 2119 is a Suspicious Vehicle. They are all listed in a pattern. But not these numbers. They’re all over the map – as if they’re from more than one system.’