“You did step in, though, didn’t you?” Becca smiled at Rachel. “You were worried enough that you got them into counseling with the best psychiatrist in Seattle.”
Jo had been checking the device to see if it was recording, but now she set it down. “Dr. Perry? You saw Becca’s parents in counseling? I wasn’t aware of this.”
“I told you Rachel was my therapist when I was a kid, Jo, after my parents died.” Becca tried not to sound snappish, but she didn’t try hard. “That’s how I knew her. Mitchell referred my folks to her for marriage counseling.”
“I couldn’t imagine better hands to entrust them to.” Mitchell inclined his head at Rachel. “Pat and I had heard enough to know there was a lot of tension under that roof. And it’s true we were concerned enough to ask Rachel to meet with them.”
“But it wasn’t a referral you should have taken, was it?” Jo turned to Rachel. She didn’t sound accusatory, just curious.
Rachel lifted her head. “Because?”
“You mentioned that Mitchell is one of your oldest friends, correct? Doesn’t that mean you had at least some personal contact with his younger brother, as well? I’m wondering if it was wise, or ethical, to agree to see a family friend in a clinical setting.”
Becca bit back a knee-jerk defense of Rachel, trusting her to speak for herself. The planes of Rachel’s elegant face held the same pallor that had worried Becca the day before and she sat stiffly, as if she were in pain, but she answered Jo easily.
“Under any other circumstances you’d be right, Joanne. I really intended just to do a preliminary assessment and then refer Scott and Maddie on to a colleague who would be a good fit for them. It began as a simple evaluation for marital counseling, but it quickly became focused on Maddie.”
Rachel paused and took Becca’s hand in her own. “Becca, your mother was my patient. You know her death doesn’t release me from the promise I make to all my patients, that I’ll honor their privacy. You’re my friend now, but there are things I can’t and won’t tell you about Maddie’s journey. Do you still understand that?”
Becca ignored Jo’s sliding the recorder closer to them. She didn’t answer Rachel right away, letting the room mellow until it was just the two of them again, comfortable and familiar. “You’ve told me that so many times, Rach. I do understand. Or I do whenever I’m not feeling this raw. But I really need your help with all this tonight, okay? Tell us what you can.”
Rachel sighed and straightened in her chair. “All right. Most of this is fairly common knowledge anyway. Becca’s mother suffered from bipolar disorder, Joanne. She only had one manic episode to my knowledge, before her child was born. But she struggled hard with some devastating depressions when Becca was quite young.”
Rachel spoke gently, but Becca saw no need to cushion these words. Not only was her head too dim to host much feeling right now, she remembered her mother’s emotional cataclysms as the natural order of things. As far as her small self had known, everyone’s mother stayed in bed for days at a time. Everyone’s father came racing home in the middle of the day to feed their kid.
“Becca, she fought so hard to get well.” Patricia seemed to think Becca needed comfort, too. “Maddie really tried, dear. I can’t say I knew her terribly well. I wanted to be closer to her, but I felt she and Scottie resisted spending time with Mitch and me. But those depressions scared her enough to agree to see Rachel privately. And I know Maddie did everything she could to help herself. She made all her appointments, she stayed on her meds. I wish half the homeless women I work with had her courage.”
A small, hard kernel in Becca wondered at Patricia’s unusual wordiness on this topic. She had probably just said more about her mother than Becca had heard throughout puberty. And there was a note of professional detachment in her aunt’s tone, some nuance that made her sympathy sound rehearsed. Lord, Becca thought, I’m getting as scratchy as Jo.
Rachel rubbed her eyes. “In Maddie’s case, Becca, more than any I’ve ever seen, it came down to chemistry. The chemical imbalance in your mother’s brain was just too complex to be helped by medication for long, at least the ones we had back then, in the mid-seventies. It’s a lifetime curse for many of my patients, even today — to be born with minds that are simply too inscrutable for modern psychiatry to offer any real, lasting healing.”
Becca started to speak, but closed her mouth, confused. Jo was staring at Rachel with an odd mixture of foreboding and distaste. Her hands were folded neatly on the table, but Becca could see her fingers were so tightly clenched that her knuckles were white.
“Help me understand this, people.” Jo loosened her hands and traced a pattern on the tablecloth with one finger. “We’re talking about a young mother, by all accounts a loving one, highly motivated to control her behavior. A troubled marriage, but a husband supportive enough to send his wife to a competent psychiatrist. Madelyn Healy was fully compliant with her treatment. How long was she in therapy with you, Dr. Perry? Before the shootings?”
“Eight months,” Rachel said quietly.
“Eight months of private sessions. And she had a husband, concerned in-laws, and a good therapist as her support system. I’m trying to understand why none of you saw the crisis coming. If things happened that night the way all of you say they did, if Becca’s mother suddenly flew into a psychotic rage and took two lives. How is it that none of you were alerted to—”
“I believe Rachel has explained all that, Joanne.” Mitchell was every inch the prosecutor again. “Tragedies happen in families afflicted with mental illness. It’s a fact of life. Pat and I see it every day in our work, and we both deal with the carnage that kind of sickness leaves in its wake. The best treatment in the world can’t save some people.”
“And on that happy note, I’m afraid I must take my leave.” Rachel smiled at them and pushed back carefully from the table. “Patricia, dinner was wonderful, but I have early sessions in the morning.”
“Rachel, please. No need to rush off.” Mitchell got to his feet. “Sit for a while longer. You don’t look well tonight. I’m sure Joanne didn’t intend to imply any criticism.”
“I’m not offended, Mitch, honestly.” Rachel laid her hand on Becca’s shoulder before she could rise, and spoke to her alone. “I promise to help you in this investigation in any way I can, Becca. I’ve just had enough for tonight, and I need to take care of myself.”
“Of course, honey,” Becca whispered.
Jo looked uneasy for the first time. “Dr. Perry, I’m not necessarily talking about any professional failing on your part.”
“We’re talking about the first and saddest professional failure of my career, Joanne. Perhaps of my life.” Rachel bent stiffly, lifted her purse from the floor, and opened it. “Becca, here are the keys to the house. Remember that damn washer is still on the blink. I haven’t had a chance to get it fixed.”
Becca accepted the keys numbly. “I’m sorry, Rach.”
“No harm done.” Rachel kissed Becca’s cheek. “Night, friends.”
“I’m walking you to your car,” Becca decided. Then she decided the night was over for her, too. “Patricia, Mitchell, thank you for having us. Great manicotti. Jo, you can ride back with me now, or you can jump into Lake Washington and swim to Capitol Hill. Your pick.”
Chapter Six
The lights across the I-90 floating bridge burned an eerie fairy path across the dark water, and Jo sat back in Becca’s rattling Toyota and tried to enjoy the ride. She drove this bridge often enough in her own Bentley, but always alone; she seldom got to take in the scenery that was Seattle’s inherent blessing. Not that the palpable tension in this car allowed for such innocuous pleasure.