what they knew was right?”
Larry leaned back against the booth. “I think the term is ‘human’. What happened?”
Mort brought Larry up to speed on his failure to bring Angelo Satanell, Jr. in for the death of Meaghan Hane. “I had him, Larry. All those times Daddy got him off. This time I had him. I had the DNA. The witnesses. And I shoot my mouth off before the arrest warrant was ready. My money says Angelo, Sr. made one call. Set in motion a play that took me out of the game before I even suited up.”
“Now wait a minute. Surely you’ll investigate what happened in that evidence room.” Larry leaned in. “A blunder on your part, to be certain. But not a crime. That’s on someone else.”
Mort shook his head. “Investigation will turn up nothing. Our team’s spotless. It was some other way. Daddy’s money buys the best.”
“So Satanell walks.” Larry took a sip of beer. “Just like whoever took your Allie away. That what’s got you so angry at yourself?”
Mort leaned back and exhaled long and slow. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping for a little justice in the world. Too much?”
Larry unrolled a slow smile. “Now you’re walking in my world. Is there room in your calculus for divine justice?” He nodded toward Mort’s paper. “That duality you just mentioned. Yin and yang. Good and evil. They make up a whole. Perhaps the evil this Santell does will be met with a celestial reckoning.”
“You talking karma?” Mort huffed out a laugh. “I’m the asshole who couldn’t wait for an arrest warrant. You think I have the patience for karma?”
“We’re a nation of laws, Mort. But we’re a universe of mystery. If the law can’t provide justice, what else have we but hope for a godly balancing?”
Mort’s eyes hardened. “There’s got to be another way.”
The world-renowned scholar shook his head and reached for his puzzle. “Keep your focus on your job, my friend. The other way lies trouble.”
Chapter Eight
Lydia Corriger said goodbye to her seventh patient of the day at five-thirty. She dreaded driving home with every state worker in Thurston County and was weighing her commuting options when she heard the front door to her office suite open.
“Dr. Corriger?” A female voice called from the reception area. “Hello?”
Lydia pushed away from her desk and crossed her office.
Savannah Samuels smiled and looked past Lydia’s shoulder. “Are you with someone? I know I don’t have an appointment.”
Lydia surveyed her unexpected visitor. Savannah’s jet black hair was shorter. She wore chinos and a soft grey flannel shirt. Suede moccasins. Far more comfortable than the picture of calculated chic she presented last time, but still the kind of beauty who inspires poets.
“You nearly missed me. What can I do for you, Savannah?”
The lovely woman fixed Lydia with pleading eyes. “You remember me. That’s nice.” Savannah hunched her shoulders and clenched her flawless face in supplication. “Could you maybe see me? Now, I mean?”
Lydia looked at her wristwatch.
“I know it’s late. Please. I’ll pay extra.”
Lydia raised her right eyebrow.
“That’s right. I forgot. I’m sorry.” Savannah offered a weak smile. “I’ll pay your published fee and not a penny more.”
Lydia glanced at her watch, remembered the traffic, and ushered her in. She settled into a chair and watched Savannah mill about her office, looking at framed diplomas before moving on to inspect titles on her shelf. She ran her finger across a row of books. “You can tell a lot about a person by how they decorate,” she said.
“It’s been, what?” Lydia scanned her memory bank. “Six weeks? Maybe seven? What brings you back?”
“For instance, you don’t have any photographs. Not on your shelves. Not on your walls.”
“Savannah, you didn’t come here to critique my decorating. Tell me what’s going on.” Lydia reached for her notebook but recalled Savannah’s request for no session notes.
“No photo of you shaking hands with an academic legend. No pictures of a smiling hubby or kids. Not even a dog.” Savannah’s blue eyes teased. “How very un-trophy of you, Dr. Corriger.”
“Savannah, you may talk about lots of things but you may not waste my time.” Lydia’s tone was gentle but unyielding.
“Not even one picture from the past?” Savannah whispered. “A childhood friend? Maybe someone special?”
“Have a seat, please.”
Savannah stood still. Lydia watched her in silence. Finally, she sat down, rigid and straight-backed, across from her therapist.
“Where should we start?” Savannah placed her canvas tote next to her feet and put her hands on clenched knees. Her right leg bobbed. A manic metronome beating the tempo of unrestrained anxiety.
“You’re afraid of something. Do you know what it is?” Lydia snuggled further down into her overstuffed chair. Model the opposite pose of a nervous patient, she reminded herself. Calm and steady.
Tears filled Savannah’s eyes. She reached for the tissue box on the table between the two women. “Of course I know. Did you think I’d be blissfully ignorant of my demons?”
“Demons, are they?” Lydia focused on her patient. “Tell me about them.”
Savannah wiped her eyes and pulled herself taller.
“You told me at our last visit you already trusted me.” Lydia let a few more moments pass in silence. “Does that still hold?” Voice steady and non-judgmental.
Savannah whispered. “It does. Thanks for seeing me. I know it’s late.”
“Then let’s make this time productive.” Lydia needed to press. Keep her patient focused. “I believe you were worried about something in you being broken. Am I right?”
Savannah was silent for several long moments. “I hurt people, Dr. Corriger. It didn’t used to bother me. Now it does.” Savannah reached for another tissue and held it in her clenched right hand.
“How do you hurt people?” Keep the probing neutral and focused. Use the patient’s own words. Build intimacy by creating the illusion they’re talking to themselves.
Savannah blinked a tear away and stared into middle space. “Do the details matter?”
“I think they do. There’s lots of ways we can hurt people,” Lydia said. “Intentional or accidental. Emotional. Physical. Sexual. Financial. Consistently or at random.” She watched her patient. “What ways do you think you hurt people, Savannah?”
The beautiful woman continued her numb gaze into nothingness. “I’ve hurt people every way you can conceive. Let’s leave it at that.”
Lydia recognized self-loathing. Normalizing was the next step, but she needed specifics. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Savannah kept her eyes away from Lydia. “What’s the worst thing you can imagine? Think of that. Assume I’ve done it.”
Time for the challenge. Offer an absurd option. Lead the patient to realize their sins aren’t anywhere near as corrupt as they assume. “I’d say killing someone is as bad as it gets. Raping someone. Torturing someone.”
Savannah’s eyes were a blue Alaskan glacier; cold and unyielding. “Come on, Dr. Corriger. With what you know about me you can do better than that.” She tossed her tissue into the wastebasket a few feet away.
Lydia wondered what Savannah fantasized she knew. “Let’s switch gears. Maybe something less heated. What have you been up to since our last appointment? Seven weeks is a long time.”
Savannah focused her attention on the seam of her trousers. She traced its line with her fingernail. “I’ve been out of town.”
“Work or pleasure?”
