closet. Pink plastic hangers rattled in the space. She pulled out the wardrobe drawers. Empty.
I know where her clothes went-in the trash. What a weird way to grieve-poor kid. She saw the girl’s face again in her mind’s eye, part of her nose gone, blue eyes shadows behind puffy lids. Lei pinched herself to stay in the present moment, sitting back on the bed.
Stevens came to the door. “Anything?”
“No. Totally cleaned out. Looks like they’re making this into a guest room.” She gestured to the faux rattan headboard and orchid-print drapes.
Just then Jeremy called, “Come see this!”
They went into the den, where Jeremy had been searching the computer. He swiveled the flat-screen monitor so they could see pictures of Kelly.
She was wearing the ruffled yellow skirt Lei remembered from the evidence room, sitting with her legs open. Jeremy clicked to the next photo. She was naked. Her flaxen hair was spread over small breasts, her hand over her mound. Her eyes shone with misery. More pictures, each progressively more seductive, and her eyes more glazed. The background was the oatmeal-colored couch in the living room.
The last picture was of Kelly and Haunani naked, lying facing each other in the green grass beside a stream. The composition was beautiful, the colors rich-and the subject matter haunting and terrible.
“Holy shit!” Pono exclaimed. “This motherfucker just had these pictures sitting on his desktop? He was just asking to get busted!”
“I broke his encryption,” Jeremy said. “It wasn’t too complicated. This file is called ‘baby photos’ and I knew he never had any babies, so I checked it.”
“I think we got him,” Stevens said. Lei turned away and went back to Kelly’s room. She felt dizzy. She turned on the special vacuum with its evidence collection bag, sucking any fibers out of the carpet. Bile seemed to be pressing up in her throat and she gulped it back, gripping the vacuum hard. Get a grip, she told herself, and felt hysterical laughter threaten.
Her cell rang. It was Irene at Dispatch.
“This is your reminder call. You have counseling today at two p.m., and it’s one-forty-five. I thought you might forget. I know you guys are out searching the Reynolds place.”
“Shit,” Lei said, ripping the vacuum cord out of the wall. “This is not a good time!”
“When is it ever?” Irene said cheerfully. “Say thank you for the reminder, or I’ll give you a graveyard shift.”
“Thanks, Irene. Are you sure I can’t reschedule?”
“Mandatory means mandatory. You ask me, you got off light so no mess with the Lieutenant on this.”
“Shit,” she said again. “Okay. Thanks.” She clicked the phone closed. “Stevens, I need to go back to the station.”
They were still clustered around the computer as she came back in, the vacuum bag in hand. Pono turned to her.
“What for? We’re in the middle of something.”
“That damn mandatory counseling.”
“Bad timing,” Stevens said. “I need you here.”
“If you guys weren’t just getting your jollies looking at the dead girls, we might be getting more done,” she snapped. All three of them stared at her.
“Unplug the computer and we’ll take the whole thing down to the station,” Stevens said to Jeremy. He looked at Lei. “I think you better go get that counseling.”
Fury and shame clogged her throat. She dropped the evidence bag and left, the screen door banging behind her.
It took her the whole drive to the station to calm down. She knew her response to the search was irrational, knew it had to do with her past. As usual, knowing didn’t help. She took some deep breaths and put her hand in her pocket, feeling the triangular corner of Stevens’s note. Asshole, she thought, glad they hadn’t kissed but wishing they had. Wishing she could get the images of the girls out of her mind. Wishing she was normal.
She parked the Crown Vic and went into the industrial beige women’s room, splashing water on her face and making sure her hair was under control. She touched up with lipgloss and brushed some lint off her uniform.
“I look fine,” she said out loud. “Not remotely psycho.”
Chapter 20
She went down the hall to Dr. Wilson’s office. The police psychologist opened the door after her tentative knock. She was a diminutive woman, neatly dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. The bell of her smooth ash-blonde hair swung as she gestured Lei in.
“You must be Ms. Texeira. Come on in and get comfortable.”
Lei took a seat in the corner. The room was furnished simply with a couch and several deep, cushy chairs. Amateurish paintings decorated the walls, and there was a low coffee table with a Japanese sand garden on it, complete with a tiny rake.
The psychologist took another chair across from Lei. She had a clipboard and a pen.
“Just a few housekeeping items before we get started,” she said briskly. “You have six mandatory sessions. This one was scheduled, but we will set up the next one at a time we agree on. This time is completely confidential and I keep very few notes. However, at the end of your last session I have to fill out this assessment form.” She held up the clipboard showing the form. “I have to give you a rating as to how engaged you were in the process and my opinion as to whether you are fit for duty. Needless to say that’s a big axe to have hanging over your head, so I am going to remove it now.”
She filled out the form. The 1–5 rating scale on engagement was circled at 4.5, and she printed “Fit for Duty” in the outcome area. She signed it, a bold Patrice Wilson, Ph. D., and held it up.
“I have never felt this was the way to treat people,” she said. “Now we can put that behind us and just see what comes up.”
She folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope, sealing the edge and writing “Lieutenant Ohale” on the front. She laid it on the coffee table and sat back comfortably.
“Isn’t that unethical?” Lei frowned.
“Isn’t it unethical to expect counseling to work with that kind of threat hanging over the process?”
“I don’t know. I think this whole thing is bogus.”
“So do I. But they still pay me.”
Astonishingly, she snickered. It was such an undignified noise coming from such a polished, respectable- looking woman that Lei just stared.
“Want something to drink?” Dr. Wilson asked, getting up and going to a little mini fridge in the corner. Lei halfway expected her to hold up a booze bottle, the way things had been going, but she just held up a water. Lei took it, realizing she was parched from the busy day. Might as well shock this lady, she thought, draining the water bottle.
“I was raped when I was nine.”
“Huh,” said Dr. Wilson, sitting back down. “You’d be surprised how many police officers were.”
Again Lei was off balance, flummoxed. Her other counselor had been warm, teasing the story out of her by inches, affirming her all the way.
“Female police officers, I should say,” Dr. Wilson clarified. “Some guys get into the force because they like being aggressive. Got a lot of wife beaters around here.”
“Huh,” Lei said, mimicking her. “Well, it was my mom’s boyfriend.”
“What did you do about it?”
Again the unexpected response. Lei felt the heat of rage roar up her neck. “I fucking took it. I was nine years old for chrissake. What the hell kind of counselor are you?”
Dr. Wilson said nothing. Lei felt the anger recede, felt the pressure of her secret easing. She settled back into the couch.
