He said nothing, and she imagined herself slouching in a chair in front of his desk in that gloomy office of his. Right about now, he’d be checking his watch, impatiently waiting for her to get on with it.
“Something bad is happening again. I woke up and didn’t know where I was. My throat was cut—more like scratched with a knife—but it was bleeding. And I—I . . . there were empty pill bottles.”
“My God, Laura, I want you to hang up and call 911. Then call me right back.”
“I can’t.”
“You must. You tried to hurt yourself again.”
“No. It was someone else who hurt me. It was him.”
“Him who?” She could hear the release of a heavy breath coming through the phone.
“I told you about him once, when I found the lock of Angelina’s hair.”
“We’ve been through all this before, Laura. That was a figment of your imagination.”
In other words, you’re crazy. “No. It wasn’t. It isn’t. When I woke up, I found more locks of hair.”
“You’re high on pills. That’s why you can’t think clearly. Now, just listen to me, and I’ll explain what’s happening to you. You thought you found a lock of hair before, remember, and then it disappeared. It disappeared because it wasn’t really there to begin with.”
“I have two locks of hair tied with ribbons in my pocket, right now.”
“That’s a hallucination.”
“No. I’m touching them. You can’t touch a hallucination. You explained that to me in therapy. My hallucinations were visual, brought on by drugs. I’m not taking any drugs now.”
“What about the empty medication bottles?”
“He must’ve fed the pills to me. But I threw them up.”
“Where are you, Laura?”
“I’m calling from a pay phone in Silverthorne.” She didn’t know why she said that. Her parents had always told her Dr. Webber was a good friend and an excellent doctor, but she knew by the way her gut was pinging he wasn’t on her side. And Dr. Duncan had told her to trust her gut. She wished she’d called Dr. Duncan instead.
“Where in Silverthorne are you? A gas station?”
Give him the message and then get off the phone. “I think my friend, Harriet Beckerman, has been murdered. I need you to tell that to the police.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Laura. If you’ve hurt this girl, this Harriet, you really must turn yourself in. Your father will get you the finest lawyer, and I’ll testify you don’t know right from wrong.”
“But I do know right from wrong!” Her voice had gotten too loud again. She looked around but no one seemed to have noticed.
“Then why did you kill your friend? Why did you try to kill yourself? You’re not well, Laura. Just tell me where you are so I can help you.”
“I never said I killed Harriet. And you’re not helping me. This is the opposite of help.” She could hear her own voice shaking. If only Dr. Webber would believe in her. “I would never hurt my friend. I would never hurt anyone.”
But his only reply was silence.
“Why won’t you believe me?”
“Which thing do you want me to believe, Laura? That you would never hurt anyone or that your friend has been murdered and you have a lock of her hair in your pocket? Because frankly, I don’t see how both of those things can be true. Either you’re delusional or you’ve done something terrible and then tried to kill yourself.”
“It was him. He killed my friend, and then he tried to kill me.”
This time Dr. Webber’s answer was swift and cruel. “Then why aren’t you dead, Laura? Why aren’t you dead?”
Chapter 31
Friday, October 25
2:00 P.M.
Task force headquarters
Highlands Hotel
Denver, Colorado
Detective Jordan Hatcher was in Caitlin’s face the moment she and Spense swung through the door into the war room. In this instance, Spense’s old school ladies first policy had put her directly in the line of fire. Hatcher had the flophouse sweats and some of his perspiration flung onto her along with an expletive or two. He was so worked up his ears had turned the color of ketchup. “Where have you two been? All hell’s been breaking loose around here.”
Good to be missed?
Hatcher’s agitation surprised Caitlin. She wanted to ice him down before his head exploded. Resisting the temptation to check his pulse, she said, “We were out interviewing a witness. We left a message with Cliff. I guess you didn’t get it.”
“Who the fuck told you that you could interview a witness without me?”