Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (44 page)

Shivers of anticipation spread across her shoulders as she revved the engine and pulled out of the lot.

"I'm closing in on you, asshole," she whispered. "And when I get you, you're going to fry."

Chapter 32

Back in Berkeley, Alex pulled to the curb in front of the converted house where Judith Richards kept her small private practice. The office was on a quiet, mostly residential portion of Ashby, three blocks west of the hospital. She was less than a dozen blocks from the station and she was more than a little nervous about being spotted. A charming stucco ranch-style house, it was a perfect choice for a children's psychiatrist.

In what once was the house's foyer, the receptionist sat behind a light wooden desk in a waiting room decorated in a style similar to that of Judith's home. The receptionist was a petite middle-aged woman with striking blond hair cropped short and carefully coiffed. Dressed in a black blazer and large Jackie O tortoise-shell glasses, she looked like she belonged in a New York ad agency.

Two couches and half a dozen chairs filled the rest of the area, with toys and magazines in large wicker baskets. The room smelled like chocolate chip cookies, and Alex felt her stomach growl.

The receptionist looked up from her computer screen. "May I help you?"

"I hope so," she said. "My name is Alex Kincaid. I'm a family friend of Judith's. Is she available?"

The woman stood and moved around the desk. "Oh, yes, Judith mentioned you. I'm Sally."

Alex shook her extended hand.

Sally glanced briefly at Alex's left arm tucked protectively to her chest but didn't comment. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she said, "Actually, Judith's down in the playroom with a patient."

Alex followed her gaze down three stairs to a set of heavy-looking closed doors. "It's awfully quiet," she said, dropping her voice.

"Soundproofed," Sally explained, laughing softly.

"Soundproofed?"

She nodded. "Kids make a lot of noise. Without the soundproofing, we couldn't really have a waiting room. If a kid was in there crying or screaming, you could hear it a block down."

"I can come back," Alex offered, the image in her mind of a screaming child behind the closed doors.

"Oh, no." Sally led Alex toward the back of the house. "Come wait in her office. This patient is particularly sensitive to strangers, so I think it will be easier if you're back here."

"I probably should have called first."

Sally patted her shoulder and shook her head. "Really, it's no problem. This is Judith's last patient for the day."

"It's only noon."

Sally nodded. "Judith keeps Mondays open for what she calls 'weekend disasters.' If something happened over the weekend and a parent feels their child really should be seen as soon as possible, they can get in to see her on Monday. Usually they're really busy days, but today's been absolutely dead."

In the hallway, Sally stopped to pick something off the floor and straighten a picture, and Alex noticed the thick beige carpet lining the hall. It was immaculate. She couldn't imagine how on earth Judith managed to keep it clean with kids tracking in and out all the time. Alex could hardly keep her own hardwood floors clean. And Judith's house had been so casual.

Alex wasn't sure what to make of the difference between Judith's home and office.

Sally opened a heavy wooden door off the right side of the hall and motioned Alex inside. "Here we go."

Alex entered Judith's office and looked around. Nothing about the place was familiar, but, of course, it wouldn't be. Judith hadn't had a private practice back when Alex had met her. And they had always talked at Alex's house.

The decor was subdued here, too, with cream-colored walls and rugs. White bookshelves stood against the far wall, lined with framed photos and thick medical textbooks. Children's artwork hung along the wall nearest to the door, splashing bits of color against the walls. But unlike in Judith's house, everything here was perfectly placed.

"I can't believe the children don't make a mess in here."

Sally laughed. "Oh they do, but Judith is incredibly meticulous about things—sometimes too meticulous, I think." She stooped over to straighten the fringe on the rug. "Make yourself at home."

Alex watched her move the rug and shook her head. Judith hadn't seemed that meticulous to her.

"Really, take a look around," Sally urged.

Alex took a few steps toward the back of the room, where two overstuffed cream chairs and two couches sat in circle formation as though prepared for an afternoon tea party. The couches, though, were drastically different from one another. One was floral and ruffled, with what seemed like two dozen small lacy pillows. The other was burgundy leather with four dark pillows, their designs depicting old Air Force fighter planes.

The receptionist laughed. "Everyone makes that face when they see those couches."

Alex glanced back. "They're just so different."

Sally moved past her and straightened a pile of papers on the desk. "Judith says it's sort of a way to get a kid to take the first step. Ask them to pick a couch and they are usually immediately drawn to one or the other. Judith says she can learn from their choice."

"Interesting," Alex said. She spotted a large pair of Doc Marten shoes. They seemed too large to be children's. She turned back to the receptionist. "Should I have taken my shoes off?"

The woman furrowed her brow.

Alex motioned to the shoes. "I thought maybe those were a patient's shoes."

"Oh, no. Those are Judith's."

Alex bent down and picked the left shoe up. She remembered seeing similar shoes at Judith's house. "They're huge. Her feet can't be this big."

Sally laughed. "She uses them as a patient prop. 'Getting into someone else's shoes'—only literally. Most of the kids can put their feet in those without taking their shoes off."

Alex flipped the shoe over and read the bottom—size ten men's.

"Judith does it, too," the woman continued, straightening as she moved around.

Alex frowned. "Does what?"

"Wears her shoes inside those."

Alex put the Doc Marten shoe up to her own. It wasn't
that
much bigger. "Really? What kind of shoe?"

"I can only do it with sandals on. But for Judith, I don't think it matters. She wears a size three shoe."

Alex tried to picture her feet but couldn't. "Wow, tiny."

"She has to buy most of her shoes in the kids' section. I guess it makes them cheaper."

Sally clicked her tongue twice and motioned to the room. "Well, I've got some work to finish up before I leave. It's so quiet, I'm going to take a half day. Do you want something to drink?"

Alex shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Make yourself comfortable, then. Judith should be in soon."

"Thanks again." The receptionist closed the door and Alex set the shoe down. Size three shoe. She reminded herself to look at Judith's feet when she arrived.

Alex looked back at the couches. She was too wired to sit. She walked along the wall and inspected the drawings. Though she knew little about child psychology, none of the pictures seemed disturbing. The colors were bright, the faces smiling.

Alex remembered Brittany telling her about how art was a way for children to represent their experiences and emotions. She wondered if she'd ever drawn about Androus or the warehouse. Would she be cleaning out the attic one day and find a box of crayon drawings filled with images of children dead and dying?

Shivering at the thought, Alex had started to turn away when writing on one of the drawings caught her eye. As her eyes grazed the words, her heart faltered and her arms went limp.

Blinking hard, she took a step forward, as though perhaps the distance had caused an optical illusion. But the words were still there, exactly the same: "For Dr. J. Love, Sammy."

In a flash, she heard the echo of a man screaming, "Dr. Jay, you can't!" But she couldn't hold on to the voice, couldn't place what it meant. Her ears started to ring and she looked slowly from picture to picture, searching. None of the other drawings were addressed to Judith. With a mental shake, she turned away.

Alex was shocked to see Judith called by her first initial. Maggie Androus had reported that her brother's psychologist had the same name as their father: "Jay," not "Dr. J." But the police stenographer wouldn't have known the difference.

It was a coincidence.
You don't believe in coincidences.
A sense of dread weighed her down. She moved across the room. She went back to the size ten shoes.

Mrs. Carter claimed to have seen Tim walk into Nader's house two nights before she and Tim were there. She had been unable to make out his face. Instead, she had recognized him by his shoes. "Bright red, they were," she had told Alex. "And that yellow jacket, no missing that either." Alex stood and looked quickly around the room. There was no sign of a yellow coat. But she'd seen one at Judith's house, hadn't she? Along with a pair of red shoes.

What about the kid she'd seen in the parking lot? Lanky with a goofy walk but smaller than Tim. Could that have been Judith? She shook her head. She was overreacting. A couple of words on a page and a pair of shoes didn't make a killer.

She looked around at the pristine room. There was something else. Moving quickly, she turned to the desk and began to pull the drawers open. Her heart pounding, she fingered through the files, unsure what she was looking for.

Her hands were moving too quickly for her judgment to kick in. She needed to get out of Judith's office. The slow pulsing pain in her arm spread down her back and up her neck. She needed to leave.

But her hands wouldn't let go. She closed the file drawer and opened the drawers on the other side of the desk. Everything looked normal.

Then, tucked on a small shelf behind Judith's desk, she saw it—a framed photo of Judith and her father from 1968. Leaning forward, Alex picked up the frame and squinted at the Stanford Diploma held tight in Judith's grasp. The name embossed across it was Judith Diane Daniels. J. D. Daniels. She scanned the walls, but the diploma wasn't there.

As she set the frame back on the shelf, Alex heard the smallest click.

Hot adrenaline poured into her stomach as she straightened her back and turned toward the door.

"So you do remember," came a voice Alex now recognized from her nightmares.

Chapter 33

Alex looked up and forced a smile as her heart trampled a path over her other organs and into her throat. "Remember what?" She practically choked on the words and decided to try to keep talking. "I love this picture of you and your father." She paused and glanced at the surface of the desk. "Actually, I was looking for a piece of paper. I wanted to leave you a note."

Judith nodded without smiling and crossed the room. "No worry. I'm here now. How have you been?"

Alex moved to the couch, trying to look casual but refusing to turn her back. "I'm sure you've heard about the nightmare at the station."

Judith picked a small wooden box off her desk and brought it over, sitting opposite Alex. "I haven't."