He asked me what was going on in my life, what was bothering me. It didn’t take long for me to get onto the subject of Josh. I mean, what else do I ever think about? He asked me more questions about why we split up and how it affected me. I started crying, just like I always do when I talk about Josh. But this time it was different somehow. I really felt like a weight was being lifted off my shoulders. It was so good to talk to someone who I felt could understand and help me.
But then the questions started to get weird. I mean really weird. I suppose I expected some intimate questions, because that’s what these people do, right? They get inside your mind. But not like this. I can’t even bring myself to write down the exact words he used. He wanted to know how Josh and I were when we were together. Sexually, I mean. What positions we liked, how I liked to be touched by him, whether we ever had oral sex. I mean, Jesus!
I asked Vasey if it was all right for him to ask me those things. He said that he needed to appreciate in detail how our relationship worked. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with that. He said all of his clients feel that way at first, but they soon get used to it. I didn’t know what to believe or what to say. He’s the professional, right? What do I know?
But then he did something which made me reach a decision pretty damn quickly.
He put his hand on my knee.
I mean, hello! This is not what doctors do, right? Questions are one thing, even when they get so personal. But touching?? I don’t think so.
So I was out of there. I muttered something about this not really helping, I grabbed my coat and I left.
Sitting here now, writing all this down, it feels like I imagined it. Like I’m telling somebody else’s story. But I know it happened. I’m just not sure how I feel about it. Later, I’ll probably get real upset. Or angry. Or both. Right now I’m just too stunned for words.
And what will I tell M? This is a close friend of her dad’s. Would it upset her? Would she fall out with me? I don’t know what to do.
Other than revealing that she decides not to say anything to M, whoever that is, Cindy doesn’t refer to the incident again until November of last year, a month after her consultation with Vasey.
November 10
Unbelievable.
He came back. Vasey. He came to see me at the bookstore today. He tried to apologize. He said he got carried away in the session, and that he wasn’t normally like that. I said it was OK, and that we should just leave it at that. I didn’t really want to speak to him.
But he wouldn’t go away. He kept saying that I’d had a huge effect on him. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about me. I wasn’t interested. I mean, jeez, the guy is at least thirty-five! And after the way he behaved, did he really think he could sweet-talk me?
And then guess what? He did it again. He touched me. On the breast this time.
So I slapped him.
I mean, I am not one for confrontation. I hate violence of any kind. But this was a reflex action. I didn’t even think about it. I just slapped him real hard across the face and yelled at him to get out.
He told me I was making a big mistake, and that nobody treats him like that. I don’t know what I said back. I just kept screaming at him. I may have even used some swear words, which isn’t like me.
But he went. I got him out of the store. He said he was going to come back again, but I don’t think he will.
And you know what? I feel proud. I stood up for myself. Maybe it’s the new me. Maybe I’m a lot stronger now.
Maybe my visit to Vasey did me some good after all.
When he’s finished reading, Doyle gets out of the car. He puts the laptop and the printout in the trunk, then locks them away. Before he goes back into the station house, he checks his watch. It’s a few minutes after two.
Less than ten hours before somebody gets what is possibly their final chance to hear the clocks chime twelve.
He realizes something is wrong as soon as he enters the squad-room. Jay Holden is giving him a stare he usually reserves for perps and people who have riled him. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of a stare like that.
Doyle starts toward his desk. He tenses when Holden stands up and intercepts him.
‘Can we talk?’ Holden says.
Doyle looks into Holden’s eyes and tries to find whatever’s bugging the man.
‘Sure.’
The two men find a room where they can be alone. It’s a room they use for interviewing suspects. It contains the obligatory wooden table and some plastic chairs, but also too many file cabinets that don’t really belong here.
Doyle leans against a radiator and folds his arms.
‘What’s up, Jay?’
Holden doesn’t take up a relaxed pose. He clenches and unclenches his fists, which in Doyle’s experience is not a promising start to any discussion.
‘S’pose you tell me, Cal. What
Doyle waits for elaboration. Doesn’t get any.
‘Look, man, I don’t know what’s on your mind, but whatever it is-’
‘I took a phone call while you were out at lunch.’
Uh-oh, thinks Doyle. If this was from my little helper. .
‘From Mrs Mellish. Cindy Mellish’s mother.’
Doyle almost breathes a sigh of relief, but it sticks in his chest. The lesser of two evils maybe, but still not good news.
‘Okay. And?’
‘She asked about the computer. ’Course, this being my case, and me knowing everything about it, I asked her what the fuck she was talking about. “You know,” she said. “The computer. The one Detective Doyle borrowed from me.”’
Ah, thinks Doyle. This cat is definitely out of its bag.
‘Yeah, I guess I shoulda told you about that.’
‘You
Doyle holds off for as long as he dares before Holden can guess that he’s desperately trying to come up with something plausible.
‘Look, I got tired of being the office boy, all right? So I went to speak with Mrs Mellish. I’m assigned to the case too, remember? I thought maybe it would help. Maybe she could give me something useful. We got talking, and she told me about how Cindy liked to write. All kinds of personal shit about her life. It sounded like there was a chance something might be in her bedroom, so I asked to see it. I couldn’t find anything in her notebooks, but then it got mentioned that she also wrote on her computer, so I asked if I could borrow it so I could take a look at that too. If there was nothing on the computer, I was just going to hand it back and that would be it.’
Doyle pauses, partly because he knows that people who ramble on too long often do so because they’re trying to hide something, which he is, but also because he wants to check whether Holden appears convinced with the story so far. Holden continues to glare at him, but when he speaks, there is a slight softening of his tone.
‘You shoulda brought it to me, Cal. Even just a mention. Something.’
‘You’re right. I should have. I apologize.’
Holden nods. A sign it’s over. They can forget about it. Unless there’s a next time.
Doyle considers this. He wasn’t intending to say anything more about the diary. His plan was to go see Vasey himself and hope it led somewhere. But he’s wondering if this hasn’t changed things. Didn’t Holden ask him about the computer? Isn’t this a prime opportunity to bring his colleagues into it without breaking the terms of his contract with the mysterious phone caller?
He adds, ‘But maybe it paid off.’
