‘Shingles,’ Striker said again.

Dr Ostermann nodded slowly. ‘It’s been a very unpleasant two days now. I have marks down my neck and back and waist – and I can hardly move. Even showering is painful.’

Striker said nothing back as he thought this over. ‘And Dalia?’ he asked.

Dr Ostermann sighed. ‘Fighting her mother – as usual. Which is why I was upstairs in the first place. They’re too much alike, those two, and when they get like that, it’s best to just leave them alone. Retreat to a place of solace.’

‘And where is your wife now then?’

‘In the bath, I would think. She was drawing one when I heard the doorbell.’ Dr Ostermann gave Striker a long look before sighing. ‘If you insist, I can get her out of the tub to come down here and talk to you.’

Striker ignored the comment and focused the conversation back on other matters. ‘How long were you treating Mandy for?’

Dr Ostermann raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re changing subjects, I see. How long did I treat Mandy Gill for? I’m not sure. A couple of years, I would think.’

‘And Sarah Rose?’

‘About the same.’

‘What about Billy?’

‘I’ve been treating Billy ever since he came back from Afghanistan and was recommended to my programme, which would be about three years ago – is there a point to all this, Detective?’

‘What about Larisa Logan? How long were you treating her?’

Dr Ostermann’s face took on a look of understanding, and he nodded. ‘I see now. Larisa. I’m afraid I can say little about her.’

‘I know you were treating her.’

‘I will neither confirm nor deny that.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Striker said. ‘I already have confirmation. I know that you were seeing all four patients – Mandy, Sarah, Billy and Larisa. Now three of them are dead and Larisa is missing. Does that not seem odd to you?’

Dr Ostermann gingerly sat down in one of the library chairs, letting out a tender sound as he did. ‘Unfortunately, Detective, it does not. All it tells me is that I should have seen how dangerous Billy was in the first place. It tells me that I failed at being his doctor and it cost two innocent people – maybe even three – their lives.’

Striker was unmoved. ‘It tells me something else – that maybe I’ve been looking at the wrong person.’

Dr Ostermann’s face had a lost expression; then it tightened and turned pink. ‘I understand your insinuation, Detective, and it is not appreciated.’

‘I wouldn’t think so.’

Dr Ostermann stood up from the chair. ‘I think it’s time you took your leave, sir. And when you return next time I should hope you have a warrant, for I will surely have spoken to my own counsel – criminal and civil. It would appear our friendly conversations are over.’

Striker nodded. ‘That choice is entirely yours.’

When Dr Ostermann gestured towards the library exit, Striker took a long look around the room, purposely taking his time, then walked down the hall towards the front door. When he reached the foyer, he ran right into Lexa Ostermann.

‘Detective Striker?’ she said, surprised.

‘Mrs Ostermann.’

She looked down at herself – at the revealing kimono she wore – and her cheeks blushed. She gestured upstairs, to the west side of the house. ‘I’m sorry . . . I was getting into the bath . . . I thought you were Dalia coming back . . .’

‘Do not speak to him,’ Dr Ostermann said, coming up behind them.

Lexa’s face took on a confused look.

Striker ignored the man. He nodded to Lexa, then moved to the front door. Once there, he turned around and looked at them. Dr Ostermann stood in the forefront, his face hard as rock, his fingers curled into fists. Behind him, on the first step, stood Lexa. Her cheeks were rosy with blush and her deep brown eyes looked uncertain beneath the long, blonde curls of hair that fell across her brow.

Shingles? Striker thought.

He thought of how he and Felicia had almost burned up in that fire. And he remembered the camera set up outside the window, facing in through the iron-barred panes of glass, capturing their demise. It angered him, and he felt like grabbing the doctor right there. Snapping him in two. Instead, he gave the man a long, hard look and smiled. ‘One last thing you might be interested in, Dr Ostermann . . . I know all about your videos.’

The angry, smug look fell from Dr Ostermann’s face and was replaced by a pale sick expression.

Lexa looked at her husband. ‘What videos? What is he talking about?’

Dr Ostermann said nothing. He reached out, and with a trembling hand opened the front door. ‘Goodnight, Detective.’

‘Not for you, it won’t be.’

Striker walked through the front door and never looked back.

Seventy-Two

The Adder was sitting on the cold concrete floor, in his Place of Solace, thinking of nothing when he heard the loud angry shrenk! of the hatch being opened. Had he not locked it? He turned around oddly from his seated position, surprised by the familiar sound, and slowly slid the DVD – his most precious of all the precious videos – into the inner pocket of his coat. Then he looked back up towards the hatch.

Clambering down the ladder was the Doctor.

This surprised the Adder, for no one ever came down here. No one. Not in ten years. This room had always been his, and his alone. Having the hatch opened at all was an intrusion.

He climbed to his feet and turned around.

The Doctor reached the bottom of the ladder. ‘You taped it? You taped it, didn’t you? You stupid, stupid fool!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t lie to me !’

SMACK!

The Adder felt his head jolt to the left and he reeled backwards, his cheek hot and stinging. For a moment, he did nothing. He just stood there in the centre of the room and felt the air hum about him. Felt that feeling wash over him once more. And suddenly he was fading again. Melting away into that other place. And the sounds started to come back, starting with the high-pitched laughter.

‘I need some space,’ he found himself saying. ‘I’m losing control.’

The Doctor paid him no attention and instead found the box of DVDs on the floor. With one quick swoop, they were taken away.

And just like that the Adder couldn’t breathe.

‘No,’ he managed to get out.

‘You can’t have these.’

‘They’re mine.’

‘I’m destroying them.’

‘No, they’re mine! They’re mine!’

The Adder felt his entire body begin to shake, so hard the room wobbled and vibrated all around him.

As always, the Doctor paid him no heed. Just ignored him. Climbed back up the ladder. And took away the videos of everything the Adder held precious in life. Everything the Adder loved. Everything the Adder needed to calm the frantic voices in his head and keep himself rooted in the reality of this cold and horrible world.

The hatch slammed shut.

And then he was alone again.

Just him and the voices.

‘No,’ he said softly, and then there was a desperation in his voice even he could hear. ‘NO!’

The voices came at him in waves. Thunderous, overpowering waves. And the Adder did the only thing he could do. He gave in and let the voices take him away. And after that he remembered nothing.

Seventy-Three

Striker exited the front walkway of the lot, rounded the corner on to the sidewalk and continued east until he was out of view. He then ran back down the side of the neighbour’s lot, climbed the wall and dropped down next to Felicia under the dark shadows of the plum trees.