I left you a surprise, Nelson.
I now wonder if by asking me to leave Maine, his apparent concern for my safety was more for his benefit—to get me out of the way.
I send a text to both Lacy and Young to ensure at least one of them was present during the search. An alarmed feeling jolts me when neither reply, but then I remember the time difference. Shit. I send another text asking them to please make sure the FBI don’t weasel into my patient files.
I drag a breath into my constricted lungs.
The tapes are blank.
Still, the relief is minimal. It wouldn’t be the first time I deluded myself into believing a false sense of security. My only real concern should be if Agent Nelson isn’t the one to discover what I left behind the Dali. But other than the FBI’s own personal distaste for my evident obsessive affection for my patient, there’s nothing much they can do with that in the way of evidence.
I was careful to stage it just right.
A car door slams, snagging my attention. I look up to find a man walking toward the facility. I quickly pocket the phone and grab the keys. I trail the man toward the front of the building.
“Excuse me,” I say, jogging to catch up.
He turns around, his thin white hair catching the chilly breeze. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“You’re American.” It comes out like an accusation, and the man smiles.
“I am in fact. Are you lost?”
“No, sorry,” I say, regrouping my thoughts. “I’m here to visit a patient.”
His smile thins. “Visiting hours aren’t until nine.”
He turns to go, and I try again. “I apologize, but I’m only here for a very short time…and it’s extremely important that I see this patient. Could you at least help me speak to someone, mister…?”
“Dr. Collins,” he corrects. Something like hope sparks. I feel an affinity with him not only as an American, but as a colleague. “And you are?”
I extend my hand. “Dr. Noble.”
What am I risking at this point? I need this doctor’s trust.
Dr. Collins shakes my hand and nods toward the front doors. “Come on. We’ll discuss this further inside. It’s bloody brutal weather out here this morning.”
A smile flits across my face. “Thank you.”
He leads me through a stretch of corridors to his office, where I’m thankful for the heat. “Have a seat, Dr. Noble.”
I do, laying my jacket across the back of a cushioned chair. I feel out of place in the clean starkness and sophisticated psychiatric ward. Glancing over my jeans and simple sweater, I wonder why Sadie—with all her education—chooses to work in police precincts. I’m also curious if she dresses the way she does on purpose; to throw others off.
“Coffee?” the doctor asks, motioning toward a machine he has setup in his office.
“Yes, please.”
He busies himself with setting up the dispenser. “Where are you from?”
“Maine. I’m a criminal psychologist with my own private practice in Bangor.”
He nods slowly. “You’ve come a long way. This patient must be important. Although I can’t help but wonder what a criminal psychologist would need from any of our patients.” He sets a white mug in front of me. “Most of them have no more ties to the outside world.”
I wrap my hands around the cup, warming myself further. “Rebecca Sullivan could hold potential knowledge of someone’s whereabouts, or possibly other information that could lead to this person’s arrest.” It’s a huge leap, but one that doesn’t sound so suspicious. Police officials are searching for anyone in connection to Grayson, although his whereabouts have been officially determined.
A groove forms between the doctor’s eyes. “Follow me, please.”
His rapid shift in demeanor and abrupt request startle me. I hesitate before I’m finally able to stand. “Sorry. I’m still a bit jetlagged.”