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“Oh, constantly,” Faith said. “Not by everyone but by most people. There’s the typical testosterone-fueled bullshit, especially in the Corps: men trying to impress me by saying they’ll take care of me or showing off how tough or strong they are. That doesn’t bother me too much. Men are notoriously awful at behaving around a woman they’re attracted to.”
Doctor West smiled at that.
“What does bother me is when people assume that I’m less capable or less emotionally stable because I’m a woman. I still deal with colleagues talking—not down to me, but like they have to change the way they phrase things so that my female mind can grasp it or being extra sensitive about certain subjects because I can’t handle the nitty-gritty stuff. Even friends will behave like I’m some emotional basket case they need to manage, or I’ll screw everything up with my emotionality.”
“You’re referring to your partner, Agent Prince?”
Faith sighed. “Yeah. Just a few weeks ago, we were on that case in Tucson, and he … basically suggested that since the Donkey Killer, I’ve been losing my grip on my emotions, and that it’s been affecting my ability to do my job.”
“Why do you feel he said that to you?”
Faith sighed again. “I think he’s worried about me. I don’t blame him. I mean, it’s hard to see someone you care about get hurt. I’m sure he relives the moment he walked in on Trammell hurting me every day just like I relive being hurt. I just wish he would stop treating me like I’m …” she lifted her hands, looking for the right words, “… damaged goods, and he needs to monitor me or treat me with kid gloves because I’ve suffered.”
“So, you don’t think there’s any truth to the claim that your trauma has affected you on the job?”
“I don’t,” Faith said confidently. “I’ve solved three high-profile cases since that event. In all three of those cases, I’ve gotten into a physical altercation with the subjects and been able to affect the arrest regardless. I mean, not by myself. I had my K9 unit and my partner with me, but I handled myself well.”
“Hmm,” he said, “I find it interesting that you felt a need to point out that you overpowered your suspects physically. Do you feel that perhaps the experience of being overpowered by Trammell has caused you to seek out physical confrontation as a means to prove to yourself that you are still capable of doing your job?”
Faith once more felt stunned. She didn’t agree with Doctor West, but she was suddenly unsure if she really didn’t agree with him or if she just didn’t want to agree with him.
The doctor’s cell phone beeped, and he said, “Ah. Well, I suppose you escape that question today.”
He smiled charmingly, and Faith chuckled in spite of herself. “We’ll reapproach that question next week. In the meantime, Faith, I encourage you to try to accept the feelings you’re having, even the ones that seem destructive. The way to overcome trauma is to face it. That can be hard, and it invariably requires us to admit truths that are uncomfortable, but the end result is worth it.”
Faith smiled at him. “Thank you, Doctor West. I’ll try.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” he said.
He stood, extending his hand to Faith. She took it and thanked him one last time before leaving his office.
When she reached her car, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. She felt good, far more relaxed than usual. She hated to admit it, but talking to Doctor West was actually helping. The tension that seemed to hover over her like a dark cloud was gradually receding. Granted, this was only her third session, and they had only just started to dive into the heart of things, but she didn’t feel the frustration she expected to feel with the process. Doctor West was as pedantic as any psychologist she had met, but he seemed to genuinely care. It surprised Faith to realize how much that meant to her.
She started to drive home, but the farther she drove from Doctor West’s office, the more the session receded and the more the case came back to the forefront.
The case wasn’t hers. In fact, multiple people had made it abundantly clear to her that the case wasn’t hers, and she needed to stay away.
Still, it was hers. It should be hers. She had suffered from the Donkey Killer, but she was also the agent most knowledgeable about him. There was someone out there killing people the same way, and she needed to be the one to bring him to justice.
She had tried to investigate the most recent murder using her connections with the coroner’s office, but Clark—one of the agents assigned to the case—had waylaid her and warned her off. She needed a different angle.
She texted David that she would be home a little late and headed to the former home of Brenda Fiero, the latest victim of the copycat killer. She was an important victim because instead of being killed in an abandoned barn or farmhouse miles from civilization, she was killed in a public-school gymnasium and left there to be found, brutally mutilated and tortured.
She reached the house ten minutes later. An older woman of about sixty—Brenda’s mother, Faith guessed—answered the door.
“Good afternoon,” Faith said, “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold of the FBI. I’m investigating your daughter’s murder. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”
“Oh,” the woman said. “I’m sorry, no.”
Faith blinked. “Is this a bad time?”
“No,” the woman said. She shifted on her feet uncomfortably. “I’m … I’m afraid I’ve been told not to talk to you.”
Faith stared at her, stunned. “You’ve been told not to talk to me? By who?”
“The other agent I spoke to,” she said, avoiding Faith’s eyes. “He told me that there was an agent who was unlawfully impeding his investigation and if she was to speak to me, not to answer any questions.”
Faith was speechless. She knew Clark was unhappy with her snooping around, but to go out of his way to tell the family not to talk to her? Brenda had died prior to Faith’s encounter with Clark at the coroner’s office, so he had either told the family this before that interaction or he had called them after the fact to inform them of Faith’s involvement.
