‘A certain Dr Andrew Vasey. Likes to be called Andy, apparently. She gets depressed about her boyfriend, goes to see this guy, and-’
‘Wait a minute. She goes to see a shrink? She’s a college student. Her mom doesn’t look like she ever earned much. How the hell does she afford to see a shrink?’
‘She can’t. It’s a favor. Cindy gets introduced to him by a friend at NYU. She gets talking to him, tells him her woes. Next thing you know, he’s offering to let her lie on his couch. He says it won’t cost her a cent. What he doesn’t tell her is that he’s got a different form of payment in mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
Gonzo slaps the sheaf of paper. ‘It’s all in here. Guy was a lech. Kept asking her all sorts of weird sexual things. Then he sat real close to her and put his hand on her knee. She got out of there fast. It really freaked her out.’
Doyle thinks about it. It’s strange, totally unprofessional behavior, all right, and he needs to check it out. But all the same, could this really be a precursor to murder?
‘Is that it?’
‘That, and the visit.’
‘What visit?’
‘When he came to see her. Ask me where.’
Doyle is reminded of the way Norman Chin engages his audience. He wonders if all scientists have such an annoying habit.
‘Where?’
Gonzo practically sings the next bit, which in his voice sounds comical. ‘In the bookstore.’
Doyle finds himself sitting up straighter. ‘He saw her at the bookstore?’
‘Yup. Told her he was crazy about her. When she told him she wasn’t interested, he started getting frisky again. He even touched her on the. .’ Gonzo drops his voice to a whisper and circles a finger in the air close to his chest, ‘. . in the thoracic region.’
‘He fondled her breast?’
Looking a little embarrassed, Gonzo clears his throat. ‘She slapped him then, and when he left he was really pissed. He told her she’d be seeing him again.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last November.’
Doyle stares through the windshield for a minute, thinking that this changes everything. Vasey coming on strong, showing up at the bookstore, making inappropriate comments, then getting his face slapped and threatening a return encounter — well, that’s a disturbing progression if ever there was one.
‘Okay, Gonzo. You done good. Thanks.’
‘So this Vasey. We need to go see him, right? I mean, the way he’s been acting-’
‘Whoa! Did you say
‘I looked him up. His practice is on Fifty-second and Fifth. I thought we-’
‘Gonzo! Watch my lips. It’s the same message I already gave you. I ain’t looking to do a duet with you.’
‘But if you’re working alone-’
‘Who says I’m working alone?’
‘Well, aren’t you? If you’re trying to keep this so quiet for whatever reason, then I guess-’
‘Yes, okay, I’m working solo. But for now it has to stay that way, all right? You did a great job, kid, but you’re not a cop. Your contribution ends here.’
The disappointment on Gonzo’s face is so unmistakable it almost breaks Doyle’s heart.
‘Here,’ says Gonzo, pushing the printout toward Doyle. ‘You better take this.’
Doyle accepts the document in silence. He has the feeling that anything he adds will only make Gonzo feel worse.
‘I better get back,’ says Gonzo. ‘I’m supposed to be on my lunch break.’
Doyle watches him get out of the car. Before Gonzo closes the door, Doyle says to him, ‘Uhm, you forget something?’
Gonzo peers into the car interior, then gives Doyle a blank look.
‘The computer?’
‘Oh. Oh yeah.’
Gonzo digs the laptop out from his bag and passes it across to Doyle.
‘See you around,’ says Gonzo. ‘Good luck with the case.’
‘Yeah. Take it easy, kid.’
Doyle watches in his rearview mirror as the nerdy young man heads down the street with a gait that makes it look as though his shoelaces are tied together.
NINE
Gonzo was right.
The one thing which stands out from all the other entries in Cindy Mellish’s digital diary is the description of her encounters with Dr Andrew Vasey. Prior to that, the text is mostly made up of long flowery transcriptions of her thoughts about the beautiful, delectable, incredible Josh, followed by a series of interminably depressing passages about her longing for the now-absent hero.
Doyle finds himself deciding that his own daughter will not go through this kind of turmoil when she reaches her teens. He’s not going to allow it to happen. Just to be sure, he makes the further decision that Amy will not go out with boys until she is of sufficient emotional maturity to deal with any unfortunate circumstances. Which, in Doyle’s estimation, means no earlier than her twenty-fifth birthday.
The first mention of Vasey is in mid-September of last year:
September 17
I haven’t written here for a while. This summer was so bad. It just wasn’t the same without Josh. Mom kept trying to cheer me up, but it just didn’t do it for me. I needed Josh. He was all I could think about every day.
I’m glad to be back at college. It helps to take my mind off things. Plus it’s great to see M again. She’s so nice to me. She can see how upset I still am. Last night she gave me a business card for this therapist friend of her dad’s. His name is Dr Andrew Vasey. She said he’s amazing, and that he could really help me get myself together again. She said he would even do a session for free. I don’t think I’ll call him, but it was a kind thought.
Nothing much happens for the next few days. Then:
September 26
I’ve been a wreck this week. It’s been months since Josh and I split up, and I know I should be over him by now. But it doesn’t work like that. Not for me, anyway. I always thought he was the one.
M has made a decision for me. She’s booked me in with that therapist. I don’t really want to go, but she’s insistent. Maybe it’ll help. What the hell. It can’t get any worse.
There is another tedious interlude, but then it really kicks off:
October 8
Oh. My. God.
It still seems unreal. I’m not even sure I can write about this, but here goes. .
I saw Vasey today. It should have been a good day. It should have helped me. It should have been a lot of things it wasn’t.
Here’s what happened.
The session started off OK. He told me to call him Andy, which I did in the session. Now, though, it just seems way too familiar, and that’s the last place I want to go.
