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Sam found himself chuckling, because those were the exact words that would have come out of his mouth. “Yeah. Like that.” He sighed. “When I was in grad school, I wondered what I’d do in this situation. I mean, I get the rules. I do. If our clients believed that we might spill their secrets to the police, we wouldn’t achieve any kind of trust. But this is murder, Vivian.”
And past murders were covered under therapist-client confidentiality. Sam was not only not required to report a murder, he was not allowed to do so, except under very specific circumstances. Failure to comply risked his license and even opened him up to civil litigation.
“If Colton Driscoll is telling the truth,” she commented.
“If,” Sam agreed. “I mean he goes from talking about having dinner last night with Katy Perry to saving a busload of nuns to putting flowers on the grave of the ‘pretty young thing’ who loved him so. I tried to get him to focus on that—on the grief of whoever he’d lost, thinking that might be a key to his anger issues—but he kept bouncing along. Tea with William and Kate to winning the lotto to playing a round of golf with Tiger Woods and Tiger asking him for pointers. He’s exhausting.”
“Pathological liars usually are. You were smart not to confront his lies.”
Sam shrugged. “He won’t admit to them. But I did talk about how he’d felt when his neighbor confronted his lie, trying to direct him toward his anger triggers so that we could explore them. I mean, he’s here because he’s been court ordered for anger management.” Colton had beaten his neighbor to a bloody pulp after the man exposed one of his lies to their neighborhood. Colton had broken the man’s jaw and bruised several of his ribs. The victim had been lucky not to lose his eye. “He did get angry with me about that. Doubled down on the lie, which was so easily disprovable. But every time I get him focused on the anger, he pops back with more fabrications. He’s doing this to confuse me and sidetrack me from the anger problem, I get that. When it was just Katy Perry and British royalty, I could shrug it off, but now...”
Colton had started talking about terrible things that could be true.
“We’ve talked about this,” Vivian said. “You’re doing the right things, Sam. Colton is a difficult case. That he’s talked about this ‘pretty young thing’ at all is probably significant. That he’s referred to multiple girls this way is even more concerning.”
Colton had returned to the pretty young thing—the one whose grave he visited—in all their sessions thus far, usually only once or twice. But last week he’d talked about the dead pretty young thing several times, adding details that had caused the hairs on Sam’s neck to rise. Things like how the grave looked in the springtime and the tree he’d sat under that was near a pond and the scent of strawberries in the air when the wind blew from the artificial flavor factory.
Sam had smelled that strawberry in the air on the days the factory made that flavor. He’d walked his dog on the path around that pond.
It was the first time that Colton had referenced anything remotely real.
And then he’d talked about his new pretty young thing. How she was blond and petite. How cute she was when she was studying her geometry. How she defied curfew to be with him. How she “loved him so” but that “sometimes she was bad and needed to be punished.” His words had been alarming enough, but Colton’s hands had been clenched around a water bottle, twisting violently as his eyes had grown hard and angry.
Sam had seen that expression before, many years ago. He’d seen hands around a young woman’s throat, twisting just like Colton’s had. That young woman had died. Sam’s old nightmares had been renewed since that session with Colton.
Instinct had told him to be very careful after seeing Colton strangle a bottle. He’d quietly asked Colton to tell him more about his new pretty young thing, because she did indeed sound young. Like, minor young.
Young enough that Sam might have a duty to report child abuse.
Colton had frozen for a brief moment, fear and realization flitting through his eyes. Like he’d realized what he’d revealed.
Like it was true.
But as quickly as it had come, the fear was gone, replaced with cocky laughter as Colton launched into how he’d taught a famous actor how to ride a horse.
Sam blew out a breath. “His pretty young things are his only topics that don’t involve celebrities. She sounds like a teenager, Vivian. She sounds real.”
Vivian nodded. “You were right to pick up on that. If she is real, we have a duty to warn.”
She was soothing him. Building up his confidence. Things that after four years of private practice, he should not need.
Sam’s cheeks heated. “I’m sorry. You have better things to do than hold my hand and tell me I did the right thing.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “That’s kind of my job, Sam. I’m your supervisor. You have done all the right things. I’ve confirmed it with my supervisor.”
Vivian owned and ran the therapy agency, but like other senior practitioners, she had her own therapist to confide in and to check her process. That person had approved Sam’s conclusions and his need to know if the grave was real or not.
Sam had dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s.
He straightened in the chair so that he felt like the professional he was. “I have two more sessions with Colton. My goal is to focus on his anger so we can work on his triggers. That is the reason for his court-ordered therapy. But if he gives me more about the young women, I’ll listen. And if the cops find a body where he described, I’ll know he’s telling the truth about this and that there is clear and present danger to his newest victim.”
“That sounds like the right way to go.” Vivian folded her hands on her desk. “I am curious about one thing, though. Why Detective McKittrick? Why did you choose her for your anonymous message? You didn’t have to ask for any particular detective.”
“Two reasons, actually. I heard about her initially from my friend, Joel Haley.”
She looked surprised. “The prosecutor?”
“One and the same. He’d talked about this homicide detective he wanted to date. But she said no. Firmly. Said that they could be friends, but no more. And now they’re friends. I’ve never met her, but he respects her and I respect Joel, so...”
