The Nitrogen Murder by Camille Minichino Page A

like old friends or father and daughter. Dana inhaled deeply and relaxed as Matt took a seat across from her.

    “I’m really glad you could come, Matt. I know you must have a gazillion things to do with Elaine and Gloria.”
    Matt crossed one leg over the other. Short legs, Dana noticed, compared to most of the men in her life. “Think about it. Would I rather be helping them choose shades of lipstick?”
    “Dana got it.”No, but you could be wine tasting. The famous Napa Valley’s not that far away.”
    “I don’t drink alcohol. So, you see, this is a real break for me.”
    Dana smiled, grateful he was making this so easy for her.
    The waiting room seemed unnaturally quiet. Not just because there were no other patients. It was as if the building were wrapped in a huge emergency kit blanket insulating it from outside noises like traffic or barking dogs. No piped-in music, either, or blaring TV, though there was a small set high in one corner of the room.
    Dana drew a long breath. “Can I tell you something?” she asked, almost whispering.
    Matt opened his palms. Anything.
    “I wish I’d been able to kill the guy who shot Tanisha.”
    “You’d be feeling a lot worse right now, believe me.”
    Dana sat back. She knew he was right, that he spoke from experience; she couldn’t figure why she’d even needed to hear it and was amazed she’d expressed herself out loud. She looked around the room as if she might find a device that brought out secret thoughts. She saw only warm landscapes in simple wooden frames, a magazine rack, large lamps with ceramic bases, and the door to the doctor’s office.
    “Did you have counseling after your incident?” Dana asked.
    Matt shifted in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. “If you could call it that. Internal Affairs ruled it a good shoot; the department shrink asked me if I was okay; I said sure; and my captain said, ‘Okay, then, take a couple of days R&R and we’ll see you on Monday.’”

    Dana laughed. “I guess counseling wasn’t a big deal back then. Maybe there’s too much made of it these days.”
    “Who knows?” Matt said. “You just work with what you have and do the best you can.”
    Dana loved Matt’s honesty She tried to imagine what her dad would have said. She heard his deep, confident voice, lecture-style: Follow the rules, Dana, they’re for your own good, and you’ll be glad later . A not-so-subtle difference. Matt wasn’t giving her any guarantees. If she didn’t know before last Friday night that life promised nothing, she knew it now.
    Her eyes were tearing up again. It didn’t take much. Dana fished in her purse for a tissue and felt the edge of the ID card she’d found in Robin’s closet. She couldn’t fathom the connections—the Indian gunshot victim, the consulting firm her father worked with, and her roommate. She toyed with showing the card to Matt, but he was a cop, after all, and Dana wasn’t sure she wanted to get the police involved. Even the Massachusetts police. She tried to figure why not. Was she afraid they’d investigate her? And find her small stash and pipe?
    Before she had to decide, Dr. Barnett’s secretary appeared at the door and, with a sweeping wave, invited her in.
     
    Dana tried to pay attention to Dr. Barnett. The therapist’s pageboy and blue-and-white seersucker suit were from another era, as if she’d had been called forth from a simpler time. The doctor’s questions seemed simple, but to Dana they were complicated.
    “Any physical signs of stress?” How can I tell? I’m on edge most of the time.
    “Headaches?” Yes. But more than usual? I don’t know.
    “Changes in sex drive?” Ha, no way to tell. I haven’t had sex since Scott left.
    “Dizziness? Changes in eating habits? Sleeping?” Yes. No. Maybe.

    “Poor concentration? Problems making decisions?” What else is new?
    “Dana? Dana.” Dr. Barnett’s voice was sharp, bringing Dana back into the room.
    Dana had no idea how her