When
they decided to open a counseling office, Quaid Jennings and Boyd
Stanton didn't expect one of their patients to be killed. Though an
odious man, Mr. Overman is still dead under mysterious circumstances.
The police detective in charge of the investigation isn't very happy
to meet them when they go to identify the body.
When
they got to the lobby, an athletic, tall, blonde woman was talking to
Oracle. She rose when they came out. Her square jawed face was
elegant, the color of her dark eyes hard to distinguish in the dull,
fluorescent light.
“Do
we have an identification?” she asked Jeremy.
“Yes,
ma'am. Detective Chelle O'Brian, this is Dr. Jennings and this is Dr.
Stanton. They were Mr. Overman's therapists.”
“Doing
a bang-up job, gentlemen,” she said, snapping her lips shut.
Quaid,
Boyd and Oracle stared at her, appalled. Even Jeremy had no idea what
to say.
“Overman
wasn't suicidal,” Oracle said. “I'd bet my license on it.”
“You
might have to,” O'Brian said, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Three
people in charge of his care, and he offs himself?”
“You
can see any of our records,” Boyd said. “With the proper
warrants. Overman was many things, but he wasn't a suicide risk. I'd
more peg him for homicidal than suicidal.”
“And
yet you let him go,” O'Brian said, her tone chilly.
Boyd,
wisely, said nothing. Oracle started to open her mouth, but Quaid
shook his head.
“Ms.
O'Brian, are you a medical professional, mental health specialist? A
psychiatrist or psychologist? Social worker?”
“No,
but....”
Quaid
bulled over her words, holding up his hand like a stop sign. “So,
it's your completely uneducated opinion that my colleagues and I
weren't doing our jobs, and that's why he jumped off a bridge?”
“I
didn't say that.”
“That's
exactly what you said. You insinuated that we purposely put a patient
at risk. We did all we could for him, but he was rude, disrespectful,
abusive of our staff and, more than once, took a swing at Boyd and
me. He should have been in a facility full time, but they didn't want
him either. He was a low down, pain in the ass.”
“So,
you cast him aside.”
“I
gave him plenty of other resources to call upon. I released him to
another facility, who were supposed to follow up and continue his
care.”
“But
you let him go!”
“You
want to know what he said to Oracle? Or to Pearl? He called my
friends horrible names, called me a faggot....”
“And
you let a word bother you? You're a grown man.”
“No,
ma'am. I didn't. But I won't hear my sweet, intelligent Asian
receptionist be referred to as a retarded
slope eye
or my elegant, caring social worker be called a nappy
headed bitch.
Are you saying that their welfare is less important than his?”
He
purposely kept several feet away, not advancing into her personal
space. She advanced into his, poking her finger at his chest. Before
she could touch him or speak, he took a step back.
“Before
you commit assault in front of witnesses, maybe you'd better reflect
on what you want to say to me. I did my job, as did Ms. Jones and Dr.
Stanton. I'm very sorry that Mr. Overman is dead, but I find it very
difficult to believe that he killed himself. I suggest you instruct
Jeremy to run a complete tox screen—now, because certain drugs
break down rather quickly.” He looked at his watch. “It's been
what, nearly an hour?” He eyed her over his raised wrist. “Mr.
Overman was officious, obnoxious, and had the most toxic personality
of anyone I've ever met. What he wasn't—was suicidal. I
think you're looking at a murder or a very sad accident, Ms. O'Brian.
I suggest you get cracking. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're tired and
would like to get home to bed. We'd be happy to talk to you
tomorrow.”
“I
want his records.”
“Which
we'll be happy to release with the proper warrant,” Boyd said. “I
already told you we're willing to cooperate. We won't, however, stand
here and take anymore abuse from you. Goodnight, Detective. Jeremy,
thank you for your consideration. If you need us to sign something,
let's do that and get it over with so we can go home.”
“Sure,
Dr. Stanton.” He pulled up the paperwork and printed it for them to
sign.
©
2017 Dellani Oakes
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