His spicy scent enveloped me. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to get to the office, so I reluctantly dropped my hands and pulled away. “I need to shower and change. I have an appointment with the psychologist at nine and I have to meet with Candy before that.”
Wes nodded, letting go. “Okay. Your breakfast will be ready when you’re done.”
I smiled at him as warmth flooded through me. “Thanks, Wes.” I reached for his hand, squeezing it before taking my tea and heading down to the bathroom. He’d taken my explanation better than I could’ve hoped.
After an amazing breakfast of the world’s most perfect pancakes, some sausage patties I didn’t even realize I had, and a tall glass of orange juice, I drove to the office. I almost felt bad leaving Wes alone to fend for himself for the day, but he assured me his new boss had sent him lots of paperwork which needed to be filled out. He’d checked his email on my laptop yesterday which I’d gladly given him access to. I wanted him to feel at home for as long as he wanted to stay.
I checked in with Candy and told him about what had happened when Cassidy and Mike had come to my apartment. I didn’t leave anything out and Candy didn’t share any private thoughts about Wes’ guilt or innocence in the murder. Though I’d really wanted to know how he’d felt seeing the police artist’s sketch, I had faith in the captain. He always backed me up and, in this case, all I could do was hope he’d have my back with Wes as well.
I knew deep down, Wes wasn’t capable of murder. Nothing in what little I knew about his background suggested he had a beef with anyone. I told myself and the captain that it was a case of mistaken identity, and nothing more. When he checked his watch, I stood up.
“You’ve got that thing now, Good,” he said.
“I know. Time to get my brain picked.”
“What?” He looked confused so I smiled to ease his mind.
“Nothin’. It’s what Smith calls meetin’s with the psychologist.”
He thinned his lips, but I could see he was biting back a smile. “I’m sure Doctor Daughtry would object to that.”
I held up both hands. “I’m goin’. I’m goin’.” I walked to the door and headed back through the bullpen before taking the lift to a different floor where the doctor’s office was located.
Though I’d only been to her a handful of times and only when I’d discharged my weapon into a suspect, I’d had enough experience with shrinks when I was in the military, to find the experience thoroughly unpleasant. I’d much rather face my demons in a room full of AA folks who had their own demons to contend with. Even in those rooms, it’d taken me a long time to get used to opening up about myself and my feelings, but I’d done it to learn how to cope with those feelings so I wouldn’t be tempted to drink.
I walked into Dr. Daughtry’s reception area and headed for the wall where a singular button told her a patient was waiting outside. I pushed it and then sat down on the sofa, looking around the wood paneled room. The doctor didn’t have a receptionist. It was probably something to do with the federal budget since the government was always trying to cut waste whenever possible. Or maybe they just thought doctors loved to transcribe their own notes. The minute I thought it, I sighed. Who the fuck even cared?
I was examining a landscape painting done in drab autumn colors when the door opened and Dr. Daughtry peered out from the doorway. The good doctor wasn’t exactly what most people would think of when they pictured a highly educated psychologist. She was approaching sixty, a wee bit podgy, wearing rubber flat-soled shoes and pantyhose, a pleated, beige skirt which was too long for her, and an oversized jumper with a knitted hunting scene on the front of it. The thing hung well past her hips. Her gray hair was cut in a bob, and she wore thickglasses and bright pink lippy that didn’t match either the hues in her jumper, or her shoes.
“Agent Good, please come in,” she said stiffly. “Thank you for being on time.”
“Good mornin’,” I said, walking into her office as she held the door open. The office wasn’t terribly large, with more wood paneling, a desk piled with neatly stacked file folders, and a desk chair. The pair of chairs sitting in front of the desk accompanied a couch with another straight-backed chair pushed up to the wall off to one side.
I, for one, opted for the chair the first time I’d met with her and there was no good reason to change that up now. I strode over to one and lowered myself into it as she came over to take the other one.
“May I offer you some coffee or tea, Agent Good?”
“No thank ya, Doc. I’d just as soon get this over with.”
“All right. Why don’t you tell me why you’re back here.”
“I’m sure you’ve read the report I filed yesterday as well as Captain Sorensen’s, ma’am.”
She looked at me over the top of her glasses. “I have, but why don’t you tell me again…in your own words.” She pulled a file off her desk and flipped it open.
“Do ya have questions?” I asked. “My statement was fairly complete. My team was called out to back up Lincoln Snow’s agents. They’d identified the location of three violent bank robbery suspects after a fourth suspect was killed as she was tryin’ to flee the bank she and her accomplices were robbin’.”
“You said your statement was fairly complete. What does that mean?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Sorry, I meant it was complete.”
“You said fairly complete.” She lifted her gaze and glanced at me over her glasses.
“It’s the way we Irish speak. The report is complete, Doc.”
“Fine. Let’s move on.” She looked back at the file in her lap. “So, from what I understand, the robbers dropped the injured suspect off at a local area hospital where she died of her wounds several hours after they all escaped the scene.”
“That would be right.”
