I retort, “Can you tell me why Robert Fletcher, the chief of police, is being arrested?”
“I promise we’ll get there.” Brian scratches his bald head. “In a minute. Just bear with me.” Brian leans back and stretches his long legs out, which are a contrast to his stubby fingers. “Let’s talk. Alice. What do you know about her?”
“Not much.” I shrug. “I’ve only met her once. She was . . . is . . . my mother’s psychiatrist. I consulted with her about my mother’s health and concerns I had. It seemed she shared them too. There’s some obvious medical issues going on with Deborah.” I choke back a sob. “And Alice—Dr. Alacoy—provided some good information.”
“Like what?” Brian asks. “What type of information?”
“Do we need to discuss my mother’s medical history?” I lean back, exasperated. “I don’t know you, Mr.—I mean, Detective Paulson.”
“Call me Brian.” He snaps his fingers at me. “I hear what you’re saying. I get it. But all of this is accessible to me anyway, since this is an investigation.”
“It’s okay, Sib,” Holden murmurs in my ear. “You share what you feel comfortable with. The rest he can subpoena.”
I take a deep breath. “Dr. Alacoy was watching my mother for signs of degenerative diseases. One in specific—she called it an imposter syndrome.”
Brian chomps his gum, blinking rapidly.
“The way she explained it made it seem legitimate. Is it not?” I ask, crestfallen. “My laptop went missing, and I haven’t had a chance to research it yet.”
“Well, she’s not a doctor, so regardless, her opinion is bullshit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alice, the woman you know as Dr. Alacoy, isn’t licensed.”
“In the field of psychiatry?”
“In any medical field. Period.” He points a finger. “She’s a scam artist.”
I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling feverish.
“The woman you met, Dr. Alice Alacoy, was posing as a psychiatrist.”
“Wait, what?” Holden removes his glasses. “How is that even possible?”
“Are you serious? She seemed so knowledgeable . . . how could I not have known?” I bury my head in my hands. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“Because she did a terrific job faking her credentials. Alice had business cards printed with the title of doctor, a legitimate website, not to mention the diplomas in her office and her website.” He wipes a crumb from his mustache. “Hell, she even purchased a medical liability insurance policy.”
He gives me a sad smile. “She will be charged with insurance fraud, filing false health-care claims, larceny by false pretenses, and practicing psychiatry without being licensed to in the state.”
“So she made the imposter syndrome up?” I run a hand through my hair. “And I believed her wholeheartedly.”
“No, babe.” Holden holds up his phone. “This isn’t made up. It’s a real diagnosis.” I scan the article he shows me on his screen, and sure enough, it’s a real thing. And like Alice discussed with me, it mirrors my mother’s odd behavior.
“I’m lost, Detective Paulson,” I say. “If this could truly be what my mother is suffering from, and Alice isn’t a real doctor, what does that say about the health-care system?”
“I’m not sure I follow . . .”
“What if she’s right? Was Alice just practicing medicine with some type of education background and no credentials, or how could she potentially be accurate with her diagnosis?”
“Wikipedia,” Brian says dryly. “And Google. It’s not that hard. Everyone self-diagnoses.”
“But these are rare diseases. Lewy body and Capgras.” I rest my hands on my knees.
“How did Alice manage to prescribe meds without being a licensed doctor?” Holden asks.
“Alice had another doctor, a real one, prescribing your mother copious amounts of medications, including strong doses of heavy tranquilizers. It’s amazing your mother is even alive.”
“And I guess, why? Why would Alice want to hurt my mother? Or me. We don’t even know her.”
“Oh, but you do.” He drums his fingers on his knee. “Alicia Alacoy is her birth name, but she goes by Alice. Does the name Edward Pearson ring a bell?”
I nod my head slowly. “I just found out he’s my biological father.”
“Alice is the ex-wife of the deceased Mr. Pearson. They were married for about a decade, according to court records.”
“I know Edward held a special place for my mother . . .” I rip a piece of skin off my nail, wincing. “I don’t understand how that factors into Alice hurting my mother.”
“Alice was convinced Edward had an ongoing affair with your mother, starting from the time they were married. Then she found out about you being his biological child, and well, it’s a tale as old as time: she felt the need for revenge.
“When he divorced her, they fought about the usual grievances—money and children. Then she moved to the East Coast to finish raising their young kids. Edward wanted nothing to do with her and, as we say in this day and age, pretty much ghosted her. He didn’t communicate with either her or the children. She was understandably livid.
“It went from bad to worse when he didn’t support his children, and after he died, Alice was sure she would stand to inherit his life insurance policies, or at least their children would. One didn’t pay out because of suspected suicide, and the other went to someone you know.”
“I know?”
“Yes. You. Alice found a letter to you shortly after he died, and he had bequeathed everything to you at the age of thirty-five.”
Holden mutters, “What in the hell.”
“Seriously?” I gasp, staring down at my lap in wide-eyed shock. “My father left me everything?”
The detective nods. “Alice reconnected with Robert Fletcher online about two years ago on social media, since she knew the Fletchers from before. Robert and Edward were best friends growing up. Alice and Robert had an ongoing relationship over the last year and a half. He convinced her to move back to the state and set up a fake practice.
“It quickly went from insurance fraud to a psychological manipulation of your mother. Since Alice knew what happened the night Jonathan
