it. On pink stationery. The letters were cut out of magazines and formed the message:
Y-O-U W-I-L-L P-A-Y
The other message was just as brief: G-E-T R-E-A-D-Y F-O-R H-E-L-L.
He’d thought perhaps someone had found out he’d donated to the Women’s Free Health Clinic. Perhaps they got a copy of all their benefactors and sent out hate mail. But this was definitely more personal. Seeing his daughter’s cat at the bottom of the pool, and hearing her anguished screams did feel like Hell itself.
He gulped down the rest of his drink and stared at the letters.
Why? For a mistake I made? He couldn’t think of anyone with this level of anger that was not institutionalized. He scanned his files, mentally. Could not find any animal abusers he was treating, or treatments that had gone wrong. Except for the ones he couldn’t stop from taking their own lives. Those haunted him daily.
He slipped the notes back inside their envelopes, and tucked the two envelopes inside the bills and took them to his study. Opening up a file drawer, he slipped the bills and the notes in the To Be Paid file and re-locked the drawer.
The little headache that had niggled around the back of his head now came on strong, pounding his skull at the temples. He’d go see his friend on the force and show him the letters. Tonight he needed to be with his women.
Carla closed the door to Libby’s room behind her as he rounded the top of the stairs.
He took her in his arms and held her while she wept silently. His big hand rubbed through her hair, finding the top of her spine, where he massaged her neck while he held her.
“Who is doing this, Austin? Do you know?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why?”
“Someone deeply disturbed.” He sighed. “I’ll go see Clark at the precinct. Maybe he will give me something to look for.”
She drew back to stare into his eyes. “Look for? You think you know this person somehow? One of your patients?”
He didn’t want to answer that question, but he could see she’d figured it out. Twenty-five years of marriage made it easy for her to spot his fear, to intuit what he feared. He’d learned long ago it was useless to hide his feelings from her. She read him like a book. The way he wished he could read his patients.
“Maybe,” he whispered. “But no one that I’m aware of.” He held her face between his palms. “Carla, no one, understand? I wouldn’t be treating someone like this without precautions.”
She nodded.
He felt like a heel, but he didn’t want to tell her about the letters. Maybe the cat caper would satisfy the pervert. Or, maybe there was evidence on the letters the police could use to catch the guy. Either way, he didn’t want Carla alarmed. He would tell her to take precautions tonight, after they’d had a family meal, and after his head cleared. In the meantime, he’d set up a meeting for tomorrow with his friend in the San Diego Police Department. He’d also be rehearsing that speech to Carla several times.
It was going to be nearly impossible to get Carla out of the house, but he knew it was time to face the reality of their situation. He had to make her understand, without showing her the letters.
If that was possible.
Chapter 9
The next day, Dr. Brownlee knew Detective Clark Riverton was not happy about his call, and had probably spent the morning cleaning up his office in preparation for their meeting. It was Sunday, after all, and Brownlee had insisted they meet at the detective’s office, not the Brownlee home. That made it more official. And meant he didn’t yet have to tell his wife and daughter about the letters.
The surface of Riverton’s dented metal desk was hardly ever exposed, not like today. The detective’s man-cave was a perpetual cleanup in process, one never completed. The desk’s soft plastic top was perfect for pressing hard when filling out quadruplicate forms for the Department. Over the years he’d seen the man
Y-O-U W-I-L-L P-A-Y
The other message was just as brief: G-E-T R-E-A-D-Y F-O-R H-E-L-L.
He’d thought perhaps someone had found out he’d donated to the Women’s Free Health Clinic. Perhaps they got a copy of all their benefactors and sent out hate mail. But this was definitely more personal. Seeing his daughter’s cat at the bottom of the pool, and hearing her anguished screams did feel like Hell itself.
He gulped down the rest of his drink and stared at the letters.
Why? For a mistake I made? He couldn’t think of anyone with this level of anger that was not institutionalized. He scanned his files, mentally. Could not find any animal abusers he was treating, or treatments that had gone wrong. Except for the ones he couldn’t stop from taking their own lives. Those haunted him daily.
He slipped the notes back inside their envelopes, and tucked the two envelopes inside the bills and took them to his study. Opening up a file drawer, he slipped the bills and the notes in the To Be Paid file and re-locked the drawer.
The little headache that had niggled around the back of his head now came on strong, pounding his skull at the temples. He’d go see his friend on the force and show him the letters. Tonight he needed to be with his women.
Carla closed the door to Libby’s room behind her as he rounded the top of the stairs.
He took her in his arms and held her while she wept silently. His big hand rubbed through her hair, finding the top of her spine, where he massaged her neck while he held her.
“Who is doing this, Austin? Do you know?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why?”
“Someone deeply disturbed.” He sighed. “I’ll go see Clark at the precinct. Maybe he will give me something to look for.”
She drew back to stare into his eyes. “Look for? You think you know this person somehow? One of your patients?”
He didn’t want to answer that question, but he could see she’d figured it out. Twenty-five years of marriage made it easy for her to spot his fear, to intuit what he feared. He’d learned long ago it was useless to hide his feelings from her. She read him like a book. The way he wished he could read his patients.
“Maybe,” he whispered. “But no one that I’m aware of.” He held her face between his palms. “Carla, no one, understand? I wouldn’t be treating someone like this without precautions.”
She nodded.
He felt like a heel, but he didn’t want to tell her about the letters. Maybe the cat caper would satisfy the pervert. Or, maybe there was evidence on the letters the police could use to catch the guy. Either way, he didn’t want Carla alarmed. He would tell her to take precautions tonight, after they’d had a family meal, and after his head cleared. In the meantime, he’d set up a meeting for tomorrow with his friend in the San Diego Police Department. He’d also be rehearsing that speech to Carla several times.
It was going to be nearly impossible to get Carla out of the house, but he knew it was time to face the reality of their situation. He had to make her understand, without showing her the letters.
If that was possible.
Chapter 9
The next day, Dr. Brownlee knew Detective Clark Riverton was not happy about his call, and had probably spent the morning cleaning up his office in preparation for their meeting. It was Sunday, after all, and Brownlee had insisted they meet at the detective’s office, not the Brownlee home. That made it more official. And meant he didn’t yet have to tell his wife and daughter about the letters.
The surface of Riverton’s dented metal desk was hardly ever exposed, not like today. The detective’s man-cave was a perpetual cleanup in process, one never completed. The desk’s soft plastic top was perfect for pressing hard when filling out quadruplicate forms for the Department. Over the years he’d seen the man
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