Chapter 40
Dylan turned away from staring out the window at the unrelenting rain and said, “I must get Malone’s file.”
Beth was on the sofa with Andrew, supervising his artistic endeavors in a coloring book. Startled by Dylan’s sudden announcement, she looked up. “Pardon?”
“Adhering to patient privilege was the ethical and right thing to do. But it wasn’t the good thing to do for Mitch. Now his reputation, his career, his life, depend on him being right about who ordered Angela’s murder.
“He’s about to make allegations based on nothing except Roland Malone’s references to his evil twin, whose pet name I,” she stressed, “never gave a second thought.”
Beth said, “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”
“I realize how rambling this all sounds to you.” She took a breath. “Basically, I have pages of notes and analyses of Roland Malone’s therapy sessions. I’ve denied Mitch access to Malone’s patient file, but he needs it now more than ever.”
“So offer it to him.”
“I did. He said it would take too long to go through it all. But there could be a vital something in there that I’ve forgotten or dismissed as insignificant. Before Mitch does something rash, I’ve got to scan through it at least. I might find some ammunition he could use.”
“Where’s the file?”
“On my office computer.”
“Can you use Mitch’s laptop to access it?”
Dylan glanced toward the card table. “I don’t know his password, do you?” Beth shook her head. “I must go to my office.”
Beth left Andrew to his vigorous coloring with a red crayon and heaved herself up from the sofa and onto her feet, cradling her bulk in her arms. “I don’t think Mitch would approve of your leaving here.”
“Wouldn’t approve? He’d have a conniption. But I need to do this for him.”
“Dylan, it’s clear that you two have grown… close. I see you feel that you’ve let him down, but—”
She interrupted. “With all due respect, Beth, you don’t see it.
Not from a clinical standpoint. I’ve had patients who were so intent on getting revenge that it consumed them to the point that therapy didn’t help.
The obsession continued to feed on itself until their life took a tragic turn.
Loss of job, marriage, and family, sometimes loss of life.
“I don’t want to see that happen to Mitch.
To…” She nodded down at Andrew. “I’m afraid that Mitch’s better judgment won’t stand up against his commitment to getting vengeance.
But whether he succeeds or fails, the attempt itself could cost him dearly.
If it’s possible that I can help him, I’ve got to try. ”
When she moved to go around Beth, Beth placed herself in front of her. “There must be a way to retrieve this file without you physically having to do it. We’ll call Mitch and get his laptop’s password. Then he or someone could access the file and email—”
“No. Even my assistant doesn’t have the password to my computer. I wouldn’t give anyone access to my patient files. They’re inviolate. But that rule no longer applies to Roland Malone.”
“Can’t you wait until Mitch or John—”
“No. Mitch said he’s on borrowed time. Didn’t you sense how eager he was to get out of here?”
“That was only Mitch being Mitch.”
“Exactly. Mitch was being his starting-gate self. You just made my point.”
Beth winced. “I did, didn’t I? But whatever he’s planning to do, he’s doing it believing you’re safe. It would be reckless and dangerous for you to go chasing off—”
“‘Go chasing off’ like you went chasing after the blood moon psychopath?”
Beth was about to counter, but closed her mouth. Opened it again. Closed it.
Dylan said, “Mitch has told me all about that day. How courageous you were. What compelled you to take such a risk?”
“I was in pursuit of a serial criminal.”
“And?”
Beth gave a wry smile. “I was worried about John and the risk he was taking. Wild horses couldn’t have held me back.”
Knowing she’d won, Dylan squeezed Beth’s shoulders. “Thank you. I knew that you of all people would understand. If you’ll close up the house, I’ll gather Andrew’s things, and then we’ll get on our way.”
“Andrew and I don’t need to go. We’ll stay here.”
“Abandon you here without any means of transportation?” Dylan shook her head. “Your husband would kill me.”
“He’ll kill me if I don’t tell him what we’re doing.”
“So…?”
“So I won’t tell him till it’s done.”
The package with the severed finger had been removed from Mitch’s desk.
A custodian had cleaned and sanitized all the surfaces, but to Mitch it still smelled like a fresh meat market.
He used that as an excuse to move to the far side of the CAP unit where there was a vacant desk and a lot more privacy.
John had given him five minutes before they reconvened. He hoped that by then, he would have something substantive to report. He called the number of the US marshal that Tucker had given him.
A scratchy smoker’s voice answered. “Greer.”
“My name is Mitch Haskell.” He hastily identified his police department and rank. “I’m calling about your charge—What’s his name? Something Davis?”
“Marvin.”
“Right. I don’t know if you’ve been notified yet, but Roland Malone is dead. Gutted. Gone. Marvin Davis no longer has to fear reprisal, so I’d like to talk to him, see if he’ll cough up something about Malone, his associates, the operation, and Oz, the leader of their band.”
After several beats, “Who did you say you are, again?”
Mitch’s head dropped forward. He shot a look over his shoulder and saw Nix marching through the unit toward John’s office, Lear trailing her. He wasn’t surprised that John had invited them to join their meeting.
He went back to the marshal and repeated his name. “Jim Tucker gave me your number because any information Davis gives over could help us apprehend someone who we suspect is Oz. Will you let me talk to Davis, see if I can shake something loose?”
“Hmm. This came from Tucker?”
“Directly. He and I worked together at the DEA.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Might take some time to set it up.”
“Sorry. I don’t have time. It’s gotta be today. Say within half an hour.”
“Half an hour? We just ordered lunch. It’s on the way.”
Mitch glanced at John’s office again. The three were conversing. He wondered what they were talking about without him. “Have your lunch, then give me access to Davis. Please.”
“Why didn’t Tucker call me himself?”
“He’s got his hands full today.”
“But he knows about this?”
“How else would I have gotten your cell phone number?”
He gave it some thought, then said grudgingly, “All right. I’ll bounce it off Marvin. He’ll probably want to wait on his lawyer, though.”
“That could take forever. I need to talk to Davis now.”
“Who’re you after?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. You know how Tucker is about leaks.” Tucker sure as hell wouldn’t want the King of Cash’s name bounced around.
“Must be somebody big,” Greer said.
“He is.”
“Marvin’s no genius, but he’s bright enough to figure that now that Malone is dead, he’s lost his bargaining chip. No quid pro quo. He’s going to prison for a long time whether he talks to you or not. He’ll want to know what’s in it for him.”
“Tell him I’m promising a reduced sentence, a room with a view, better food, cigarettes, dirty magazines, conjugal visits once a week.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“I know that, but he doesn’t.”
“That’s coercion.”
“I’ll beg forgiveness later.”
“Whoever you’re after, you want him bad.”
“I do. And so does Tucker. And so should you. Davis may seem like a nobody, but he may know something that could be key to nailing a fat prize, and I shit you not. Federal, state, and local would all love a piece of this guy.”
While Greer was mulling it over, Mitch looked toward the other side of the room. John was at the door of his office, craning his neck, watching him, saw him looking, waved him in. Mitch held up his index finger.
“Look, I’ve got to run,” he said. “Talk to Davis over lunch. If he hem-haws, bump it up to conjugal visits twice a week. Call me right away to let me know what he says.”
“This number?”
“This number. And, Marshal Greer?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for not hanging up on me.”
Having delivered Beth and Andrew to the Bowies’ house and seeing them safely inside, Dylan drove straight to the medical building. The parking lot was empty, so she parked close in and used the employee door to enter, ducking her head against the rain.
Without anyone occupying the building, the wet rubber soles of Beth’s borrowed sneakers sounded abnormally loud against the terrazzo floors, as did the rear elevator’s grinding gears as it made its slow ascent up to the sixth floor.
She let herself into her office through the private exit and was about to pull that door closed behind her when she hesitated.
She was often here after hours when the building had emptied.
Mitch had admonished her for leaving after dark alone, but she’d shrugged off his overprotectiveness. It came naturally to him; he was a cop.
But the dreariness of this rainy day had created a false dusk inside the empty building. In light of recent events, being alone felt eerie enough that she decided to leave that door ajar for no longer than she would be here.
She flipped on the light and was about to walk into the sessions room when she noticed an empty water bottle standing on the round table near the window. The janitors who came early each morning to clean the building’s offices must have overlooked it.
But as she surveyed the room, she also noticed that the cushions on the sofa that patients used had been sloppily misplaced.
Mitch had shoved them aside when he’d been here, but that had been days ago, and they’d been righted several times since then.
She didn’t think that rearrangement could be attributed to the janitorial crew.
Giving in to uneasiness, she went into the lobby.
A low light shone down from the top of Ellie’s computer monitor, but it was left on permanently to serve as a nightlight.
Her desk was as orderly as ever. She had been the last one here, so Dylan went over to the main door to make certain that she had secured the office when she left for the long weekend.
Of course she had. The door was solidly closed and locked. But a sheet of paper was lying on the floor. Apparently, it had been pushed in under the threshold.
It was a notice that the cleaning service personnel had had an outbreak of Covid and that, out of an abundance of caution, they wouldn’t return until Monday. They apologized for the inconvenience.
Chiding herself for wasting time on a case of the jitters, she returned to the patient room, straightened the pillows, tossed the empty water bottle into the wastebasket, then walked into her inner office and reached around the doorjamb to turn on the light.