A Noise Downstairs(26)

“Gavin—”

He stood. “I can’t do this.”

“Gavin, killing an animal is a sign of a more serious issue than any we’ve dealt with so far. You need to understand that—”

“Understand what?” he shouted. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “I should report you or something. There must be some kind of ethics commission or something for you people. They need to know!” He stood.

“Gavin, sit down!”

“No, I think I’ve had just about—”

The door suddenly swung open. Paul Davis stood there, looked quickly at Gavin, then at Anna.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I heard—are you okay, Dr. White?”

She got out of her chair. “We’re fine here, Paul.”

“I heard shouting and—”

“Whatever your fucking problem is,” Gavin said to Paul, “don’t expect her to help you.”

Paul gave Gavin a long look. “You need to calm down, buddy.”

“Buddy?” Gavin said. “Are we buddies?” He regarded Paul curiously, as if wondering whether they had met before. “You’re Paul? Did I hear that right?”

Slowly, Paul said, “Yeah.”

“Well, Paul, good luck.”

He started for the door so quickly that Paul didn’t have time to step out of his way. Gavin put his hands on the front of his jacket to toss him to one side, knocking Paul’s head into the jamb.

“Shit!” Paul said, touching his head for half a second, but just as quickly pushing back. Gavin stumbled from the office to the small waiting room.

“Asshole,” Gavin said.

Now they were both pawing at each other, each trying to grab the other by a lapel so as to make it easier to land a punch with a free hand.

“Gavin, stop it!” Anna screamed.

They stopped, looked in unison at her. As each released his grip on the other, Gavin turned and ran for the door.

“Paul, I’m so sorry,” Anna said.

He brushed himself off, as though some of Gavin had somehow stayed with him. “I’m okay.”

“Your head,” she said. “Did you hit your head in the same spot?”

He touched it again. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. What about you?”

“I’m okay,” she said, then frowned.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Paul asked, glancing at the door through which Gavin had departed. “What was his name? Gavin?”

“I think I just handled something very badly.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Mr. Hitchens is my problem, not yours. Do you still want to talk? I’ll understand if all this—”

“I’m okay, if you’re okay.”

“I just need a minute,” she said, taking her seat.

“You’re shaking,” Paul said. “We don’t have to do this.”

“No, no, we do. What just happened here, it’s still nothing compared to what you’ve been through.” She sat up straight, raised her chin, and said, “I’m ready.”

“You’re sure?”

A confident nod to assure him she was back on track. “So, tell me what’s happened since we last spoke.”

He filled her in on his online research and how it was having an empowering effect, although it hadn’t stopped the nightmares. He told her that Charlotte’s gift of an antique typewriter had triggered a bizarre dream that seemed so real, he ended up blaming his son for something he clearly had not done.

“I texted him an apology. It took him the better part of a day to reply.” He paused, reflecting. “Do I seem borderline suicidal to you?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“It was something a friend said. He seemed worried I might do something stupid.”

“I would say no,” Anna said. “But you’d tell me if your thoughts were trending in that direction?”

“Of course.” He also told her about not remembering his drive home one day, forgetting about texts he’d sent, other memory lapses.

“When do you see the neurologist again?”

“Couple of weeks.” Another pause. Then, “Do you know anything about visiting someone in prison?”

“Not much.”

Paul nodded. “From what I read on the state website, the inmate needs to put you on a list. Unless you’re, you know, a police detective or a lawyer or something.”

“You still want to see Kenneth Hoffman.”

Paul bit his lip. “I think so. I know closure is a huge cliché, but a sit-down with him might provide some. You always hear it on the news. How the family of a murder victim gets closure on the day the accused is convicted.”

“I’d say that’s something of a myth,” Anna said. “But I won’t stop you from looking into a visit. In the meantime, you can think about what you’d want to say to him. What you’d want to ask him.”

“I’d like to know if he’s sorry.”

Anna smiled wryly. “Would it make a difference?”

Paul shrugged. “If I can get in to see him, I don’t want to go alone.”

Anna nodded. “You’d want to take Charlotte.”