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“We already have one,” Detective Ortega noted. “From what I understand, the murder weapon is a letter opener. Do we know that it belonged to Isabel Shea?”
“We do,” Sergeant Delco piped in. “The officer who found it noted that it was engraved with her name.”
“So in both cases,” Ortega continued, “it appears that our killer used items he found in the psychiatrists’ offices to kill them. It’s hard to imagine that he just walked into both appointmentshopinghe would find something he could use for murder. That might suggest that these have a ‘crime of passion’ element.”
“Two crimes of passion?” Wagner asked skeptically. “That seems like a stretch.”
Ortega shrugged.
“Maybe the truth is somewhere in between,” Jessie suggested. “Maybe he went into both of these sessions superficially hoping for the best, not intending to kill anyone. But the fact that no prints were found indicates that he was careful. From the video footage outside Britton’s building, we know he had gloves on when leaving her office. Maybe he wore them here too. If so, we might surmise that somewhere deep down, he knew it might come to this.”
“Maybe that’s the same reason he gave fake names,” Wagner offered. “He used one here too, right?”
“Yes,” Sergeant Delco said, “Henry Colt.”
Wagner nodded confidently at the confirmation.
"There you go," he continued. "He knew this might go south, and just in case, he didn’t want his real name listed anywhere that it might be found later.”
“That could very well be part of it,” Jessie agreed. “But we can’t discount psychological motives either. It’s possible that he really was here for some kind of therapy. And whatever his issues were, they were so sensitive that he was embarrassed to give his real name. Maybe he felt it made him too vulnerable. That might also partially explain the disguise he wore to Britton’s office. He couldn’t let her see him as he really was.”
“Disguise?” Ortega repeated.
“Oh yeah,” Jessie said. “I should have mentioned this earlier. I think the hair was a wig and the large, tinted glasses were intended to obscure his face.”
The detectives shared an expression that made it clear they hadn’t considered the idea but liked it.
"If he was wearing a disguise," Ortega mused, "then are we sure that he was even a new patient? Maybe he'd seen them before and was angry about how the session went down, so he came back with a vendetta but knew he'd be shut out if he was recognized right away?"
Jessie nodded. Grover looked perplexed by the fact that she didn’t mention that she’d already gone down this road. But she shook her head at him. She didn’t want it to look like she was diminishing the detectives by revealing that she’d previously pursued theories that hadn’t occurred to them. She was about to move on when a related thought came to her.
“Following your theory, Detective Ortega,” she mused, “maybe our killer saw them for therapy a long time ago when he looked different, left unhappy, and returned now to test them, perhaps hoping they would recognize him and prove their worth. But then, when they failed the test, he lashed out.”
She was ready to acknowledge that she had zero firm evidence to support this theory, but neither detective dismissed it. In fact, they seemed to be waiting to hear what she would say next, so she went on.
“I think we need to prioritize finding overlap in Britton and Shea’s past patients. That could afford us a whole new crop of suspects, folks that maybe didn’t seem suspicious on initial review.”
“That a great idea, and it’s something thatwewill get right on," Wagner told her, indicating himself and Ortega. "We'll let you know what we find out, and you can join in then. But right now, you should probably go. Some enterprising reporter is going to make the connection between these two victims and show up here soon. They all know you on sight. If you’re not working the case officially, it will be hard to explain why you’re here.”
“Good point,” Jessie said. “We’ll head out now. I’ll send you two my contact info when we’re on the road.”
“Don’t you need ours first?” Ortega asked.
“Um, I already have it,” she admitted sheepishly.
Without waiting for their disapproving looks, she turned and left the guest house with Grover by her side. They were almost to the car before either of them spoke.
“Well, that worked out better than I anticipated,” he said. “At least now you can take a bit of a break and wait for information to come to you.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked incredulously. “Those guys can search all they want, but I have the best police research team in the city. And regardless of what I may have said about not involving others, you better believe I’m going to use it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hannah was tempted to rip her hair out.
She’d only been in this safe house about twenty-four hours, but already she was bored out of her mind. She got that the point of being here was to keep her safe, but it was hard to keep that top of mind when every minute dripped by like molasses.
She couldn’t play any more chess with Rufus. And she’d hit a temporary wall with Tolstoy. She had already baked six dozen cookies. She was just marking time. Or at least she had been, until just now.
