“That depends.”
“Jack, I think one of my patients may have witnessed a murder.” Jack sat back, Leonard had his full attention. “She was brought to me suffering from night terrors, erratic behavior, blackouts. The elementary school psychologist referred her. This past month I’ve been putting the child through regressive hypnotherapy, trying to get to the root cause. Without provocation, she recounted witnessing a brutal attack in graphic detail. The girl she described… matches Angelina’s description.”
Jack processed it, nodding, his detective’s cynicism navigating the likelihood of any plausibility to the claim.
“Maybe she saw something on TV? They don’t censor details like they used to.”
“If I can recognize anything after all those years of examining witness testimony, it’s how to discern the difference between imagination and real memories.”
“Who is she? Can I speak with her?”
Leonard stood up and opened a very large metal filing cabinet. “Her name’s Rebecca Lowell. Her mother concluded her treatment. I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again.”
He pulled a large folder out and slid the drawer closed with a loud metal slap. He handed the folder to Jack like a priest would hand off a bible to an aspiring scholar of the clergy, hands on top and bottom to prevent the overflowing contents from spilling out. Jack opened it. On top of a thick stack of notes was an audio tape. Jack picked it up.
“The sessions were recorded. Most of the dialogue is random and obscure, but you’ll know it when you hear it.”
Jack stood up, eager to get past Leonard’s dramatic rambling and unearth the truth, if there was any to be had. He had exhausted every lead till it was worn down to the nub, desperate for a break. No matter where it came from.
“Where can I find her?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“I’m working against time here. If this is real, I need to speak with her.”
“She has no conscious recall of the incident,” Leonard said, a strange look of panic on his face, as if he was starting to regret calling Jack in the first place.
Jack sensed something was off. “You said the school recommended you?”
“Jack, I’ve violated a trust by telling you this.”
Jack acknowledged Leonard’s appeal for discretion with a nod of understanding. He looked Leonard up and down, realizing how exposed and vulnerable this disclosure made Leonard feel. Jack was familiar with the rule of law in patient doctor confidentiality — in as much as Leonard and others of his kind had discussed it aloud over the years. Especially in cases where they felt a patient could be a threat to the public.
This was more than just supposition by Leonard, he must have done his homework on this and debated the merits of disclosure prior to contacting him. But there was something about the look on Leonard’s face, the uncertainty — almost apprehension — that said Leonard was holding something back.
Jack was a master of reading people. He didn’t lay claim to any sort of clairvoyance, but being in the detective business you develop a sixth sense for knowing when someone was hiding something. Facial ticks, body language, vocal intonation can often reveal someone’s guilt or innocence. And Leonard had a terrible poker face. Well, Leonard, the box is partially open, there’s no going back now. The baton had been handed to Jack; whatever Leonard knew, Jack would soon discover for himself.
There was a loud pounding on Leonard’s door. Jack could hear the natives getting restless outside in the waiting room.
Leonard’s intercom beeped: “Doctor?”
“I’ll let you get back to work,” Jack said.
“Jack, this conversation never happened, okay?”
“You know I can’t agree to that.”
He opened the door. The boy from the elevator was smashing his head on the other side.
Jack looked up at the boy’s mother. “You’re in good hands.” He looked back at Leonard and saluted his goodbye. Leonard didn’t respond, he just stood idle, a nervous expression.
CHAPTER 11
Aaron Phillips loved children. Psychology was a last minute switch when his original engineering major revealed no academic propensity, much to his father’s disappointment. But he enjoyed what he did and took pride in it, as much as Jack did in his work. He was a soft spoken man with a haircut from the 1980s, an awkward mullet of dirty blonde hair that actually made him appear the opposite of the hip he believed it to. He was sort of a nerd, but the kids thought he was cool because he never seemed to take anything seriously. Always quick with a joke, or just the right words to diffuse an argument between students. He was well liked by all.
Jack disliked him instantly. First, he greeted Jack with a damp, limp-wrist handshake. Then, he made a bad joke about Jack paying a visit because of his outstanding parking tickets. Aaron added “Just kidding” a second later. Jack didn’t return his smile.
He’d sat Jack at a long table in the library, taking the seat farthest from him.
“Rebecca’s exceptionally bright; off the charts, as we say. When she started here, she seemed fine. Then, overnight, her teachers noticed a sudden change in her behavior. It got to the point where her episodes became a distraction to the class.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I can’t say, really.” Jack narrowed his eyelids. Aaron continued, “Meaning, I don’t know. There’s only so much we can offer her here. Doctor Hellerman comes highly recommended.”
“Any problems at her last school?”
Aaron shook his head with absolution. “They were surprised to hear about it.”
They sat and waited, Aaron was diligent not to make eye contact with Jack, clearly wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. Jack had been vague about his reason for asking to see one of their students, but his credentials checked out. If anyone questioned him for divulging information about a member of the student body, he would just insist he had no choice.
A woman opened the door slowly, stuck her head in, and smiled at Jack. “Mr. Phillips, she’s here.”
Jack stood up politely as Aaron went to the door to fetch her. He paused, “I’m going to need to document the nature of your visit, detective.”
“This won’t take a minute,” Jack said.
Aaron wisely decided not to debate and left the room. He returned a few moments later with his hands on Rebecca’s shoulders, easing her with kid gloves into the room. He turned and kneeled before her.
“Rebecca, this man’s name is Jack; he’s a police detective.” Rebecca stood stoic, unfazed by the situation. “He just wants to ask you a few questions. Okay?”
Rebecca nodded and Aaron led her to the table. She didn’t wait to be seated, choosing the corner of the table directly opposite Jack, no fear. Aaron stood behind her. Jack eyeballed him until he got the hint and stepped away. Jack held his eye contact, staring him all the way out of the room.
Once Aaron was gone, Jack turned to Rebecca and managed a gentle grin to try and make her feel at ease. He recoiled slightly at the contrast of her startling blue eyes with the deep, black circles beneath. They almost looked like bruises, they were so pronounced. Rebecca had a weary gape, it reminded him of the look kids had in war torn countries where bombings kept them up afraid at night. He’d also seen that same quiet stare on children’s faces as he told them their mothers or fathers had just died. That inconsolable look of innocence shredded to pieces by life’s harsh realities experienced way too soon.
Jack saw that same dreadful sorrow behind Rebecca’s eyes; he felt empathy, a kinship. Sitting opposite each other, visually, they were two of a kind. Jack liked her instantly.