‘I think we need to revisit the medications,’ he said.

‘NO!’ Billy said. ‘You don’t understand. You think I’m crazy. But you don’t know. I can hear them at night, whispering. Always whispering. They’re coming for me. For us all. You can’t fucking KNOW!’

Dr Ostermann reached for the door, and Billy suddenly jumped up. He up-ended the desk, grabbed hold of the doctor, and Dr Ostermann began to scream for security. Within seconds, three large men dressed in white pants and shirts burst into the room. They grabbed Billy Mercury, but he fought them. Raked his nails down the first man’s face; hammered the second orderly with a vicious punch to the throat.

‘Daemons!’ he screamed. ‘Fucking daemons – THEY’LL GET US ALL!’

Thirty-Nine

Striker stood in the centre of the room, mesmerized by the video footage before him. The man on the screen was completely delusional. And dangerous. Striker could feel it. He was so engrossed in the interview that it took him a few seconds to hear Felicia’s whispered warning from beside the door.

‘. . . coming, Jacob. Dr Ostermann – he’s coming!’

Striker finally clued in. He hit the Stop button on the DVD player, powered off the television set, and walked back across the room. He was just nearing Felicia when the door opened and Dr Ostermann walked into the office.

The doctor gave them both a careful look, then nodded. ‘Detectives. Good to see both of you again, though rather unexpected, I must say.’

Felicia said, ‘It’s good to see you as well, Doctor.’

Striker felt less inclined for the bullshit. ‘We said we’d be in contact, Dr Ostermann. So this is anything but unexpected. In fact, the way I remember it, you were supposed to call us.’

Dr Ostermann’s face took on a faraway look, and he nodded. ‘Oh yes. Yes, I believe that is correct. And I planned on doing so. But it has been a very busy morning indeed.’

He stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him, locking out the receptionist and patients. In his hands was a dark green file folder with some black writing on the tab.

Striker could not make it out.

Dr Ostermann walked over to his desk, slid open the drawer, and dropped the file inside. As he turned to face them, closing the drawer, his eyes caught the open cabinet, and he stopped what he was doing and just stared at it. Without saying a word, he walked across the room, stopped facing the DVD player, and looked at the DVDs. He picked up the empty case marked Billy Mercury and opened it. When he saw no DVD inside, he turned to face them and the skin of his cheeks was slightly pink.

‘Were you . . . watching this?’

Felicia said nothing.

Striker stepped forward. ‘Stop answering my questions with ones of your own, Doctor.’

Dr Ostermann’s face turned from pink to red, so deep that even the top of his thinning hair showed blush. The contrast made his eyes look like green ice. ‘I beg your pardon, Detective Striker?’

‘Beg nothing. You heard what I said.’

Dr Ostermann snapped the DVD case closed and put it away. ‘There was never any question asked of me.’

‘It was implied.’ Striker stepped up to the desk so that he was within arm’s reach of the man. ‘I didn’t come all the way from Vancouver to Coquitlam for a social visit, Doctor. And I think you know that. You were supposed to call us this morning; you didn’t.’

‘I just told you, it’s been a very busy morning. I’ve had many things on my mind. Many patients to tend to. They come first.’

Striker steeled his voice. ‘I wish I could say the same for Mandy Gill.’

Dr Ostermann froze, and silence filled the room. Striker was happy to wait it out. He gave Felicia a quick but casual glance to make sure she kept quiet, too.

He wanted Ostermann to sweat on this one.

‘The reason I haven’t called back,’ the doctor finally explained, ‘is because I haven’t yet been able to reach my patient. And I’m not about to give out this person’s personal and private information until such time that I do. It’s as simple as that.’

Striker nodded. ‘That’s fine then, Doctor. And here’s my response to you: you can either fess up this guy’s name, or I will head down to the court house, bang up a warrant, and then come out here and take your whole office and Records Section apart.’

Dr Ostermann’s face paled. ‘No judge would allow that.’

‘Actually, I think they would. And think of how the media would eat that one up: “Dr Ostermann, psychiatrist for the poor, refuses to help the Vancouver Police Department’s investigation on the possible murder of a poor mentally ill woman – a patient of the EvenHealth programme, no less.” Man, I can just see the headlines now.’ He looked back at Felicia and smiled. ‘Or we could just seize any files and be done with it.’

Dr Ostermann stepped back. ‘Seize my files? Under what grounds?’

‘Exigent circumstances,’ Felicia said.

Striker nodded. ‘Exactly. You have a patient who we think might have been murdered – not committed suicide, as previously thought – and there’s a connection to one of your other patients. A man who might also pose an extreme risk to others. That’s exigent enough for me. Hell, it’s one of our prime duties as police officers – Protection of Life.’

‘That would never stand up in court.’

Striker shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But I’m more than willing to fight that a year or two down the road – after I seize your files here and at EvenHealth.’

‘EvenHealth?’

Felicia stepped forward. ‘Work with us, Doctor.’

Dr Ostermann’s face paled even more and he leaned back against the desk. ‘I wonder. What would your Inspector say to all this? Or perhaps your Deputy Chief. He and I know each other, you know. I am a well-known contributor to the Police Mutual Benevolent Association, and have been for many years.’

Striker grinned. ‘The chief would care as much as the media would if, say, this thing got leaked and they learned we were seizing your patients’ files.’

Dr Ostermann said no more, and a distant, horrified look filled his eyes, as if he was picturing the nightmare that could unfold.

Striker gave Felicia a quick glance, saw the concern in her eyes, and knew she would give it to him later. But for now, he had the upper hand, and he knew it. He met Dr Ostermann’s stare and said, ‘So what’s it going to be, Doctor? Are we going to help each other out, or not? We are on the same team, after all, right?’

Dr Ostermann’s posture sagged and he let out a tight breath. ‘Same team. Yes. Yes, of course.’ He moved gingerly around his desk and sat down in the high-backed leather chair. He opened the drawer. Pulled out the green file folder he had been carrying when he entered the room. He flipped wearily through the pages, then dropped the whole thing on the desktop.

‘His name is Billy Stephen Mercury,’ he finally confessed. ‘As I am sure you well know. He has been a patient of mine for quite some time now, ever since his return from overseas.’ His eyes flitted to the DVD player, then back at Striker. ‘We are off the record here?’

‘Of course.’

He nodded. ‘Billy was a soldier, suffering badly. Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, just like the DVD says. Barely sleeping. And self-medicating to deal with the pain. Delusional. One step away from being psychotic. When he was here, he was a very hard patient to deal with at times.’

Felicia asked, ‘When he was here?’

‘Yes, when. The medications helped greatly. And Billy did progress. He was released because of this – as part of the outpatient programme. And for a while, he was doing quite well on his own. We always kept tabs on him, of course. He had to see one of our psychiatrists regularly. But that was mostly to reassess the medications and make sure they were working. Make sure he was taking them as prescribed. The majority of his healing came through one of the EvenHealth programmes.’