Detective Cross

Chapter 14

Tense days passed without a phone call from the bomber. Bree was under pressure from Chief Michaels. Mahoney was dealing with the FBI director.

The only break came from the FBI crime lab confirming that the explosive used in the third bomb was pre-1980 Yugoslavian C-4, and that the triggering devices — all timers — were sophisticated. The work of an experienced hand.

I did what I could to help Mahoney between seeing patients, including Kate Williams, who showed up five minutes early for a mid-morning appointment. I took it as a good sign. But if I thought Kate was ready to grab hold of the life preserver, and I certainly hoped she was, I was mistaken.

“Let’s talk about life after you ran away,” I said, sitting down with my chair positioned at a non-confrontational angle.

“Let’s not,” Kate said. “None of that matters. We both know why we’re here.”

“Fair enough,” I said, pausing to consider how best to proceed.

In situations like this, I would ordinarily ask a lot of questions about documents in her files, watching her body language for clues to her deeper story. Indicators of stress and tension — the inability to maintain eye contact, say, or the habitual flexing of a hand — are often sure signals of deeper troubles.

But I’d had difficulty reading Kate’s body language, which shouted so loud of defeat that very little else was getting through. I decided to change things up.

“Okay, no questions about the past today. Let’s talk about the future.”

Kate sighed. “What future?”

“The future comes every second.”

“With every shallow breath.”

I read defiance and despair in her body language, but continued, “If none of this had happened to you, what would your future look like? Your ideal future, I mean?”

She didn’t dismiss the question, but pondered it. She said, “I think I’d still be in, rising through the ranks.”

“You liked the Army.”

“I loved the Army.”

“Why?”

“Until the end it was a good place for me. I do better with rules.”

“Sergeant,” I said, glancing at her file. “Two tours. Impressive.”

“I was good. And then I wasn’t.”

“When you were good, where did you see yourself going in the Army?”

I thought I’d gotten through a crack, but she shut it down. She said, “They discharged me, Dr. Cross. Dreaming about something that can never happen is not healthy.”

She watched me like a chess player looking for an indication of my next move.

Should I ask her to imagine a future for someone else? Or prompt her to take the conversation in a new direction? Before I could decide, Kate decided for me.

“Are you investigating the IEDs?” she asked. “On the Mall? I saw a news story the other night. Your wife was there, and I thought I saw you in the background.”

“I was there, but I can’t talk about it beyond what you’ve heard,” I said. “Why?”

She stiffened. “Familiar ground, I guess.”

I grasped some of the implication, but her body said there was more.

“Care to explain?”

Struggling, she finally said, “I know them. They’re like rats. Digging in the dirt. Hoping you’ll happen by.”

“The bombers?”

Kate took on a far-off look. It seemed she was seeing terrible things, her face twitching with repressed emotion.

“Stinking sand rats,” she said softly. “They only come out at night, Doc. That’s a good thing to remember, the sand rats and the camel spiders only come out at night.”

The alarm on my phone buzzed, and I almost swore because our hour was nearly up. I felt like we were just getting somewhere. By the time I silenced the alarm, Kate had come back from her dark place and saw my frustration.

“Don’t worry about it, Doc,” she said, smiling sadly as she stood. “You tried your best to crack the nut.”

“You’re not a nut.”

She laughed sadly. “Oh, yes I am, Dr. Cross.”