Page 82 of Sharp Force
Kay, you mustn’t lose your ability to trust,she’d say.People are basically good. It’s the rare person who will take advantage.
You and I politely disagree about that,I’d answer.
“I came right out and asked if she was Zain’s private shrink,”Marino explains. “Crowley says of course not. It wouldn’t be appropriate for a male patient to stay with his female psychiatrist. Those were his exact words.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate for any reason,” I answer.
“Bizarre to think of staying in the same house as your shrink,” Marino says. “I would think you could lose your medical license for shit like that.”
“Georgine was kind to a fault. She was unorthodox, in many ways naïve, and not much for boundaries. At least she was like that back in my Richmond days,” I tell Marino without sharing too much.
He doesn’t know that Lucy was her patient once, and it’s not for me to offer. I’m not going to explain that Georgine played fast and loose with accepted protocols. She’d meet Lucy for coffee or lunch. Their sessions were in Georgine’s home, and on occasion she invited Lucy for dinner and a sleepover.
They played tennis and rode horses together. My teenage niece would help her with computer questions and other technical challenges. During the first few months of therapy, Lucy seemed lighter of spirit and perhaps less lonely. This was followed by her becoming hostile and impossibly defensive.
When I suggested to Georgine that boundaries might be in order, she simply smiled, shaking her head as if I was hopelessly negative.
It’s important my patients see me as a trusted friend, someone they feel perfectly safe with in any situation,she told me.Not everybody is ill-intended, Kay.
CHAPTER 27
The small bird is busy on the foyer skylight, flitting and flickering. I realize it’s a sparrow, brown and industrious, flashes of feathers and shiny dark eyes. It strews bits of dead grass over the glass, repairing a nest as Benton returns to the foyer.
“How many exterior doors?” he asks. “When we walked through this place five years ago, there were three. One in front, one in back and a door in the basement that was always deadbolted.”
“That’s it.” Marino has his gloves off, a trace of a smile as he types a text on his phone.
“Were the doors locked or unlocked when first responders got here?” Benton asks.
“Basement and back door were locked.” Marino is reading another message landing. “The front door was unlocked and not closed all the way.”
“So, when Zain left the house to find a phone signal, he didn’t shut the door,” I reply.
“Apparently,” Marino says.
“What about the gate?” Benton asks. “I noticed that it opens when you’re leaving but requires a key to enter.”
“It was open when Officer Horace arrived,” Marino answers.
He begins typing again, distracted, the same shadow of a smile.
“Everything okay?” I look at him.
“Mick and Rick.” Marino’s face is touched by emotion.
“Who?” Benton puzzles, and Marino tells him.
“Fortunately, they didn’t lose power,” he adds, as if that’s the reason he’s communicating with the O’Leary twins on Christmas morning. “So I don’t need to drop off my spare generator.” He seems disappointed. “If there’s time later today, I’ll stop by to see how they’re doing.”
“Very kind of you, but be careful, Marino. Don’t let your feelings get you in trouble,” Benton says. “Whatever’s going on, I worry Rowdy O’Leary is tangled in the web. We don’t know who or what he might have been dealing with.”
“They’re nine-year-old kids,” Marino growls like a protective bear. “Whatever their loser of a dead father might have been involved in? It has nothing to do with them.”
“He might not have been a loser before he was hit by a car,” Benton says.
“I got hold of Trad Whalen last night,” Marino tells us. “And everything I’m hearing makes me think Rowdy O’Leary was screwed up and not much of a family man even before he got run over.”
“You’d be most unwise to consider Trad Whalen a reliable narrator,” Benton warns.
