“Don’t think. Answer.” Those eyes drilled into hers like an interrogation lamp but his voice remained even. “There’s an answer in your head, isn’t there? It popped up straightaway, but now you’re testing it, second-guessing it. Just tell me—what was that initial response?”
“That she’s alive. But that’s just...wishful thinking. There’s no way my brain could have picked up on anything that would enable me to answer that question accurately.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What medical school did you even go to?”
“One that taught me that science knows next to nothing about the human brain. Humor me, Samira. You know this woman well, right?”
“I used to.”
“People don’t ch...” He let out a harsh breath.
“Change?”
“Aye,” he said, forcefully. “Assume she’s still that woman. Quick-fire answers. Here we go... Is Charlotte working for Hyland?”
“Ah...”
“No thinking, Samira. What answer popped into your head?”
“That she’s not working for Hyland but—”
“No buts, not yet. Plenty of time for buts later.”
God, don’t mention butts.
“Let your subconscious answer the questions,” he continued. “The postcard—was it her handwriting?”
“Yes.”
“Did she write the suicide note?” He checked his mirrors.
She snapped her head around, her pulse speeding up. Nothing. “Dear God, would you stop doing that!”
He looked at her, jaw dropped. “What am I doing?”
“Checking your mirrors all the time!”
“Was I? Just something I do when I drive, I guess. You want me to stop changing gear, too?”
She pressed a palm over her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“You’re worried. That’s okay. Your instinct is pricking, like a cat with raised hackles.”
“It’s notthat. It’s just...” She slapped her hand on her thigh.
“Who wrote the note, Samira?” he said, gently.
“Charlotte wrote it.” She almost shouted. It felt like a pressure valve in her chest was blocked and about to explode. “And the postcard.”
“What’s she doing now?”
She threw up her hands. “How would I know?”
“You just pictured her, right? When I asked that, you pictured her. What was she doing in that picture?”
Samira thumbed the soft cotton of her scarf. “Alone in a room. Scared.”
