The sheriff settled back into his chair, his eyes sympathetic. He was quiet for a minute before leaning forward and opening his mouth again.
“Even if it could save a life?”
* * *
I glance up at the two men sitting before me now—Detective Thomas and Officer Doyle. They’re in my office, seated in the lounge chairs usually reserved for patients, staring at me. Waiting. Waiting for me to say something, just like Sheriff Dooley had been waiting on me twenty years ago.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sitting up a little straighter in my chair. “I got lost in thought for a second there. Can you repeat the question?”
The men glance at each other before Detective Thomas pushes a photograph across my desk.
“Lacey Deckler,” he says, tapping the image. “Does the name or image ring a bell?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, Lacey is a new patient. I saw her Friday afternoon. Judging by the news, I imagine that’s probably why you’re here.”
“That would be correct,” Officer Doyle says.
This is the first time I’ve heard the officer speak and my neck snaps in his direction. I recognize his voice. I’ve heard it before, that raspy, strangled sound. I heard it just this weekend in the cemetery. It’s the same officer who came running over when we found Aubrey’s earring. The same officer who snatched it out of my hand.
“Lacey left your office at around what time Friday afternoon?”
“She, uh, she was my last appointment,” I say, peeling my eyes from Officer Doyle and directing them back to the detective. “So I imagine she left around six thirty.”
“Did you see her leave?”
“Yes,” I say. “Well, no. I saw her leave my office, but I didn’t see her leave the building.”
The officer looks at me quizzically, as if he recognizes me, too.
“So, for all you know, she never left the building?”
“I think it’s safe to assume she left the building,” I say, swallowing my annoyance. “Once you leave the lobby, there isn’t really anywhere left to go but out. There’s a janitor’s closet that’s always locked from the outside and a small bathroom by the front door. That’s it.”
The men nod, seemingly satisfied.
“What did you talk about during your appointment?” the detective asks.
“I can’t tell you that,” I say, shifting in my chair. “The relationship between psychologist and patient is strictly confidential; I don’t share anything my clients tell me within these walls.”
“Even if it could save a life?”
I feel a punch in my chest, like the wind has been knocked straight from my lungs. The missing girls, the police asking questions. It’s too much, too similar. I blink hard, trying to shake the bright light that’s surging through my peripheral vision. For a second, I think I might faint.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I stutter. “What did you just say?”
“If Lacey told you anything during your session on Friday that could potentially save her life, would you tell us?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice shaking. I glance down at my desk drawer, at my sanctuary of pills just barely out of reach. I need one. I need one now. “Yes, of course I would. If she had told me anything that raised even the slightest suspicion that she was in danger, I would tell you.”
“So why did she come into a therapist’s office, then? If there wasn’t anything wrong?”
“I’m a psychologist,” I say, my fingers quivering. “It was our first appointment together; it was very introductory. Just getting to know each other. She has some … family issues that she needs help dealing with.”
“Family issues,” Officer Doyle repeats. He’s still looking at me suspiciously, or at least, I think he is.
“Yes,” I say. “And I’m sorry, but that’s really all I can tell you.”
I stand up, a nonverbal cue that it’s time for them to leave. I was at the crime scene where Aubrey’s body was found—this very officer walked up on me holding a piece of evidence, for Christ’s sake—and now I’m the last person Lacey saw before her disappearance. These two coincidences, paired with my last name, would put me squarely in the center of this investigation—somewhere I desperately don’t want to be. I glance around my office, looking for any clues that could give away my identity, my past. I keep no personal mementoes here, no pictures of family, no allusions to Breaux Bridge. They have my name and only my name, but if they wanted to know more, that would be enough.