Chapter Thirty-Two
Alfie
“To you, the viewers, I need your help. On your screen should be a photo of Mia Sinclair. She’s worked with me for three years now.
She’s beautiful, has long black hair, the brightest blue eyes, and she’s so happy because she just passed her degree and became a doctor of psychology.
She’s qualified; she has a lot of things to look forward to, and I just want her to come home. I need her to come home.”
Dianne has a little tear in her eye, so unlike her given she’s usually chomping at the bit for a good story.
I hear in my ear that the number of viewers is more than our average.
They’re steadily increasing as the news that the Dr. Angel has broken down on television takes over.
I’ll be a meme by midday, and I don’t give a shit.
If it gets her home to me, I would do anything.
Get me in a bikini, put me in a jello wrestling pool, because I’d agree to a new segment where they have me fight patients for all I care.
“You heard the man, people. We’re looking for Mia, and we need your help.
We’ve set up a hotline number with the support of the police.
If you see Mia out and about, please let us know where she is.
We have it on authority from the police that you should not approach her or anyone she may be with.
She may be with someone who is dangerous and who has a history of mental illness. Isn’t that right, Dr. Adams?”
“Correct. We don’t want to escalate this situation. If you spot Mia, let the hotline know. But do not approach her or anyone that she might be with.”
“Do we have any description of the person she’s with?”
I hesitate for a second. Dr. Abraham’s words ring in my ears. He doesn’t think Nate did this, and I know I’m not thinking clearly. How could I when it comes to her? She’s all I see. It’s like I’m blinkered.
“No, we don’t know yet.”
I play it safe. I can’t throw my patients under the bus. Not when people might want to harm them.
“Okay, is there anything you want to say to Mia? Let’s assume she’s watching somewhere.”
I steel myself, taking a deep breath in.
“Mia, love, I’m going to bring you home.
I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.
I need you back with me, and I’m going to take such good care of you.
Everything I thought, everything I believed about myself.
You’ve pushed through every limitation I had set.
You showed me how to be a partner, not just a therapist. You showed me how to show up for people, not just my patients.
You taught me how to love when I’ve never known how.
Please, Mia, my love, if you can find your way back to me, please do.
Because I’m going to come and find you. I promise you. ”
Dianne swipes another tear, and I walk off the set, not waiting for the commercial break. When I reach Lottie, she rubs my shoulder, a stray tear falling down my cheek.
“You heard the man, people, keep an eye out for our Mia,” Dennis says before holding his finger up to his ear.
“Our producers are telling me our phone is already ringing off the hook. Please keep your messages brief, and if you can take a photo without being spotted—please do. This will help us weed out the lookalikes.”
Dennis’s voice goes on as the studio becomes an impromptu headquarters for the Find Mia Sinclair campaign.
As they cut to a commercial, the audience began to chatter amongst themselves, but I feel three hundred sets of eyes watching me.
Some, with sympathy, their softened features and down-turned smiles let me know I have their support.
Others, I imagine, are how Detective Jenkins looked whilst he asked me questions on the phone this morning.
Suspicious, like I’m acting the grieving boyfriend when really I’m the one that’s hurt her.
And I did, didn’t I? I pushed her away, and now she’s in danger because of that selfishness.
Speak of the devil.
Detective Jenkins trudges through the studio, flashing his badge at anyone who dares step in his path and shoulder-barging them if they don’t move quick enough.
“Outside, now,” he barks, and I follow as he turns on his heel and heads directly the way he came.
In the corridor, the clip of Lottie’s heels swiftly follows. She’s a woman on a mission. She’s used every available resource, every person who owes her a favor, to be involved in this.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the detective snaps, his junior officer flinching at his bite.
“I’m looking for my fucking girlfriend,” I seethe. “What do you think I’m supposed to be doing?”
“You’re supposed to do as you’re fucking told. I tell you to sit. You sit. I tell you to do media, you do media. You can’t just orchestrate a search party when we don’t even know if she’s missing yet.”
“You seem to be under the illusion that my fear of the law and my fear of the police override my love for Mia. So let me be very clear to you. I will stop at nothing to find her. I will have her home with me, regardless of your laziness. Regardless of your incompetence. The fact that you don’t think she’s even missing tells me that you aren’t doing your fucking job.
So yeah. I’ll take over what you should be doing. ”
I storm out of the corridor desperately needing some air.
The stifling heat of the studio lights is usually uncomfortable, but today is unbearable.
The walls are closing in, my body sticky.
My clothes are too clingy, my boots laced too tight.
I can’t breathe. I burst through the emergency exit and suck in a lung full of cool air, scorching my lungs.
My phone rings and I scramble to tug it out of my pocket. Judge John Watson fills the screen. I answer, needing the distraction.
“Judge,” I rasp.
“Dr. Adams. I heard your plea on The Morning Show.”
“I didn’t take you for a daytime TV watcher, John.” My knees bent, I’m rubbing the sweat from my face as I’m keeled over.
He chuckles. “It’s my one vice, I promise, in between court sessions.”
Now that almost makes me chuckle, even at a time like this.
Given that there was a cover-up of Judge Watson hitting the casino with no less than three sex workers when he visited Las Vegas.
It took a lot of money and a lot of favors to hush that one up.
Especially since the photos showed him with a suspicious white substance around his nostrils, the same white substance that was resting on the cleavage of one of the women he was with.
A woman, I should note, was not his wife.
“Are you calling about Mia?”
“In a way. The patient I referred to you—I have some more information which I think is critical.”
I shake my head. “I spoke to Nate’s new doctor last night. He doesn’t think he had anything to do with Mia’s disappearance."
“I’m talking about another patient.”
My brain short-circuits. “Then who?”
“Sean Sanders.”
“John, he’s never even met Mia. Their schedules clashed, so she was never in the office when he had his sessions.”
“All the more reason I think he’s your man.” He sighs heavily. “I had an update in the case, which calls into question my verdict. A police officer from Utah called our detective here that was investigating Sanders. Sent him a photo of the accused, but he was using a different name.”
“Okay? I don’t understand what that has to do with Mia.”
“His real name is Carter Corbin. Sean Sanders is an alias he uses in Washington. Each state varies, but he’s known by others as well. I only mention the name Carter because I believe that’s the name he used in Texas, where Dr. Sinclair is from.”
“I still don’t underst—" My heart thuds against my chest. I’ve heard that name before, haven’t I?
The judge helps. “Your girlfriend was in a relationship with a teacher when she was in high school.”
Fuck me sideways. His words start to make sense. I think back to everything I knew about Sean Sanders. Could his profile fit a teacher who grooms his students?
“I’m aware of the situation.”
“Good. I didn’t want to have to break that news to you.
By all accounts, this man is a predator, but I think Mia was special to him.
He never stayed somewhere very long after he lived in Berry Brook.
He was there for years and, from what Mia’s testimony stated, he gave her special attention from when she was thirteen.
The sexual relationship began when she was around sixteen, seventeen. ”
“Jesus.” I push my hair back before pinching the bridge of my nose under my glasses. “Are you telling me you think this man has her?”
“It’s possible. He’s been on the run for a while now. Your last report suggested that he had been looking to rekindle a past relationship. Is it possible he means Mia?”
The notes…the notes stopped after I had the session with Nate, and he shouted so loudly that the waiting room could hear. The waiting room where Sanders was sitting, listening. The notes stopped, not because Nate left, but because Sanders lost his fall guy.
A stinging sensation works its way through my chest, and I feel like I’ve swallowed nettles.
I felt confident I could deal with Nate. But Sanders, or Corbin, has been lying consistently from the start. Even about his own name. Not only that, but he’s smart. He’s two steps ahead every time, and we’re playing catch-up.
“John, I need to go. Thank you.”
“Good luck, Alfie.”
I hang up, formulating a plan in my head. I don’t want to waste another minute relying on the police to find out where she is.
“Alfie?” Jonesy’s voice booms through the phone. I hear Katie in the background, her voice high and worried.
“I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to help me find her. Is there anything you can do your end? The police don’t even think she’s missing.”
“Anything. I’ll call some of the boys. They’re always up for saving a damsel in distress. What do you need?”
“I need her found. Now. I have the name of a guy and an alias he’s been using. I’ll text it to you now. He cannot be harmed in any way. I want him brought in quietly and safely.”
“Why?”
“It’s my patient. He preyed on Mia when she was a kid, and now he’s back. He’d used an alias after moving to Seattle, and that’s the name the judge gave me.”
“Mia didn’t recognize him?” He sounds skeptical.
“She never met him. He had sessions on Wednesday afternoons when she taught classes at Elwood.”
“Fuck, man.” He pauses. “I’ll be ready in twenty. Keep me posted.”
“Be careful, Jonesy.”
“Always.”
He hangs up, and I head back inside. The detective is still talking to Lottie. I give them a heads-up about my conversation with the judge. I fail to mention Jonesy rounding up his military buddies.
Lottie rubs my arm. “We’re going to find her. She’s strong; she has a lot of mental resilience now. She’ll know how to work the situation to her advantage.”
I nod, just wishing it wasn’t necessary.
The detective seems to have changed his attitude in the ten minutes it took for me to speak with the judge and call Jonesy.
“Is it true the two of you had broken up?” he asks softly.
I look at Lottie, but she looks as perplexed as me. “We had a fight. I was upset because I thought a patient had hurt themselves intentionally.”
“What did that have to do with Mia?”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with her. I thought I was distracted, and that detrimentally affected my patient.”
“So you blamed her?”
I swallow hard, knowing this could harden his theory that I’m somehow involved. “Yes.”
He has the audacity to smirk. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s a fucking idiot when it comes to women. I’ll be sure to let my wife know that Dr. Angel is just as dumb as the rest of us.”
I let out a puff of breath. “Thanks, man.”
“Let’s get your girl.”
He stalks off to talk with another detective, and I pull Lottie to one side.
She shrugs, knowing what I’m going to ask before I even say a word. “I simply suggested if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass, my father would be missing his contribution to the Seattle Police Department’s Christmas party fund this year.”
“I would have thought that would make him more grizzly.”
“Well, I also suggested that solving a case like this would be sure to get him a promotion. Especially with a recommendation from The Morning Show studio, the Seattle Psychology Association and a personal recommendation from my father.”
“You can do that?”
“Dad owes me a favor.”
I squeeze her hand, knowing how much it will cost her to go to him for help.
It’s not that they don’t get along; they do actually.
Her father just doesn’t understand her need to have her own life.
In his mind, she could have an easy life, but she’s chosen to help others, being the first woman in her family to have a paid job in literally hundreds of years.
The detective jogs over to us, his mouth close to the radio.
“Dr. Adams, Dr. Buckingham, we’ve had a development. I’m heading out now. They’re traveling up I-5 toward the border. It looks like he’s attempting to take her to Canada.”
“How do you know it’s her?”
“We have multiple confirmed sightings at a gas station near Arlington. They’re headed north in a Ford F-150 registered to a Mr. Sanders.”
Fuck.
What if they get across the border? Will the police be able to stop them?
Time to call in that favor with Lottie’s boyfriend.