After Fran was Spock. His real name was Henry Madison, but he got very upset if anyone called him that. He lived in a perpetual Star Trek episode, even going as far as having his ears surgically altered to be ‘Vulcan’. He had his costumes tailor-made and shaved his eyebrows so he could draw on the ‘correct’ ones. Interestingly enough, Spock hadn’t come to therapy for any of the reasons one might assume. He’d come because he wanted to explore his poor choices with women. He just couldn’t seem to find the woman of his dreams. He suspected mother issues. I thought that was only the tip of the iceberg.
Continuing with the messages, up next was my daily reminder from Brother Luther about the current state of my immortal soul. He usually gave me a portion of the sermon-of-the-week, and kept his remarks very general and impersonal. Today’s message had a different tone. He sounded agitated, and he talked a lot about being ‘washed in the blood’, and made a comment about being a warrior for God. He ranted on until the allotted message time ran out and was cut off mid-tirade. That was the first time one of his messages caused me to feel uncomfortable, and, in light of the other events of the morning, I considered whether or not I needed to tell the police about Brother Luther, too.
CHAPTER 8
Within an hour, my office was inundated with police officers and forensics specialists. They bagged up the manila envelope and its contents, confiscated the pencil I had used to move the cloth around, and were in the midst of seeking clues by crawling inch-by-inch along the hallway in front of my waiting room door. Alan stood next to my desk, silently observing the investigation and writing in his ever-present notebook.
A bulky female officer approached me. She was big the way that a weightlifter is big, not fat, but solid and muscular. She must have been six feet tall. Dressed in a no-nonsense dark-blue trouser-suit, she appeared to be in her late forties, and the years hadn’t been kind. Her grey-streaked hair was cut very short in a style that required little upkeep, and the lines in her face had formed themselves into a continuous scowl. I guessed she’d been someone for whom high school had been hell, and she’d taken the Gold in the Olympic Holding a Grudge competition. Not someone I’d want to mess with, even if she hadn’t been wearing a gun at her hip.
She marched purposefully over to me and snarled, ‘You Dr Knight?’
‘Yes.’ Gazing up at her, I suddenly felt six years old, called to the principal’s office.
‘Lieutenant Bullock. I need to get your statement.’ She pointed with her thumb back over her shoulder. ‘Let’s go over there.’
I nodded. We walked to the couch and sat, and I told her everything about finding the envelope, taking out the bloody blue gown and calling Special Agent Stevens. She stopped writing and observed me, waiting, I supposed, for me to say something else. When I didn’t, she prompted, her voice deceptively even, ‘I understand you have a missing client?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not able to respond to that question.’
‘Why is that, Dr Knight?’ She lowered her head ever so slightly. ‘You’re the one who called us.’ Her voice became very quiet and controlled.
Feeling the chill of her frosty gaze, I swallowed loudly and cleared my throat. ‘Under the rules of confidentiality, I’m not able to discuss whether someone is or isn’t a client. I called Special Agent Stevens because finding a package containing a bloody anything is out of my area of expertise. I thought it might be something he could deal with.’
She held my eyes for a moment. ‘Why would someone leave a bloodstained hospital gown in front of your door, Doctor?’
‘I have no idea.’
She gave an unfriendly smile. ‘Do you know Emerald Addison?’
I sat silently, keeping my face pleasantly neutral.
She moved closer and locked eyes with me. ‘I know Emerald Addison is your client. You’re obstructing a police investigation by refusing to cooperate. I’ll need copies of the records you have on her friends who are also your clients,’ she demanded, her voice getting louder.
I tensed. ‘Lieutenant Bullock, I can only repeat what I’ve already said. I’m unable to respond. I’m bound by the rules of confidentiality.’ And Emerald really isn’t my client.
She bolted up off the couch. ‘You’re starting to piss me off, Dr Knight.’
Whoa. A cop with an anger issue – what a surprise. I met her gaze. ‘That isn’t my intention, Lieutenant. I’m bound by my professional obligations, just as you are.’
She made a growling sound, paced around in front of me, then stopped and bent down so that our faces were inches apart. She whispered loudly, ‘If the blood on that gown matches the blood of the missing girl, you’re going to have a lot more questions to answer. Maybe you didn’t just find the gown. Maybe you had it all along. Maybe you’re hiding something. Maybe I’ll get a court order to force you to give me your records.’
Every time she said the word ‘maybe’ she accented and elongated the first syllable, allowing each repetition to rise in pitch.
My heart pounded in my chest and I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. First Bryce, now Bullock. No one had ever got in my face and threatened me that way before, and I still wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Since I didn’t know what to say, I said nothing. That appeared to make her even angrier. I knew she couldn’t force me to divulge information, and I assumed she knew that, too.
‘Wilson,’ Lieutenant Bullock said to the tall, lanky policeman hovering next to her, ‘make sure you get all the good doctor’s contact information. I want to be able to find her day or night.’
‘I have it,’ he said, giving me cold eyes.
She squinted at me and snapped, ‘Don’t leave town.’
Then, like a fiery comet pulling meteorites in its tail, she left, taking all the officers with her.
Alan came over, sat next to me on the couch, and patted my hand. ‘Now you know why her nickname is “Bull”.’
I flopped back against the cushions, letting my shoulders slump. My mouth was so dry it took me a couple of attempts before I could speak. ‘What just happened here? All I did was find something and call it in. I was being a model citizen. Why am I suddenly a suspect?’
‘You’re not, not really. They’re all freaked out because they haven’t been able to solve any of the recent murders or find the missing girl. This is the first lead they’ve had in days. Lieutenant Bullock is taking this case very personally because she knew the first murder victim – he was a friend of hers, and she’s a very loyal person. Don’t let her get to you. I’ll try to run interference.’
‘What about the gown?’ I angled my head in his direction. ‘Do you think it was Emerald’s? Why would someone bring it to my office?’
‘I don’t know. Yesterday after Emerald was admitted to the hospital, I was hanging around in intensive care, hoping to catch a glimpse of her after they cleaned her up. My persistence paid off because during the transfusion, the nurse walked away for a minute and I took a good look at Emerald. The gown in the envelope was exactly the same as the one she was wearing in the hospital. Now, whether or not the blood is hers, only the lab guys can tell us, but my money’s on the likelihood that it is.’
He studied his notebook, absently flipping through the pages, then gave me that serious eye-contact he was so good at.
‘You were the one who brought Emerald to the hospital, so maybe giving the bloody gown to you was a message. Can you think of anyone who’d want to communicate something to you that way? Any unusually psychotic clients? Anyone wanting to hurt you? Have you received any threats? You said Bryce and his sidekick broke into your office. What about them?’ He chewed on the end of his pen, observing my face expectantly.