Gabe smiled, but he didn’t call out. If the doctor heard him, he would know Gabe had left his post. The stranger in the lobby had no reason to be suspicious of an employee in the hall, but the doctor would know Gabe was up to something. Another chill passed through him at the thought of what that could lead to. If the tone he’d taken with Katarina was any indication, the doctor was not a man to be fooled with.
The man waiting in the lobby wore a light tan suit jacket with khaki slacks that were more sand-colored than tan. The colors were close but not matching, and Gabe cringed as he approached the stranger. It was an unfortunate fashion choice made by people who couldn’t afford a suit, and those who cared more about function than fashion. Gabe had a feeling this man was a little bit of both.
His chestnut hair was a little too long at the collar, the easily touched up patches of gray more messy than dignified. Gabe wouldn’t be caught dead letting the early signs of aging take away from the richness of the man’s natural hair color. No, this man needed a shave, haircut, and a dye job. In that order. But what was he doing in the office when Gabe wasn’t expecting another patient for almost an hour?
“Can I help you?”
The older man nodded, pulling out his wallet. “I’m Detective Daniel Shaw, and this is Detective Jerry Decker. We’re with Charleston PD, Violent Crimes Unit. We need to ask you a few questions.”
A second man came into Gabe’s line of sight as he rounded the corner and could finally see the entire lobby.
He took the card Detective Shaw offered, reading it carefully before shaking his head. “I’m not sure you’re in the right place. This is a psychiatrist’s office.”
“We’re aware,” Decker offered, his voice raspy. Detective Decker was dressed almost identical to Shaw. Like the first detective, Decker had clearly bought several pairs of slacks and matched them with a single suit jacket to save money. Decker had paired khaki slacks with a navy jacket, a look that somehow worked for him. He was more slender than Detective Shaw, his hair a glossy black.
They looked every bit the part of big city detectives, and after the snippets of conversation Gabe had just heard at the doctor’s door, his stomach wanted to cramp. If the doctor was arrested, where would that leave him?
He summoned a vestige of his usual smile. “Can I offer you gentlemen coffee? Any flavor you want.” He pointed to the turnstile on the counter, stocked for the clients who rarely used the brewer that made one cup at a time. “I even have one that’s donut-flavored.”
He grimaced when he realized what he’d said, but Detective Decker snorted. “Good one. Thanks, but we’ve had plenty of coffee already this morning. We’re here to follow up on a case.” He leaned over to give himself a clearer view of the hallway, taking a few steps as he spoke. “We were looking to talk to Dr.—”
Gabe stepped into his path, turning up the voltage of his smile. “The doctor is with someone right now. He can’t be disturbed. Thank you for understanding.”
“How much longer does the patient have?” Detective Shaw glanced down at his watch. “We’re not in any hurry.”
Still blocking the entrance to the hall, Gabe made sure his voice was polite but firm. “I’m afraid he’s on an important call.”
“Oh?”
It was clear from his tone that Detective Shaw’s interest was piqued, so Gabe hurried to explain with a wave of his hand. “We take only the most extreme cases of mental illness, and many of our patients aren’t able to leave their homes. As you can imagine, once we have a patient on the phone, we allow them to talk as long as they can manage.” Gabe was shocked by how easily the lies rolled off his tongue. “Today has been one of the longer calls.”
“How many patients do you see on average?”
“Three to five a day, and we’re open five days a week.”
“This is a nice building. Must charge a pretty penny if you can afford the lease on such a limited number of clients.” Shaw wandered the lobby as he spoke, admiring a painting on the wall with more than casual interest. “I’m sure insurance pays for it in most cases.”
“Like I said, we take severe cases only, so yes, the charge is greater. But many of our patients stay longer than your typical therapy sessions, and we also offer three quiet rooms for them to use after therapy if they’re overstimulated.” Gabe gave a measured chuckle. “Most psychiatrists don’t offer spa-quality nap facilities on site.”
“No, I guess they don’t.”
“I do work with a lot of patients one-on-one before their sessions, so perhaps I can help you gentlemen so you’re not waiting forever.”
Shaw turned back to Gabe, an eyebrow arching in question. “I didn’t realize this was a group practice. Are you a doctor as well or just a therapist?”
Gabe’s hackles raised at what seemed like an intentional jab, but his smile remained in place. He’d dealt with more arrogant men than the detective before. “I’m actually the personal assistant, but I help our patients navigate their insurance and other challenges, like fighting for their right to accommodations for a disability and securing resources they might not know they’re entitled to. I get to know most of the patients on a first-name basis.”
Shaw turned to Decker, who shrugged. Turning his attention back to Gabe, Shaw said, “Did you know Joshua Gibson?”
“Did I?” Gabe didn’t like the sound of that. “Of course. Nice gentleman. He’s been coming here a little over a year and has made great progress. Did something happen?”
“He’s dead.”
Gabe gasped, his shock genuine. At the same time, he was aware that Shaw was watching him, and made sure he played the part of dismayed secretary. “Are you sure?”
“He took
