No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(4)

Katz scribbled some notes. “People who care about you say you have serious issues.”

McNeal readjusted his weight. He wasn’t comfortable talking about himself. “Most people I work with have serious issues. Actually, most people I know have serious issues. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“I understand,” she said. “It is a highly stressful job.”

McNeal said nothing.

“I can imagine Internal Affairs gets its fair share of complex and difficult cases.”

“It is what it is. Some weeks are better than others. And that affects mood and behavior.”

“I want to explore that, if you don’t mind.”

McNeal sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why exactly am I here?”

“There’s been some cause for concern. People are worried about you.”

McNeal went quiet.

“It has been noticed by a few of your colleagues, and your boss, that you don’t seem yourself. Really, really not yourself. And you haven’t for quite some time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The psychologist smiled. “It’s okay to be defensive. These colleagues of yours are concerned that you appear, as they put it, increasingly isolated. And they say that’s been noticeable over the last six months.” She flicked through her papers again. “They also mentioned increased hostility. Anger issues. Does this sound like something you’re familiar with?”

McNeal leaned forward in his seat.

“I was reading your file. And I believe I might be able to help you.”

“No disrespect, but I just want to do my job and get on with my life.”

Katz nodded and pursed her lips. “I would like to talk about something that happened five years ago, Jack.”

McNeal’s insides tightened.

“Would you like to talk about that?”

“Not really.”

“I deal with a lot of cops, and it’s invariably the same. There are signs of acute stress. The drinking. The blackouts. Infringements of NYPD rules. Obsessiveness with work. Guilt over what happened. And sometimes, we’re talking about people having suicidal thoughts. Bottling it all up is not the way to go.”

“That’s not me.”

“Isn’t it?” The psychologist’s gaze lingered on him longer than was comfortable. “Jack, you’re a human being like all of us. It’s important we explore these feelings.”

“What if I don’t want to explore those feelings? What about that?”

The psychologist scribbled some notes. “I’ve met a lot of people like you, Jack. But most want to work with me.”

“Nothing personal, but I just want to be left alone. To get on with my job—a job I love.”

“Look, this is our first session. I understand why you might want to keep things to yourself. Men are more likely to be a closed book. I get it. But ultimately, the feelings you have, the dark feelings, will need to be explored. It’s going to take time. I want to help you get through this.”

“Get through what?”

“The pain you’re holding in. The guilt over what happened that night five years ago.”

McNeal sighed. His gaze wandered across the artworks on the wall. “No disrespect, but you don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I believe I do.”

McNeal bowed his head.

“Some cops say the job grinds them down. The things they see. You were a detective for eight years before you started in Internal Affairs. You must have seen all kinds of deaths. Murders. It is a lot to deal with. It all builds up.”

McNeal was silent.

“What happened five years ago has haunted you. I can see that. Tell me about your wife. How was she affected by it?”

McNeal had wondered when she was going to get around to that. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The psychologist fixed her steely gaze on him. “Tell me what happened five years ago. I need to hear it from you. I believe you were off-duty.”

“I’d rather you didn’t talk about that.”

“Okay, so why don’t you talk about it? How about we start with that night. What happened?”

Jack closed his eyes.

The psychologist leaned forward. “You need to resolve these issues, Jack, once and for all. I’m here to help you.”

Jack stared at her.

“You are compelled by Assistant Chief Buckley, head of the Internal Affairs Bureau, to attend these sessions. I can help you, but you need to open up.”

Jack turned toward the rain-streaked window to see darkness finally falling over the city.

The psychologist leaned forward and handed him her card. “I can see this is going to be difficult for you. So, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to cut this session short. You can take some space and time to think about what I’m saying.” She pointed to the card in Jack’s hands. “Call me at that number, whenever you want, day or night. Maybe face-to-face doesn’t feel right for you.”

Jack sat in silence, memorizing her name and number.

“You need to do this, Jack. It would make it a lot easier if you allowed me into your world.”

“What if I’m not ready to do that?”

“Then I’m afraid,” she said, a tone of foreboding seeping into her voice, “you’ll have to deal with the fallout down the road. And it might come at a terrible price.”