“That’s strange.” Foster handed the pad back. “So, we find out what knocked Silva off her perch three years ago and what she was doing for a year.”
“And Morgan?”
“We keep close tabs on him,” Foster said. “Until we’re sure he’s not who we’re looking for.”
Li paused. “He could have been that dark figure with Birch. I don’t believe he was home alone that night. If it were me, after a month in a psychiatric hospital I’d be all over the place, stuffing myself with hot dogs and drinking myself under the nearest table.”
“Then we push back on his alibi and find those missing years.” Foster glanced over at Li’s mug and found it half-full. “Freshen that up for you?”
Li winced. “I can barely get this down. No thanks. I say we double team her,” she said. “She’s champing at the bit to get an inside track, so we use that. One of us checks her out at Westhaven, and to make sure she’s not there when we do it, the other calls her in here to ‘consult.’”
“Who does what?” Foster asked.
Li clasped her fingers behind her head and gave Foster a devious smirk. “I want a shot at knocking her off her high horse.”
“Then I’ll take Westhaven.”
They shook on the deal; then Li dialed Westhaven’s number, anticipating her next encounter with the slippery Silva. “It takes one to know one. Funny, isn’t it, how something gets stuck in your head? It takes one to know one has been rattling around in mine since she was in here. Wouldn’t it be funny if—” There was pickup on the other end of the line. “Yes, Dr. Silva? This is Detective Li. Would you have time to come in and talk to us again this morning? We could really use your help.” She rolled her eyes, then listened for a response. “That’s great. In an hour? Good. See you then.” She hung up, holding her arms wide. “Masterful. She almost leaped through the phone wires.”
Foster gave Li a thumbs-up, then headed for the coffeepot. “It takes one to know one.”
CHAPTER 50
Li walked into the room and sat across from the doctor at the table. “Dr. Silva, thanks so much for coming in.”
“No Detective Foster?”
“Not today. She’s working on something else.” Li could swear she saw disappointment in Silva’s eyes.
“Have you arrested him?”
Li set her phone on the table, along with a legal pad and a pen. “Not yet. But we wanted to double back and ask you a few more questions. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?”
Silva crossed her legs and adjusted her neat, severe suit, a silk paisley scarf tied at her neck for a splash of femininity, well appointed, professional. She brushed aside the offer. “If you don’t have him, why am I here?”
“We went by Mr. Morgan’s apartment yesterday.”
“Did he let you in?”
“He did, actually. The badges helped. I wanted to hear more about your suspicions and your work. You must have encountered a lot of patients like Morgan.”
“A few. Each one different, of course, but in terms of their sickness, their diagnoses, familiar in a lot of ways.”
“Any at Mayo or Johns Hopkins?”
Silva hesitated. “You’ve done your homework, I see.”
“I love homework,” Li boasted. “Always have.”
Silva twirled the topaz ring on her finger, turning it around and around at an even, steady pace. Li watched the move with interest, wondering if Silva was nervous or anxious.
“I’ve lectured, taught, all over the world, but yes, I was affiliated for a time with Mayo and Johns.”
“Mayo. Let’s talk about that. Why’d you leave there three years ago?” Silva tensed slightly. Li could see the woman’s shoulders bunch up.
“To pursue other challenges. As a matter of fact, I’m writing a book based on my research. I’ve worked with patients many would consider the worst of the worst. It’s vital that we learn what compels them to do the things they are called to do.”
“Called to do?”
“By their illness.”
“And your opinion is that Morgan is ill.”
“It’s a little more than opinion, Detective.”
“You’ve been with Westhaven two years. You were last on staff at Mayo three years ago. Before that a year at Johns. There’s a year missing. What’d you do in the gap?”
“Research,” Silva said. “For my book, as I mentioned.”
“Fascinating. Here?”
“Detective, with all due respect, you’re wasting my time. I thought I was coming here to talk to Bodie Morgan.” She stood to go. “When you have him, call me.”
Silva reached for the doorknob. “But in the interim, when he kills again . . . the blood will be on your hands, not mine.”
Li needed to keep Silva here to give Foster enough time at Westhaven. “He’s hiding his victims,” she said. She knew her words would draw Silva back to the table, and they did. Silva slowly returned and sat down again, her eyes practically dancing with delight. “Any idea why he’d do that . . . in your professional opinion?” Just a small piece of information, a morsel, a crumb, but it seemed to excite Silva to no end. “It’s not a detail released to the press.”
“Hiding them,” Silva said. “How?”
“That I can’t say.”
“Then all I would be able to offer would be general ideas.”
“I’ll take those,” Li said, sneaking a look at her watch, hoping Silva took her time.
“He’d want to conceal what he’d done, distance himself from the act of killing. There normally aren’t feelings of remorse or guilt attached to people like him. That’s part of the malfunction, but perhaps he’s still struggling with what he is, still battling his impulses. There will come a point when he won’t be able to. To give you more, I’d need more to go on.”
“The person we’re looking for is meticulous, selective, smart,” Li said. “After reading Morgan’s arrest report, he comes off as being kind of a mess. He doesn’t seem to fit the profile you’re giving me. I’m no psychiatrist, Doctor, but I would expect more Hannibal Lecter, less Walter Mitty.”
“That’s just it—you can’t expect anyone to be what they appear to be, can you? Those like him are accomplished actors, talented mimics. They learn to simulate emotion; they learn to blend in. It’s only when you begin to pull back the layers that you can clearly see they’re not like any of us.”
“So they walk among us, and we have no way of knowing,” Li said. “That’s a little frightening.”
“Yes, it can be. Did you know that fifteen percent of our population has a personality disorder?” Silva’s eyes bore into Li’s. “To varying degrees.”
Li stared over at the woman, creeped out by her intensity. “So . . . the missing year. You were working on your book. Where?”
“A tiny place. In the woods. There were few distractions. What more can you tell me?”
Li was calling it. She’d given Foster as much time as she was going to. Silva was giving her the willies. She got up from the table, walked over to the door, and opened it, the noise of the cops moving around outside a welcome reassurance. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”