exist in cyberspace.
The doorbell sounded, prompting Alex to check her watch. She’d booked no other patients. Ruth would have been her only appointment of the day.
She opened the door to a male and female standing before her. The male smiled. Alex didn’t smile back. Damn it, this was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.
‘Doctor Thorne, my name is DS Bryant and this is DI Stone. May we come in?’
Alex’s hand tightened on the doorknob as she checked his identification card. She looked from one to the other. ‘What’s this about?’
‘We won’t take much of your time. We’d just like a word about one of your patients.’
‘Of course, come this way.’
Alex led them into her consultation room. Once inside, she appraised them both quickly. The male she guessed to be mid- to late-forties, who clearly liked to keep fit but was fighting the inevitable paunch of middle age. His chestnut hair was greying at the temples but the haircut was efficient and professional. His face was open and friendly.
The woman’s expression was moody and dark. Her hair was a short shock, the colour just this side of black. It was the eyes that almost took Alex’s breath away. A dark intensity brooded within the unsmiling face and tight demeanour. From a distance it was only just possible to see the separation between the irises and the pupils.
She forced herself to look away and focus on the male whose body language was like an open book.
‘So, Detective Bryant, how can I help you?’
‘We believe that Ruth Willis is one of your patients?’
Alex had regained her composure at the surprise visit and with it, her control.
‘I ask again, what is this about?’ she responded, without offering confirmation or denial.
‘Your patient is in police custody at the moment. She is under arrest for murder. Her parents have given us your name.’
Alex’s hand flew to her open mouth. It was a mannerism that she had practised in the mirror many times. It had taken a while to strike the balance between soap opera overkill and first year drama school, but as with every expression in her repertoire it had been observed, practised, honed and perfected.
One of her earliest lessons had been the funeral of her paternal grandmother. She was five years old and stood between her parents on a grey October afternoon.
Alex had been transfixed at the raw emotion of the mourners.
The old woman had smelled awful and had horrible, ugly spots all over her skin. Alex was pleased the old goat was gone.
Beside the grave, she had watched the mourners’ expressions. The downcast eyes, the stoic withholding of emotion, the biting of the lips and, most infuriatingly, the tears.
Alex stared and stared down at the coffin without blinking, fixing her gaze on the stem of a lily atop the casket. Sure enough, her eyes started to water. She recognised that the mourners with the most tears had trembling shoulders. She added that in and managed the two together.
She felt her father’s hand squeeze her shoulder and although she didn’t like the physical contact she had been pleased with what she’d learned and had used her new skills at every opportunity.
Now, Alex’s database told her the correct response for her current situation was shock.
She gripped the edge of the desk for support. ‘No, I’m sorry. You must be mistaken.’
‘I’m afraid not. Miss Willis has admitted to the crime.’
Of course she had, stupid bitch. ‘But … who … where?’
She noted that the male glanced at the female. A slight nod was the response, barely noticeable. The female’s expression, Alex observed, had not changed once. She would be a formidable poker player.
‘She stabbed a man named Allan Harris.’
He said no more, knowing that she would immediately recognise the name.
Alex shook her head and lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘I’m sorry, but this is quite a lot to take in.’
‘Of course, Doctor. Please take a moment.’
Alex did take a minute, to
The doorbell sounded, prompting Alex to check her watch. She’d booked no other patients. Ruth would have been her only appointment of the day.
She opened the door to a male and female standing before her. The male smiled. Alex didn’t smile back. Damn it, this was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.
‘Doctor Thorne, my name is DS Bryant and this is DI Stone. May we come in?’
Alex’s hand tightened on the doorknob as she checked his identification card. She looked from one to the other. ‘What’s this about?’
‘We won’t take much of your time. We’d just like a word about one of your patients.’
‘Of course, come this way.’
Alex led them into her consultation room. Once inside, she appraised them both quickly. The male she guessed to be mid- to late-forties, who clearly liked to keep fit but was fighting the inevitable paunch of middle age. His chestnut hair was greying at the temples but the haircut was efficient and professional. His face was open and friendly.
The woman’s expression was moody and dark. Her hair was a short shock, the colour just this side of black. It was the eyes that almost took Alex’s breath away. A dark intensity brooded within the unsmiling face and tight demeanour. From a distance it was only just possible to see the separation between the irises and the pupils.
She forced herself to look away and focus on the male whose body language was like an open book.
‘So, Detective Bryant, how can I help you?’
‘We believe that Ruth Willis is one of your patients?’
Alex had regained her composure at the surprise visit and with it, her control.
‘I ask again, what is this about?’ she responded, without offering confirmation or denial.
‘Your patient is in police custody at the moment. She is under arrest for murder. Her parents have given us your name.’
Alex’s hand flew to her open mouth. It was a mannerism that she had practised in the mirror many times. It had taken a while to strike the balance between soap opera overkill and first year drama school, but as with every expression in her repertoire it had been observed, practised, honed and perfected.
One of her earliest lessons had been the funeral of her paternal grandmother. She was five years old and stood between her parents on a grey October afternoon.
Alex had been transfixed at the raw emotion of the mourners.
The old woman had smelled awful and had horrible, ugly spots all over her skin. Alex was pleased the old goat was gone.
Beside the grave, she had watched the mourners’ expressions. The downcast eyes, the stoic withholding of emotion, the biting of the lips and, most infuriatingly, the tears.
Alex stared and stared down at the coffin without blinking, fixing her gaze on the stem of a lily atop the casket. Sure enough, her eyes started to water. She recognised that the mourners with the most tears had trembling shoulders. She added that in and managed the two together.
She felt her father’s hand squeeze her shoulder and although she didn’t like the physical contact she had been pleased with what she’d learned and had used her new skills at every opportunity.
Now, Alex’s database told her the correct response for her current situation was shock.
She gripped the edge of the desk for support. ‘No, I’m sorry. You must be mistaken.’
‘I’m afraid not. Miss Willis has admitted to the crime.’
Of course she had, stupid bitch. ‘But … who … where?’
She noted that the male glanced at the female. A slight nod was the response, barely noticeable. The female’s expression, Alex observed, had not changed once. She would be a formidable poker player.
‘She stabbed a man named Allan Harris.’
He said no more, knowing that she would immediately recognise the name.
Alex shook her head and lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘I’m sorry, but this is quite a lot to take in.’
‘Of course, Doctor. Please take a moment.’
Alex did take a minute, to
Similar Books
