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“What is the name of her current psychiatrist?” I hear Sojer ask.
“Dr. Kline,” she says. “He’s the best there is. I had to practically beg him to take her. His office is just across the street from here.”
Sojer jots down the name in his little pad that’s all curled-up and yellowed with coffee stains and who knows what else.
“So your daughter was officially diagnosed with depression, I take it?” Sojer asks and she nods. “Anything else?”
“Generalized anxiety, autism and even schizophrenia at one point, but I never bought that,” her mother says indignantly. “All those were just exaggerated diagnosis so they could send her off with a bunch of pills. No one tried very hard to talk to her. She needed to talk. But she wouldn’t talk to anyone. She wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“What about her father?” I ask.
She scoffs. “What father? He demanded I have an abortion when I told him I was pregnant and I never heard from him again when I refused.”
“But you know where he lives?” I push. She might not have heard from him, but maybe Ana had.
“She didn’t know him. I never told her his name, no matter how often she’d ask,” she says indignantly. “He was no good. And if he wanted to be a part of her life, he knew where to find us.”
Damn, is there no end to the ways this woman can trigger me. My mother claims she only knew my father’s first name—James—and that he was in the Navy. I never really suspected that this was a lie, but I’m wondering now.
“We’ll have to check that anyway,” Sojer says. “What’s his name?”
“Davor Jakin,” she says sourly. “He lives in Koper and is married.”
Sojer jots it all down then looks at me like he’s wondering if I have any more questions because he doesn’t.
“We’d like to also search her room,” I say, thinking we can also pick up the medical records then. “When would be a good time to stop by?”
“I’ll be home by five thirty,” she says. “But I don’t know what you hope to find there. She met the wrong sort of person on the riverside. It was bound to happen, wasn’t it? She sure searched long enough.”
“She met a killer and it is our job to catch him,” I say and stand up. “Thank you for your time. We’ll stop by your apartment later this afternoon.”
Her hands are still shaking as she unlocks the office door and lets us out. And even though the main room is huge enough to easily fit my whole house three times over and the ceiling is practically out of sight, I still feel like the walls are closing in on me as we traverse it. But it passes by the time we’re standing in the cool air outside.
“So what’s next? The shrink?” Sojer asks.Yeah, I might need one myself.But I don’t say that. I just tell him to lead the way.
“This Dr. Kline might also be one of the top forensic psychologists in the country,” Sojer says as we walk. “If he’s the same guy. Kline is a pretty common last name. I’ve never met him personally.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell us if he is,” I say and it makes Sojer chuckle.
“They usually do,” he agrees.
The last thing we need is to have to investigate yet another well-connected, prominent member of society. The push back on that is always incredible. Plus, knowing that a person everyone trusts is actually a murdering psycho is a depressive as hell proposition. Even worse that hearing all about Ana’s sad life.
* * *
EVA
The antique shop where David’s ex-girlfriend, Sara, works is just across a short, wide bridge over the river from the jewellery shop and asking her if this is where they first met is the first question I pose to her after introducing myself.
“Yes, right in the middle of the bridge in moonlight,” she says sarcastically and scoffs for good measure. “It was love at first sight.”
She’s about my height, slender with long wavy, shiny dark brown hair and gleaming brown eyes. Her face is pretty, but haughty somehow and it grew even haughtier as she spoke.
“No, that’s not it,” she continues. “David and I have known each other since we were children. We went to the same kindergarten and elementary school and all that. We also always moved in the same circles, since my family owns this place and his owns the jewelry store and both have been around forever. You know how it is.”
No I really don’t, but I suppose she’s talking about the connections between the old-money families, for lack of a better description, around here. I was never a part of that world.
“I just spoke to his aunt,” I tell her. “She said he was always a troubled soul.”
