CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Faith plugged Pierce’s phone number into the D.C.
DMV and confirmed that the number was still valid.
She also discovered Pierce’s address, a very nice home in the Georgetown area of Washington, D.C.
Her workplace was listed as a private practice currently under contract with George Washington University Hospital.
“Looks like Dr. Pierce is doing well for herself despite the loss of her VA contract,” Jessica observed.
“Hate isn’t always about personal loss. Sometimes it’s about ego.”
“Yeah, but it pisses me off more when rich people throw tantrums like this. I guess that’s my working-class upbringing showing.”
Faith smiled. “A lack of gratitude is unattractive on anyone. But let’s remember that she’s innocent until proven guilty.”
"I know. Although, between you and me, I really hope she's guilty. I don't want to wake up to another body."
“No,” Faith agreed. “Neither do I.”
They drove to the hospital, hoping to catch Dr. Pierce before her business hours ended. When the receptionist saw them walking in, his lips vanished. "Is it really necessary to have your dog here?" he asked in a prissy voice.
“Yes,” Faith replied simply. “I’m looking for Dr. Angela Pierce.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I’m here on official FBI business. I need to speak to Dr. Pierce.”
He paled. His lips returned, but the color remained banished from them and the rest of his face. “Is she in trouble?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Faith said.
He swallowed and lifted the desk phone. “Dr. Pierce’s office.” A moment later, he said, “There are FBI agents waiting to speak with Dr. Pierce.” Another pause. “I don’t know, they didn’t say.” He frowned and looked at Faith. “They want me to ask why you’re here.”
“It’s a private matter that concerns no one but Dr. Pierce,” Faith replied. “And it is urgent. We’re asking to see her out of politeness, but we’re not really asking.”
The receptionist swallowed again, then spoke into the phone. “She says it’s between the FBI and Dr. Pierce, and she’s not asking. She needs to see her now.” A final pause, and then he said, “All right. I’ll send them up.”
He hung up and looked at Faith. "Fourth floor, room four-sixty-nine. And is your dog at least house-trained? We had a pet visit last month when I wasn't here to stop it, and it…" His lips trembled. "Pooped… All over the floor."
“I assure you my trained K9 unit will not shit on your floor,” Faith said drily. “Thank you for your help.”
She left the desk before the receptionist could have an anxiety attack. Turk snorted and gave Faith and Jessica an irritated look. “Yeah, I know,” Faith agreed. “He was very rude.”
Jessica chuckled, but there was no more levity as they took the elevator to the fourth floor and exited into the mental health ward.
The waiting room was decorated in soft pastels with cheerful cartoon characters offering pithy advice such as, “The sun still shines behind the clouds!” and “A frown is only a smile waiting to turn around!”
Faith generally kept a professional detachment when she worked, but psych wards always gave her the creeps.
She knew that wasn’t the polite word for a mental health facility, but she’d interacted with so many legitimate psychopaths that she had a hard time not associating a place like this with the depths of violent mental illness.
The people in the waiting room all seemed perfectly normal.
A few of them showed signs of minor anxiety, but none of them screamed psychopath to Faith.
She felt a tinge of guilt and smiled at the nearest guest, a woman of about forty who picked at her nails and glanced nervously at an uneven stack of magazines.
The woman smiled back, took a deep breath, folded her hands on her lap, and stared stoically forward, not giving the magazines a second glance. Good for her.
The front desk nurse glanced at the agents and paled slightly.
She smiled and waved them forward. Before they approached the desk, she opened the door and waved for them to come forward, glancing anxiously at the patients as she did.
Clearly, she didn't want to broadcast that they were here.
Not that it would be hard to tell since they wore bulletproof vests with the letters FBI emblazoned on the front and back.
“Doggy!” a kid of maybe five or six cried from inside one of the rooms. The therapist inside smiled tenderly at him. “Yes, Cliff, that’s a doggy.”
An athletic woman around Faith’s age with long, wavy dark hair and deep blue eyes stalked out of a room near the back of the office.
Faith noted her toned arms and rock-solid core.
She wasn’t especially bulky, but Faith had no problem believing she could overpower an old man or a middle-aged man she sneaked up on from behind and garroted.
She heaved an exasperated sigh and jerked her head into the room she’d just left. The three of them followed her inside, and Faith noted how Turk stepped in front of her and growled softly at the woman.
When the door closed behind them, Faith said, “Dr. Angela Pierce?”
“Yes,” Pierce snapped. “And why in God’s name are you here now at my office? This couldn’t wait for a private appointment when I could have ensured I was away from my staff and patients?”
“No, it couldn’t,” Faith replied. “We’re here investigating the murders of Robert Hayes and Daniel Cruz.”
Pierce rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. She muttered a curse under her breath, and Jessica frowned. “I’m so sorry. Are their deaths inconvenient to you?”
Dr. Pierce’s lips thinned, but she said, “Every death is a tragedy. Your presence here is an inconvenience, but I understand that you’re just here doing your job.”
“Every death is a tragedy, huh?” Faith said. “That’s interesting that you say that. From what I’ve heard, you wouldn’t consider the deaths of chaplains to be tragic.”
Pierce looked shrewdly at her. "So, Laura talked to you, huh?
" Faith's expression hardened, and Pierce said, "Relax.
I intend to prove to you that I'm not a murderer and that Laura is in no danger.
I don't even talk to her anymore, so I'm not sure why she would point you to me for murders that happened… What, like two days ago?"
“Yesterday and today,” Faith said. “But you knew that.”
“If it helps you to believe that, fine.”
Jessica bristled, but Faith put a hand on her arm. “You said some very violent things, Dr. Pierce. Considering what just happened to our victims, one of whom was chaplain emeritus at the VA office at which you practiced—”
“I didn’t practice there. I volunteered my time.”
Faith stared coldly at the doctor. “If a patient were speaking to you the way you’re speaking to me, what would you tell them?”
Pierce rolled her eyes. She sat on the high-backed leather chair she used to consult with patients, crossed one toned, shapely leg over the other and folded her hands over her knees.
Turk watched all of these movements with a steady expression, coiled into a spring as though he expected Pierce to lunge at Faith and Jessica at any second.
“I apologize for my petulance,” Pierce said.
“I’m unhappy that I’m being accused of murder.
And…” She sighed. “I suppose I’m unhappy that I continue to be seen as the bad guy over the conflict at the Veteran’s Association.
As I said, I volunteered my time there. I worked an extra eight-hour day every week simply to provide help to veterans who needed it.
I care very deeply about our service members, Special Agents, and as a mental health professional who cares very deeply about our service members, it frustrates me to see the stranglehold superstition has on so many of them and infuriates me that people continue to prey on the vulnerable. ”
“Does it infuriate you enough to kill Robert Hayes and Daniel Cruz?” Jessica asked.
“No. The words I said in private to my former friend were an expression of frustration immediately on the heels of my dismissal from my volunteer position. It would be similar to getting a bad report from your superior and saying, ‘Oh, I could kill him!’”
“Funny, I’ve never felt the urge to say that. I’ve certainly never felt compelled to tell the FBI about a time a friend of mine said something like that. Mostly because I’ve never actually worried that my friend might follow through on that threat. Dr. Paulson appeared concerned that you might.”
Pierce lifted her hands and let them drop. “I’m not sure what to tell you two. I’m sorry that Laura feels that way. I didn’t murder Hayes and Cruz. I certainly wouldn’t choose to murder them in such a garish fashion. Or at all,” she added quickly. “Have you read any of my published works?”
Faith shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, the essays which landed me in hot water were not so strongly worded as my outburst over drinks. In those essays, I examined the psychological pitfalls of preaching about Heaven. Specifically, I alleged that the comfort chaplains provide to patients is dangerous and false.”
“How so.”
Pierce smiled bitterly. “Imagine you have a number of patients suffering from severe post-traumatic stress. Several of these patients express suicidal thoughts and ideations. Now imagine that you have a respected authority telling these patients to simply endure this life because things will get better as soon as it’s over. ”
Faith understood now. “You believed that speaking of an afterlife preferable to this life could encourage suicidal patients to act on their desires.”
“I do. What’s more, I have significant evidence to suggest that’s the case.
I brought that evidence to the attention of the Veteran’s Association—not even the military—and the Chaplain Corps of the Air Force, Army, and Navy immediately reviled me.
Of course they did. I suggested they didn’t need to exist and in fact, shouldn’t exist. The Veteran’s Association took their side, and in the process, I acted emotionally one evening in front of my friend and am now vilified among military circles.
” She gave Faith another bitter smile. “So, you see why I’m upset. ”
“If you believe the philosophy taught by chaplains can cause patients to kill themselves, then it seems reasonable that the world would be a better place without them,” Faith replied.
Pierce laughed without mirth. “I didn’t kill Hayes or Cruz. I didn’t even know Cruz personally. I only referenced a case in which he was involved where a patient experienced a crisis and had to be talked down from a suicidal situation.”
Faith’s ears perked up. “What’s the name of that patient?”
“I won’t release that.”
“Of course you won’t,” Jessica muttered.
Pierce switched the cross of her legs. “I understand that you two are focused entirely on finding the killer. That is your one goal. All other considerations fall to the wayside in your determined drive to find and stop this murderer. It’s an admirable goal.
You must understand that others can’t so easily set aside the tenets of their jobs to further your goal. ”
“Murder’s pretty permanent,” Jessica said. “It’s hard for me to make room for other goals when someone’s out there strangling people to death.”
“That’s fair,” Pierce replied.
“Can you confirm your whereabouts this morning between… say four and six?” Faith asked. “The day before?”
“I wake at six every morning. My home has security. I can send you the camera footage which will show me leaving my house at eight-thirty. I have cameras covering the front door, back door, the garage, and the side windows. If anything enters or leaves the premises, those cameras will pick them up. They should show me not leaving my house beforehand or entering mysteriously between six and eight-thirty. Will that suffice?”
Faith nodded. “That’ll work.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Put me in the mind of the killer for a minute. What’s the difference between you, someone who will so violently advocate for the murder of these individuals that you frighten a friend of yours into ending your relationship but won’t actually kill them, and someone who will actually take that step and do so in such a ‘garish’ fashion? ”
Pierce smiled thinly. “I am connected with reality. I understand that murder is morally wrong and furthermore serves no practical purpose. I know that I won’t cause any positive changes by killing people.
The killer is either disconnected from reality and believes that he actually will accomplish something good by murdering these victims, or he is so convinced that no positive outcome is possible in his life that he no longer cares about the consequences of his actions. ”
“So, he’s deluded or hopeless,” Jessica summarized.
“So many people are.”
Faith nodded. She reached into her pocket and handed Pierce a business card. “There’s an email on that card where you can send the security footage. I suggest you take care of that tonight.”
“I’ll do it right now. I can access the footage from my computer.”
“Even better.”
They waited while Dr. Pierce pulled up the security footage. She sent it to them, and Faith forwarded it to Jessica so they could both review it.
Faith nodded again. “Thank you, doctor. We’ll take a look at this and call you back.”
She spun on her heel and left the office. Turk and Jessica followed, Jessica frowning, Turk still watching Pierce warily. He seemed more suspicious of her than any of their suspects so far.
But Turk’s misgivings only suggested a propensity to violence. If that security footage could clear her, then Faith had no grounds to arrest her.
Still, a part of her wondered if one day Pierce would succumb to delusion or hopelessness. Sometimes Faith wondered just how thin that line really was.