All the Dark Places(16)
The doorbell rings, and Kim jumps up. “Elise said she wanted to stop by and see you. I told her you were coming over. You don’t mind, right? She had a gap in her schedule.”
“No.” Fine, I think, as long as she doesn’t try to psychoanalyze me. I can’t take that right now.
Kim scampers down the hall, and I take a deep breath and stand, waiting.
Elise is impeccably dressed, as usual, not a hair out of place, but her eyes are red, and there’s a wad of tissues peeking from her jacket pocket. We hug, and she pats my back before letting me go.
“How are you, sweetheart?” she asks.
I nod and sniff. “Okay.” We sit at the table while Kim goes to the stove. “Tea, Elise?”
“That would be lovely.” She turns to me. “Tell me what you need, Molly. Anything. Scott and I are ready to help.”
“Thanks. Jay thought so much of you.” My voice catches in my throat, and Elise leans over and rubs my shoulder.
She and Kim talk about other things, other than me and Jay, and it’s soothing to listen to their quiet conversation. It almost seems normal. I can zone out, which is about the most pleasant thing I can think of to do right now.
But with Elise here, I inevitably start to think about Jay’s practice, his business. What do I do about that?
“What about his patients?” I ask Elise. It takes her a second to switch gears, from Kim’s spring landscaping project that Scott’s company is going to do, to me and my problems.
“I’ll notify them, Molly. I can probably take on a few of his if they’re so inclined, but most I’ll refer to other therapists.”
That’s good. Jay would want them taken care of. “What about his office? It’ll have to be cleaned out, right?” Eventually there will be someone else in Jay’s space, taking his place as everyone inevitably moves on.
“At some point, Molly. But there’s no rush.”
I sigh and wipe my cheeks with my hands, pick at my sleeve, and pull it down over my wrist. I don’t think I can face cleaning anything out yet.
That’s where I met Jay. That very office, five years ago. I was having a rough time. I’d gotten a letter in the mail that totally upended my world. The man who ruined my life, who was safely locked away, had sneaked a letter by the prison censors and found out somehow where I was living. Even though I got an apology from the warden, and he was punished for breaking the rules, it rocked my world and sent me running back to therapy. I had to talk to someone, and that someone turned out to be Jay. He was kind, understanding, and nonjudgmental. After three sessions, he handed me a business card for another psychologist. At first, I was distraught, but he told me he was interested in seeing me socially, and the only ethical way to do that was not to see me professionally. I was thrilled and never ended up calling the other therapist. Three sessions with Jay had been enough, or so I thought at the time. Now, with Jay gone forever, I don’t know how I’ll carry on, how I’ll keep the demons at bay.
CHAPTER 12
Rita
I HEAR THE CHIEF IN HIS OFFICE, TALKING ON THE PHONE. I PEER AROUND the door frame. If he’d wanted privacy, he would’ve closed the door, right? He looks up at me from under his bushy gray eyebrows.
“I’ll call you back.” Bob drops the phone in its cradle. “What’s up, Rita?”
“You remember any detectives named Bradley with the Boston PD?”
The chief leans back and threads his fingers together over his ample stomach. “Walt Bradley was a homicide detective. Worked the Strangler case.”
“Huh. I think I did hear Walt’s name.”
“Yeah. He was a bit of a legend. He retired before we were there. Why?”
“Well, apparently Jay Bradley’s father and grandfather were Boston PD detectives.”
Bob blows out a breath. “No shit? Well, that’s something.” Bob scratches his head. “Walt must’ve been the grandfather. I don’t remember his son though.”
“Me neither. Dr. Bradley’s partner said that Jay overheard some pretty gruesome stories when he was a kid.”
“I bet.”
“Think he got himself mixed up with some unsavory characters? Maybe doing research for that book he was writing?”
“Could be, Reet.” The chief leans forward, drops his feet to the floor. “You see Chase yet?”
“No, I just walked in.”
“He’s got notes from the autopsy.”
I glance back at the squad room. “I’ll find him.”
Bob’s phone rings. “Let me know,” he says as he picks up the handset.
Chase is sitting at his computer, drinking a cup of black coffee that looks like mud, and he jumps when I call his name. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just inputting my notes.” He tucks his phone in his pocket, saves his file, and swivels in his chair. We head down the hall and turn into my office.
Chase sits across from my desk and draws a deep breath. “Dr. Gaines said time of death was between one and four a.m.”
I hang my jacket on the back of my chair, pull out my notebook, and sit. “Okay,” I say. “After the party, the wife said he was going to work out in his office after everybody left around eleven-thirty.”