A Flicker in the Dark(80)

Cooper’s voice, pleading.

Get some help.

“I’m a psychologist,” I say, my eyes trained on his, regurgitating the same words I had spit back at Cooper; the same words I have been reciting in my own mind my entire adult life. “I know how to help myself.”

A silence settles over the room, and I can almost hear Melissa’s breathing outside, her ear pushed against the closed door. Surely, she heard our entire conversation. As did my next patient, probably sitting outside in the waiting room now. I imagine her eyes widening as she overhears a detective telling her psychologist that she needs help.

“Ethan Walker’s restraining order, the one he filed after you broke into his apartment. He mentioned that you had some substance abuse problems in college. You were reckless with prescription Diazepam, mixing it with alcohol.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” I say, my pill drawer radiating against my leg.

We found heavy traces of Diazepam in her hair.

“I’m sure you know that those drugs can have some pretty serious side effects. Paranoia, confusion. It can be tough to separate reality from fantasy.”

Sometimes it’s hard for me to determine what’s real and what’s not.

“I don’t have a prescription for any drugs,” I say, not exactly a lie. “I’m not paranoid, I’m not confused. I’m just trying to help.”

“Okay.” Detective Thomas nods. I can tell he feels bad for me; he’s pitying me, which means he’s never again going to take me seriously. I didn’t think it was possible to feel more alone than I did before, but right now, I do. I feel completely alone. “Okay, well. I think that means we’re done here.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Thank you for your time,” he says, walking toward the door. He reaches for the handle and hesitates, turning around again. “Oh, one more thing.”

I raise my eyebrows, a silent cue for him to continue.

“If we see you at any more crime scenes, we will take the appropriate disciplinary actions. Tampering with evidence is a criminal offense.”

“What?” I ask, genuinely stunned. “What do you mean tampering with—?”

I stop, mid-sentence, realizing what he’s talking about. Cypress Cemetery. Aubrey’s earring. The officer plucking it out of my palm.

You look so familiar, and I can’t seem to place it. Have we met before?

“Officer Doyle recognized you from Aubrey Gravino’s crime scene the minute we stepped into your office. We were waiting to see if you would say anything to us. Mention that you were there. It’s a pretty big coincidence.”

I swallow, too stunned to move.

“But you never did. So when you came to the station because you had remembered something, that’s what I thought you were going to tell me,” he continues, shifting. “But instead, you had a theory about a copycat. Stolen jewelry. Bert Rhodes. Only, you told me that seeing Lacey’s body had been the catalyst of that theory. But I had a hard time wrapping my mind around that, because that was after Officer Doyle saw you holding that earring. It didn’t make sense.”

I think back to that afternoon in Detective Thomas’s office, to the way he had been looking at me, uneasy. Unbelieving.

“How would I have gotten Aubrey’s earring?” I ask. “If you genuinely think that I planted it there, that must mean you think that I…”

I stop, unable to speak the words. He can’t possibly think that I have something to do with all of this … can he?

“There are different theories floating around.” He digs a pinky nail into his teeth, inspects it. “But I can tell you that her DNA wasn’t on it. Anywhere. Only yours.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying we can’t prove how or why that earring got there. But the common thread binding all this together seems to be you. So don’t make yourself look any more suspicious than you already do.”

I realize now, even if I do find Aubrey’s necklace hidden somewhere in my home, that the police will never believe me. They clearly think that I’m planting evidence to point them in a certain direction, a desperate attempt to prove another one of my baseless ideas, placing the blame on yet another untrustworthy man in my life. Or worse, they think I had something to do with it. Me, the last person to see Lacey alive. Me, the first person to find Aubrey’s earring. Me, the living, breathing DNA of Dick Davis. The spawn of a monster.

“Okay,” I say. There’s no point in fighting him on this one. No point in trying to explain. I watch Detective Thomas nod again, satisfied with my response, before turning around and disappearing behind my office door.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE




The rest of the morning goes by in a daze. I have three appointments, back-to-back, none of which I remember very clearly. For the first time, I’m thankful for the little icons on my desktop—I can go back and listen to my recordings later when I’m less distracted, more engaged. I cringe, imagining the emotionless mumbling I’m sure to hear coming from my side of the conversation; the distant mhmms I had administered instead of asking genuine questions. The long, drawn-out silences before my eyes refocused and I remembered where I was, what I was doing. My first appointment was in the waiting room when Detective Thomas walked out. I saw the look on her face when I finally pulled myself from my chair and walked into the lobby, the way her eyes darted from me to the door as if she were trying to decide whether or not she wanted to come into my office or just get up and leave.