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“It was worth it,” she said. “After all, I got to meet you, Sir Peterson. Wait, what's your first name?”
“Dale,” he told her.
“Sir Dale then,” she said, beaming at him. “Still, best to keep this all between us if you don’t mind. I definitely wouldn’t mention our visit to Detectives Wagner or Ortega. I don’t want to give them false hope, which might happen if they heard I came by.”
“I get it,” he assured her.
He buzzed her out, and she and Grover quickly made their way back down the hall. They were about to round the corner when Peterson’s resolve weakened, and he called out.
“Good luck with everything!”
She smiled and waved back, despite her frustration.
“Yeah,” Grover muttered, “that guy’s definitely not keeping his mouth shut.
CHAPTER NINE
Jessie waited impatiently.
Grover had insisted that they park far from Wilshire Station before she pulled out her laptop and checked the thumb drive. Luckily, he found a small park a few blocks away with a shady parking spot.
“What are we looking for?” he asked as she opened the first file.
“In her entire history of private practice, Britton only dumped three patients because of what she labeled ‘personal concerns.’ I want to see if any of them match the profile of someone who might be a threat to her.”
She punched up the first patient and put his name into the department database. Clark Vannoy was a fifty-one-year-old architect suffering from serious obesity who, two years ago, had threatened to kill himself if he couldn’t stop eating. He refused to be hospitalized and wouldn’t agree to see another doctor. Apparently, Britton's personal concern was more for him than her. In any case, he didn't match Cara Boynton's description, nor the video from outside Britton's building. Jessie mentally crossed him off the list.
The second guy was a much better fit. Jack Cronin was in his early thirties and physically matched the description and images they had. A former professional skateboarder, he’d apparently suffered a series of concussions during his career that resulted in memory loss, confusion, and in some cases, aggressive behavior.
Jessie made no mention of the uncomfortable parallels between Cronin and herself as she reviewed the file. Grover, sitting beside her, said nothing about them either.
“It sounds like the guy shook her by the shoulders pretty violently at what ended up being their last session together,” the bodyguard noted.
“Right,” Jessie replied, “but check this out. That final session was six years ago. That’s a long time to wait between being cut off and doing something about it.”
“Maybe he wasn’t in a position to do anything until now,” Grover suggested. “With the reference to aggressive behavior, what are the chances he did something that got him thrown in jail?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Jessie said, punching the man’s name and details into the department database. Sure enough, he popped up. "It looks like he is being kept in a facility, but not a prison. Three years ago, he was involved in an altercation at a bar. His attorney got him admitted to a mental hospital as an alternative to jail time."
“Maybe he decided to make a move on Britton once he got out?” Grover wondered.
Jessie shook her head.
"His sentence was completed over two years ago," she explained, "but he apparently never left. According to the updated record, his mental acuity has deteriorated rapidly, and he's now living in a secure wing of the facility. He hasn't left, even on supervised visits, in over six months. I'll ask Jamil and Beth to check to make sure he hasn't escaped, but barring that, it looks like he's not our guy."
Grover looked briefly disappointed, then remembered there was one more option.
“What about the last patient?” he asked.
Jessie pulled that record, and they studied it together. It was for a twenty-eight-year-old man named Quentin Benes. His age, which matched what the killer had given at his appointment, immediately jumped out at Jessie.
According to Britton’s notes, he suffered from severe social anxiety and tended to lash out when he felt forced into situations that required him to engage with others communally. The doctor had been working with him on taking baby steps. She had him start by simply walking around a public library. Eventually, he worked up to attending a Dodgers game and ordering something from concessions, even talking to people sitting around him.
Unfortunately, in the last year, it became too much for Benes. He lashed out at Britton during their final session, accusing her of trying to ruin his life. He wasn't physical, but he did threaten her. According to her notes, he said that if he got his way, "she'd never get a chance to mess up anyone else's life like she did to his."
That ended their working relationship but apparently not their communication as he apparently left several menacing voicemails and even stalked her. Britton made mention of seeing him at various public places for several months after she stopped treating him.
According to her notes, she never called the authorities, partly because she didn’t want the negative publicity that might come from pursuing legal action. But she also indicated that at some point, the voicemails stopped and the random sightings of him did as well.
