CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Claire drove them through the snow. The wipers moved quickly back and forth across the windscreen, moving the snow to the edges of the window where it accumulated.
The roads had started to get slushy as the snow melted with the vehicles driving on the roads, but as more and more snow fell, a layer built up.
They saw one snowplow and a sander on the way to the bar closest to Dr. Laurent’s home.
When they were almost there, the road had become little more than a set of tracks in either direction where the cars compacted the snow, and then each subsequent car drove in the same divots.
It became that they were almost guided along the roads by the dual ruts.
"We don't have a place to stay," Claire said. "Whether we find him or not, we get a place next and regroup. We’re definitely not going home tonight, but it’s becoming more dangerous on all roads."
"Agreed," Alison said.
They pulled up outside the neighborhood bar. When everything in a city shut down, the bars were always the last. Even in the harshest snowstorm, people were still willing to brave the weather for a bit of warmth and a beer.
Claire turned off the car, and it immediately got colder. They waited a moment, then braved the falling snow, pulling up hoods and tightening collars. They walked quickly across the sidewalk and into the bar.
As soon as they were in, everyone looked at them.
There were not many people, perhaps eight or nine. And the looks from everyone were the same: You must be as desperate as we are to be out in this.
There were only two people who didn't look at them with that look: the barman, who looked like he wanted to be somewhere else but had to serve the customers, and the man slumped over the table at the back of the bar, holding on tight to a short glass with liquor in it.
"I don't think we need to ask where he is," Alison said. "I’m pretty sure that’s him."
"What can I get you ladies?" the barman asked as they walked through the bar.
"How about two shots of bourbon?" Alison ordered. It would help to stave off the cold, and it was the least they could do if they were going to sit and try to talk with the good doctor.
Steven didn't look up when they got to his table.
Alison and Claire sat down, and he barely noticed they were there.
"Dr. Laurent?" Claire asked.
He came out of his stupor. He was very drunk, but as soon as he sat up, he looked more aware of his surroundings.
A man as drunk as Steven might have hit on two ladies who had just sat down opposite him, but he was in no mood for that.
It wasn’t hard to see the deep sadness within him.
In his current state, there was no way he could be their killer.
The only question was whether he ever sobered up long enough to be a threat to society.
"Dr. Laurent, I’m Special Agent Martinez. We came up here from Missoula to speak with you."
The barman brought over the two bourbons and set them down.
Alison smiled and then inquired whether they had any hot coffee, suggesting some for the doctor. At the same time, she removed the glass from Steven’s hand and passed it to the barman. He didn't look happy to take it, but the drink had been ordered and would already be on the tab.
"Are we okay here?" the barman asked.
Claire showed him her ID, and he nodded before going off to find some coffee.
"Dr. Laurent?" Claire asked. "Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"
"I haven’t done anything wrong." His words were slurred and slow.
"We only want to find out where you’ve been over the past week. Can you tell us that?" Claire asked.
"The past…the week? The last seven days. Yeah, I’ve been here."
"Where?" she asked. "Here in the pub? In Butte?"
"All over," he replied.
The barman returned with some coffee for Steven.
"Excuse me," Claire said. "How often is Dr. Laurent in here?"
"Dr. Laurent?" the barman asked. "Hopefully, he’s not looking after any patients. He’s been in here all day today, and I think it was two days ago that he was here in the morning before he stumbled out. That was around noon when he left. That was the first time I met him. He’s doing a good job of keeping the bar operational all by himself. "
"Thank you," Claire said.
The barman took the hint and left them to it.
"Dr. Laurent, we know you are on a sabbatical from your job because of what happened to your patient.
We also know that you were the one who helped to free James Costner.
Other psychologists worked on that case over the years.
Dr. Kent, Dr. Hartley, and Dr. Gates. Do those names mean anything to you? "
"I know them," Steven said, straightening up more. He reached out, expecting the glass of liquor to be there.
Alison slid the cup of coffee into his hand. "You knew them? In a professional capacity?"
Steven looked at the coffee, then at Alison. He sat back a little, trying to focus his eyes. "You’re like me, aren’t you? I can always tell."
"How did you know them?" Claire asked.
Alison thought it might be better if only one of them questioned him, as each time he looked at the other, he had to refocus.
"I never knew them."
"You didn't know them?" Claire asked.
"Not in person. No, no, no, no," he replied.
"They worked on the case, and I worked on the case, and a million people worked on the case.
Do you know how many lives we destroy?" He turned and looked at Alison, sitting back some again. "You know." He pointed a finger at her. "You know exactly what I’m talking about. We play god with people’s lives, but we’re not gods because we have no idea what our decisions mean. We’re trapped in a bubble, each of us, and each case is a bubble within that bubble, and we don't know what any of it means until the bubble pops. "
"They made the wrong decision. Is that what you thought?" Alison asked.
"The wrong decision? The wrong decision? See, that’s what’s so wrong with it all.
We can't look at one decision at a time, can we?
How do we know whose lives we are destroying without seeing the bigger picture?
We need to look at the long-term, not the short-term, and we can't look at individual cases.
We need to step back and see the bigger puzzle.
Everyone wants immediate results, but we need to track the long-term outcomes of psychological evaluations. Don't you see?"
His eyes widened as he stared at Alison. She got a sense of what he was trying to say, but he was also so drunk that he might babble so much nonsense that some of it might sound coherent.
"Did you know Dr. Kent, Dr. Hartley, or Dr. Gates?" Claire asked.
"Yeah, I worked in the same case as—"
"No, not working together, have you had any contact with them?" Clair pushed.
"I don't know them. I don't know any of them anymore. I don't even know who I’ve become."
"This won't get us anywhere fast," Alison said. "We won't know what he knows until he sobers up a little. We need to get him home before he gets any worse."
"I’m not leaving him until we get answers," Claire said. "I’m prepared to watch over him all night if that’s what it takes."
"All right," Alison said. "We get him back to his house, let him sleep it off, and then talk to him again when he makes a little more sense. A house arrest of sorts."
"Wait here," Claire said.
She left Alison at the table with Dr. Laurent and went to the bar to pay the tab for all of them so they could get out of there. It wasn't a long drive back to his house, but it would be treacherous. When Claire returned, she drank her bourbon as a shield against the cold, and Alison followed suit.
Then, they helped Steven up from his chair and out of the bar. When they got to Claire’s car, Steven wouldn’t get in.
"No!" he threw his arm around. "I know the way home. I don't need a cab."
No matter how many times Claire told him it wasn’t a cab, he wouldn’t get into the vehicle.
In the end, despite arguing their case vehemently, they had to walk him home.
It was only five minutes in the falling snow, but the cold bit at them the entire way, and when they got to the door, Alison could feel the cold in her bones.
Please, please, please know where your keys are.
Steven patted his pockets at the door, then looked around, and after a full minute of searching, he held up the key in his hand with neither of the ladies seeing where it came from.
He stuck it into the lock on the first try and didn't say anything when Claire and Alison followed him into the house.
Claire was the one who guided him to his bedroom. As soon as he was next to the bed, he fell onto it and rolled over. His breathing became heavy immediately.
"Now we wait," Claire said. "I’m going to grab a chair and sit out here until he wakes us. You can make yourself comfy if you like."
"I don't know how comfortable I can make myself," she said. "Either we’re currently sharing a house with a completely broken man, or we’re bunking up with a serial killer. We watch him like a hawk until he wakes, and then we find out which he is. Then, we deal with him properly.