Felicia was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. ‘There’s only one other place I can think of – where she works. The clinic her husband owns.’

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go to Mapleview.’

At exactly ten-thirty, Striker parked the undercover cruiser by the roundabout and stepped out. With the morning sun now rising high overhead, and backed by brilliant blue sky, the modern clinic of Mapleview looked pleasant enough. But all Striker could think of was when they’d come there to kidnap Dr Ostermann and intercept Billy Mercury. That had happened at three o’clock yesterday afternoon.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

‘I’m starting to hate this place,’ he said.

‘You’re preaching to the choir,’ Felicia replied. She started up the old cement stairs, and Striker went with her. The moment they walked through the wired-glass double doors into the antechamber of the facility, the receptionist behind the desk looked up. Her face took on a pleasant look, and she smiled at them.

‘Detectives,’ she said. ‘Good morning.’

Striker smiled. Obviously she hadn’t heard the news of Dr Ostermann’s demise and the family’s disappearance.

‘Good morning back,’ he said. He approached the front desk, smiled at the woman, reached out and gently touched her hand. ‘You know, in all the pandemonium yesterday, I never did get your name.’

She smiled at his concern. ‘It’s Pam,’ she said. ‘Well, Pamela. Pamela O’Malley.’

‘I’m actually surprised to see you in here today.’

She looked around and shrugged. ‘Everyone else called in sick, and someone has to be here for the patients.’

‘It’s very decent of you.’

‘Yeah, good job,’ Felicia added.

Striker met the woman’s stare. ‘How are you coping, Pam? If you need a card for Victim Services, I can give you one.’ He looked around the room as if suddenly realizing where he was, and grinned. ‘Actually, if you need some therapy, I guess you’re probably covered.’

When the receptionist smiled and chuckled at his comment, Striker got down to business.

‘I need to speak with one of your staff members,’ he began.

‘Dr Ostermann still isn’t in yet.’

‘Actually, I was looking for Lexa.’

The smile on the woman’s face fell away. ‘Mrs Ostermann isn’t in yet either. She doesn’t normally work till the afternoon.’

‘You almost say that with relief,’ Striker said. When the woman didn’t know how to respond, he smiled at her and lowered his voice. ‘It’s okay. I’ve dealt with her only twice – and that’s been enough for me. But duty calls, you know.’

The receptionist laughed softly. ‘Yes, Mrs Ostermann can be a bit . . . demanding at times.’

‘She’s a pill,’ Felicia said boldly.

The receptionist laughed again.

‘So she hasn’t been in here today?’ Striker clarified.

‘No. She shouldn’t be in until one o’clock. And you can pretty much set your watch by it. Mrs Ostermann is always extremely punctual and orderly with everything she does. Even the group sessions. God forbid one of them comes in even a minute late. She kicks them out and sends them home.’

Felicia asked, ‘Which group is that?’

‘Oh, all the groups. But especially the SILC classes – are you familiar with the programme?’

‘Yes, we are,’ Striker said. ‘Does she confer with Dr Ostermann before sending his patients home? These are, after all, his sessions, right?’

‘Yes, they are. But Mrs Ostermann does fill in.’

Striker found this interesting. ‘Fill in? A nurse holds the session in place of a qualified psychiatrist?’

For a moment, the receptionist’s face tightened, as if she was worried she had said too much. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t—’

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Striker told her. ‘I’m not going to press Mrs Ostermann on anything. You got my word on that. I just find it surprising.’

‘It’s not without its merit,’ the woman replied. ‘Mrs Ostermann does have extra training.’

‘What kind of extra training?’ Felicia asked.

‘I don’t really know, for sure. But she took much of her training in Europe, and she’s not one to talk about it. Not one to talk about anything, really. Especially not with staff.’

‘Where in Europe?’ Striker pressed.

‘The Czech Republic.’

He nodded. ‘How would you know that when she never talks about it?’

‘Dr Ostermann did once. A long time ago. Over a year maybe.’

Striker rested his arm on the front counter and tried to look casual. ‘Really? And you remember it.’

The woman’s face took on a distant look. ‘It’s kind of hard to forget. Dr Ostermann was talking to Dr Richter about what courses were considered transferable from overseas. During the conversation, he mentioned that Mrs Ostermann had grown up in the Czech Republic and had had problems transferring her university credits.’

‘Which university?’

‘Charles, I think. I’m not sure exactly where it is.’

‘It’s in Prague,’ Striker said. ‘Charles Bridge.’

‘And what next?’ Felicia asked.

The woman’s cheeks reddened further. ‘Next? Oh, Mrs Ostermann got angry. Very angry. I’d never seen her so . . . enraged – she is a very private person, you know.’

Striker nodded at this.

Private, he thought. And full of secrets.

He took out a business card and wrote down his cell number on the back. When he handed it to the receptionist, he made sure they had eye contact. ‘If Lexa or her children return here, I need you to leave the building right away. Do you understand me, Pam?’

The woman looked confused. ‘Leave the building?’

‘Immediately,’ he stressed. ‘Make an excuse. Leave to check on one of the patients. And then, the first chance you have, I want you to leave the building and call my cell. Right away. Do you understand?’

The woman nodded slowly.

‘And if Dr Ostermann comes in?’

Striker smiled wryly.

‘Then I don’t think my number’s gonna help.’

Eighty-Three

After fully debriefing the receptionist on what had happened with Dr Ostermann’s suicide and the subsequent disappearance of his family, Striker and Felicia asked to see Lexa’s office.

The receptionist, still looking rattled, nodded daftly. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a key. ‘She locks it,’ she said, and led them down the hall. When they rounded the east corner, they came across one room with a dark red door. ‘This is Mrs Ostermann’s office. She wanted it on the east side of the facility; all the other doctors are on the west.’

‘I didn’t realize the facility was so big,’ Felicia said.

‘It’s actually not,’ the receptionist said. ‘It’s just a strange layout.’ She unlocked the door for them. Before moving out of the way, she fixed Striker with a hard stare. ‘Please . . . if you’re going to take anything, let me know. I should at least keep a record of things.’

‘Of course, Pam,’ Striker said. ‘Have you ever been in there before?’

She shook her head. ‘No one has. Like I said before, Mrs Ostermann is a very private person. She doesn’t even allow the other doctors inside. It is always under lock and key, and to be honest, I think she would fire me on the spot if she ever saw me in there – no matter the reason.’

Striker nodded. He said goodbye to Pam, then went inside the office with Felicia and closed the door behind them. As he turned around, he scanned the room.

It was very drab, and surprisingly, very sparse. Just a black walnut wood desk, a burgundy leather chair, and a computer terminal. No plants or flowers decorated the shelves. No pictures or diplomas adorned the walls. There weren’t even any photographs of her family.

Felicia saw the oddness of it too. ‘Talk about taking minimalism to the extreme.’

Striker walked over to the desk and opened both drawers. Not much was inside them, except for basic office supplies and a short row of file folders. Striker went through them all, carefully reading each one. All of them contained numerous patient files, but none of the names stood out to him. He took down the names so they could run them through the system later.