by Karen Fenech
“Not one man, Agent Marshall. There is a corroborating statement. The complaint is supported.” Cohen’s tone was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Supported by whom?” Clare asked.
“The sheriff from the town,” Cohen said. “This matter has been brought to the attention of the Office of Professional Responsibility and the department will be reviewing the allegation.”
“I see,” Clare said.
“I understand there was a fire at your accommodation and you were forced to flee the burning building. How are you feeling?”
“I sustained only minor injuries and I’m recovering well.”
“I’m glad of that. This is undoubtedly a difficult time for you, Clare. I’d like you to have a talk with Dr. Amedes. She’s a psychologist working out of the Columbia field office.”
Clare’s throat tightened. “With all due respect, sir, it isn’t necessary for me to speak with a therapist. I’m fine and perfectly capable of addressing any questions the OPR may have.”
Cohen went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve scheduled an appointment for you for tomorrow at one o’clock in the afternoon. I realize that you’re on personal time and may wish to delay this until you’re back in New York. I would prefer, however, that you speak with Amedes tomorrow.”
And to hell with what she wanted, obviously, Clare thought. She wanted to refuse—and not just tomorrow’s appointment. Whether in Columbia or New York, she did not want to speak with a psychologist at all. She’d been poked and prodded by psychologists throughout her childhood and teen years. She didn’t want to speak with another one as long as she lived.
She felt railroaded and worse—caged. If she refused to speak with the shrink, however, that would be another strike against her. Cohen may already be gearing up to pull her from active duty for poor job performance based on the allegation of misconduct.
A silence drew on while Clare fumed. Cohen waited her out. They both knew what her decision would be if she didn’t want to jeopardize her field position with the Bureau.
Finally, Clare said, “Very well, sir, I’ll see Dr. Amedes.”
“There are good people looking into your sister’s disappearance,” Cohen said. “Let them do their jobs, Clare. You focus your attention on your recovery. You still have six days before you’re due back in New York. I’ll be in touch with you prior to your return and we’ll discuss if you’re feeling well enough to resume your duties.”
The “if” was not lost on Clare. Cohen did not wait for her to reply. His decision delivered, he ended the call.
Clare set her phone down on the tabletop slowly.
“Well?” Jake asked.
“I was wrong when I said Ryder didn’t have the guts to go to the OPR.” She gave Jake the highlights of the call. “Cohen is afraid I’m flipping and will cause more trouble for the Bureau. He’s now made it his business to keep tabs on me.”
“An investigation that involved one of his agents was sure to attract his attention.”
“Added to that, a complaint of misconduct.” Clare chewed her lip briefly. “I can’t believe he wants me to see a shrink.”
A muscle throbbed in Jake’s jaw. “Just what the hell did Ryder put into that complaint?”
Clare made a face. “I guess I’ll find out when I’m back in New York. Cohen didn’t give me a date for the OPR interview but he went ahead and booked an appointment with the shrink for tomorrow.”
Jake regarded her with a steady gaze. “You can refuse.”
“Sure and let Cohen and the Bureau draw its own conclusions about my mental health. They don’t want me to become an embarrassment. Easier to make me go away. I’d end up at some dead-end post, counting paper clips all day. Cohen already told me to expect a call from him in the next six days to discuss if I’m well enough to resume my duties.”
“You can fight that, Clare. I would help you fight that.”
It frightened her how much his support meant to her. Her heart was beating too hard. It was a wonder he couldn’t hear it. But the problem was hers. She wouldn’t drag him into this mess with her.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to drag this out. I’ll see Amedes tomorrow.”
* * * * *
The next morning, Jake drove Clare to his office where she picked up her replacement weapon. From there, they drove to Main Street. She retrieved her bank cards and while he waited in his vehicle, she went into the women’s clothing store.
Her need for underthings, work, and casual clothing was desperate. The selection was good, but she may as well have been buying sackcloth for the joy she took in the experience. She was fuming over the time she would have to spend primping for her session with the Bureau shrink. Wasted time that she should be spending searching for Beth.
On the way back to Jake’s place, they went by the house Clare had been renting and picked up her car. It was her left ankle that had sustained injury. She was able to drive herself to the appointment in Columbia, but Jake said he would drive her. She didn’t put up much of a fight to dissuade him. He knew Columbia a lot better than she did, but she wasn’t thinking of the drive. Given the choice, she would have preferred a summons from the OPR. Her strong aversion to psychiatry made her feel as if she were going into a lion’s den.
She’d sat on so many therapist’s couches since that day when her mother had killed Owen and tried to kill Clare and Katie/Beth, that she should be used to them by now. But she’d never gotten used to it, in fact, as more than one counselor had pointed out, she was decidedly hostile and averse to therapy.
Her hostility had been blamed for her not getting the intended result out of the therapy. Just what the intended result had been, she was never able to determine.
By the time Jake drove into the parking lot of the Columbia Bureau office, Clare was wound tighter than a ball of yarn. He gave her ice-cold hand a squeeze and they made their way into the building. While a receptionist ushered Clare into the therapist’s office, Jake remained in the waiting room.
The Bureau psychologist, Dr. Julie Amedes, was a fifty-ish woman dressed in a bright summer suit. Her hair hung in loose curls. By the fullness of the style, Clare believed the curls were natural.
Amedes smiled. “Agent Marshall, nice to meet you.”
Clare clasped the hand Amedes extended and the therapist pumped Clare’s hand enthusiastically. Clare did not return the other woman’s exuberance. She knew how this meeting needed to go in order for her to stay on the job, but she’d never been adept or inclined to pull her punches. Just being in the psychologist’s presence had already stirred old resentments.
Pastels and soft fabrics made up the decor in Amedes’s office. Amedes sat in a plush chair. She gestured for Clare to take the seat opposite her own. “So, tell me, what brings you to my office today?”
Clare found the question insulting. Psychologists were available to employees of the Bureau if they wished, and some must make use of the service or Amedes and her colleagues would be out of a job here, but for Clare this would be the last place she would choose to be. Amedes would know that this consultation had been arranged by Clare’s superior. Was the woman trying the friendly routine, or to pretend ignorance? Neither of which Clare welcomed.
“Were you not informed that SSA Cohen set up this meeting?” Clare said with some bite to the words.
Amedes didn’t respond to Clare’s remark. She reached behind her to her desk and retrieved a file folder, which she opened and laid across her lap. “Supervisory Special Agent Cohen is concerned you may be under a great deal of stress. I understand that you recently filed a missing person’s report on your sister.”
Clare took the question as rhetorical, and did not respond.
Amedes consulted the folder. “You went to Farley to reunite with your sister, whom you’ve been searching for, and when you arrived you discovered that she was not in the town. Do I have the information and the sequence of events right?”
“Your information is accurate.
”
Amedes placed the folder on the coffee table between them, leaving it open. “Tell me, have you been able to find out anything about where your sister might be?”
Clare resented that she was expected to speak of her private life and offered only, “We’re following up on a number of leads.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Your sister left town a little over a week ago. I understand you’re looking at her husband for some involvement in her disappearance. Standard procedure, I believe, is to look to the husband first.”
“Yes,” Clare said.
“That can’t sit well with him, I’d imagine, or his friends and neighbors. I’d imagine you’ve found yourself in hostile territory lately. How have you been feeling, Clare?”
“I’m fine.”
Amedes smiled. “Fine may be an overstatement with what you’ve had to cope with recently, I’d say. I know about the OPR inquiry.”
“I expect that you would,” Clare said caustically.
“What do you do to unwind?”
The question struck a raw nerve. “I’m not a drinker, if that’s what you’d like to know.” Clare gave Amedes a frosty look. “Never have been.”
“I didn’t mean that.” She smiled again. “I looked into your mother’s history. I know about her alcohol and drug use.”
Clare nodded. “Of course.”
“Please don’t resent my interest. I’d like to help you cope with the recent stresses you’ve been forced to deal with. Your mother’s execution was a few weeks ago. Did you attend?”
Clare had to struggle to keep her expression bland at the ludicrous question. She reminded herself that Amedes was trying to elicit some emotional reaction from her that she could likely use to recommend she be removed from active duty and responded with a simple, “No.”
“Have you visited with your mother at all during her incarceration?”
“No.”
“Have you had any contact at all through phone calls or letters?”
“No.”
“Tell me about the day of the fire,” Amedes said.
“What would you like to know?”
Amedes tilted her head and regarded Clare. “What did you do that day?”
Clare recited the events of the day, beginning with when she awakened and what she ate for breakfast in the monotone she used to recite details in a report. She omitted learning of Beth’s pregnancy.
“Tell me about the fire,” Amedes said.
“The damage to the house was extensive. The fire originated in the kitchen.”
“How did you feel about the fire?”
That gave Clare pause. “I don’t understand the question.”
Amedes folded her hands neatly in her lap. “What were you thinking while the fire was raging and you were trapped inside?”
“I was thinking of a way to get out.”
“Do you have any memory of how the fire started?”
“It’s not a question of memory. I have no knowledge of how the fire began. I’ve been told that a pan containing cooking oil was found on the stove in the kitchen and that the gas burner was lit, igniting the oil.”
“I understand that the fire was deemed accidental.”
“That’s what the local investigators concluded, yes.” Clare arched her brows. “Though, I suspect you’re leaning in another direction.”
“Not leaning.” Amedes shook her head. She spread out her hands, palms up. “Merely inquiring. I’d like to know your state of mind that day. I’d like to make sure that you didn’t start the fire as a means of ending your life. Have you ever thought of suicide, Clare?”
It was not the first time Clare had been asked that by a therapist. It never failed to anger her when they judged her life, and found it so lacking that suicide seemed a viable option. No matter how bleak her life had been at times, she’d never considered ending it. She’d awakened in a hospital with the horrific memory that her own mother had tried to kill her. Shortly after, she’d learned that her brother was dead. That her baby sister was out of her life. Clare had been five years old. But at no time then or during the difficult years that followed had she wanted to be dead herself.
If she were dead, how would she find her sister?
Clare met the doctor’s gaze. “I have no thoughts of suicide, do you?”
Amedes hesitated as if involved in an internal debate, then appeared to come to a decision. “Actually,” she said softly, “I did go through a dark period when I thought death was better than life.” Amedes slowly pushed up the sleeves of her suit jacket, then unbuttoned the cuffs of her silk blouse and bared her wrists. Jagged scars crisscrossed the thin skin there. Amedes left her wrists exposed and said, “My husband and our two children were killed in a car accident twelve years ago.” She went on, her tone gentle, “What did you expect coming here, Clare?”
Amedes’s personal disclosure took Clare by surprise. She didn’t want to know anything about this woman she regarded as the enemy. Clare reverted to anger. “I expected that you would evaluate my mental competency and then rule on whether or not I am to be permitted to continue to work in the field. Does that sum it up?”
“How do you feel about that?”
Clare eyed Amedes. “This evaluation is intrusive. I drank a little heavily one evening. On my own time. When I was off duty. While on vacation. In fact, I’m not on active duty at all at the moment. I’m still on vacation and as such, my choice of beverages is of no concern to the Bureau nor does it reflect on my ability to perform my duties as a federal agent.”
“You’re right,” Amedes said. “Who wouldn’t feel resentful and angry at having their privacy invaded because they tied one on while on vacation. I’d like to see you again, Agent Marshall.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“I think there’s a lot you’re dealing with. I can understand why you haven’t confided in me. Aside from the fact that you don’t know me, since we’ve only just met, and I work for the Bureau so the belief is that I am nothing but a spy for the powers that be, I know that you received mandatory counseling throughout your childhood and into your late teen years. It can’t sit well with you to be forced to speak with me today. I’d like to see you again,” Amedes repeated. “I believe we’d work well together. I won’t recommend it, though, in my report. I’ll leave that up to you to come back to see me. I’m going to recommend that you be permitted to continue at your assigned post.”
Amedes stood. She extended her hand. She had not buttoned the cuffs on her blouse and her lower arms remained exposed. The slight tension in the arm she held out made the scars on her wrist pucker, making them bolder.
“I hope we meet again, Clare,” Amedes said.
Clare accepted the handshake, then left without comment.
* * * * *
Jake was seated in the waiting room when Clare entered it. He stood and studied her as she went to him, his expression grave.
“You all right?” he asked.
Clare nodded.
“Let’s get out of here.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her to the elevators that would take them back down to the lobby and the exit.
