Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(36)
“So we made a pledge. I told him I wouldn't drink anymore if he wouldn't drink anymore. I figured I was doing it to help him. I'm kind of guessing he felt he was doing it to help me.”
“And it worked?”
“As far as I know, for nearly ten years we've both stuck to it. Until last night.”
“So why last night, Bobby?”
He said levelly, “I could say it was because guys were buying me beers. I could say it was because for the first time in years, I wasn't on call, so I was allowed to have a drink. I could say because after ten years, how much could one beer really hurt? I could say a lot of things.”
“But you'd be lying?”
“I keep seeing his face,” Bobby whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I did my job, dammit.” He hung his head. “Jesus, I didn't think it would be this hard.”
She didn't say anything right away. The words just hung there, gathering a weight of their own. He finally brought the Coke to his lips and swallowed. Then he looked up at the ceiling, above the dark paneling of mahogany wood trim, and there was Jimmy Gagnon as clear as daylight. One white male subject holding a gun on his wife and kid. One white male subject appearing genuinely surprised as Bobby's 165-grain bullet slammed into his skull. Do you know how a dead man looks? Startled.
Do you know how other people regard that man's killer? With admiration, pity, and fear.
“Are you thinking of drinking again?” Elizabeth asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think joining an AA group might help?”
“I don't like talking to strangers about my problems.”
“Do you think talking to your father might help?”
“I don't like talking to my father about my problems.”
“Then who can help you, Bobby?”
“I guess just you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “There is something you should know,” she said after a moment, “before we go any further. . . . I have some previous involvement in this case. I've met with Judge Gagnon.”
“What?”
“He wasn't my patient.”
“The hell you say.” Bobby flew out of his chair. He gazed at her wildly; he couldn't believe this. “Isn't that a conflict of interest? How can you do that? One day you're listening to one guy's problems, the next you're counseling the guy who's suing him?”
Dr. Lane held up a hand. “The judge came to me for a professional opinion. I met with him for thirty minutes. Then I referred him to an associate who I felt would be better able to assist him.”
“Why? Why did he come to you? What did he want to know?” Bobby leaned over her desk, jaw clenched, arm muscles bulging. He was pissed as hell, and he knew it showed on his face.
Elizabeth continued to regard him evenly. “I spoke to Judge Gagnon last night. With his permission, I will share with you what we said. I'm warning you now, however, I don't think it will help.”
“Tell me!”
“Then have a seat.”
“Tell me!”
“Officer Dodge, please have a seat.”
Her expression remained set. After another moment, Bobby grudgingly let go of her desk. He sat back down, picking up the Coke can and twirling it between his fingers. He felt a light fluttering in his chest. Breathlessness. Panic. Damn, he was tired of feeling this way, as if the world had spun away from him, as if he'd never feel in control again.
“Judge Gagnon had gotten my name from an associate. He came seeking specific information about a psychological phenomenon. Perhaps you've heard of it. Munchausen by proxy.”
“Shit,” Bobby said.
“The judge told me a little bit about his daughter-in-law, Catherine. He wanted to know if someone with her background might fit the profile of a person capable of Munchausen's. Essentially, he wanted me to tell him, sight unseen, if Catherine was either faking his grandson's illnesses or deliberately making the boy sick in order to gain attention for herself.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said it wasn't my area of expertise. I said as far as I knew, there wasn't a profile for Munchausen's. I said that if he honestly believed his grandson was in danger, then he should seek immediate professional assistance and contemplate legal action to separate the boy from his mother.”
“Is he going to do that?”
“I don't know. He took the name of the person I gave him and he thanked me for my time.”
“When was this?”
“Six months ago.”
“Six months ago? The man sought expert advice for the safety of his grandson, and he didn't bother to act on it for six months!”
“Bobby,” she said quietly, “I don't know what was going on in that house. More to the point, you don't know what was going on in that house.”
“No,” he said bitterly. “I just showed up like judge and jury and shot a man. Shit. Just plain . . . shit.”
Elizabeth leaned forward. Her expression was kind. “Last night, Bobby, you made a very astute observation. You said, ‘Tactical teams don't have the luxury of information.' Do you remember that, Bobby?”
“Yeah.”