Chapter 19 - The Doctor’s Wife
Linda Reese sat at Grandma’s kitchen table with both hands wrapped around untouched tea.
She looked exhausted.
“My husband doesn’t know I’m here.”
Detective Miller recorded the conversation.
“What exactly was Dr. Reese paid to do?”
Linda opened her envelope.
Inside were copies of bank statements.
“Richard Henderson contacted Calvin eight months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
Long before Grandma died.
“What did he want?”
“A psychological evaluation.”
“Without meeting me?”
“Eventually he planned to meet you.”
“How?”
Linda looked ashamed.
“He was supposed to create a reason.”
“What reason?”
“A workplace incident. Family concern. Anything that could justify an emergency assessment.”
I stared at her.
“So he was going to manufacture a mental breakdown.”
“Yes.”
Tyler cursed under his breath.
Linda continued.
“My husband refused at first.”
“What changed?”
“Money.”
Of course.
“How much?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
Miller leaned forward.
“Paid by whom?”
“Northstar Consulting Holdings.”
There it was again.
Northstar.
Linda handed him statements.
“Calvin told himself it was only an evaluation. That nobody was asking him to hurt you.”
“But he was supposed to lie.”
“Yes.”
“What diagnosis?”
“Delusional disorder.”
The cruelty of it made me almost admire the planning.
Richard would provoke me.
Track me.
Accuse me.
Perhaps arrest me.
Then a paid doctor would say my claims were delusions.
Grandma’s fortune would become proof I was unstable.
Who could believe a poor auto-shop assistant claiming her father wanted sixty million dollars of land?
“Why are you telling us?”
Linda’s eyes filled.
“Because Calvin got scared.”
“Of Richard?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“What happened?”
“He said Richard asked a new question.”
“What question?”
Linda looked directly at Miller.
“How long after a traumatic brain injury can someone be declared unable to manage finances?”
Silence.
My skin went cold.
Miller’s voice sharpened.
“Did Richard indicate someone would suffer such an injury?”
“Calvin wouldn’t tell me.”
My chair scraped backward.
“He was planning an accident.”
Miller raised a hand.
“We don’t know that.”
But everyone thought it.
Linda started crying.
“Calvin has documents.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“He left yesterday.”
“Where did he go?”
“He said he had to fix something.”
Miller stood.
“Do you have access to his phone location?”
“No. He turned it off.”
“Vehicle?”
“Blue Lexus.”
Officers began making calls.
Then Linda said, “There’s one more thing.”
She removed a small USB drive from her coat.
“Calvin recorded Richard once.”
My heart hammered.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
The audio was short.
Richard’s voice.
Calvin’s voice.
Richard said, “I’m not asking you to invent anything. I’m asking you to recognize what’s already there.”
Calvin answered, “I’ve never examined her.”
“You will.”
“And if she presents normally?”
A pause.
Then Richard laughed.
“Everyone presents normally before sufficient stress.”
My hands turned to ice.
Calvin said, “What kind of stress?”
Richard answered:
“Leave that to me.”
Miller stopped the recording.
That was enough.
Not for a murder conviction.
Not even for attempted assault by itself.
But enough to rip the mask away.
The next morning, police found Dr. Reese.
Alive.
He had checked into a motel ninety miles away.
He surrendered voluntarily.
By noon, he was cooperating.
By three, Northstar’s headquarters had been served with search warrants.
And at four seventeen, Detective Miller walked into Maple Street smiling for the first time since I met him.
“We found Richard.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Private hunting cabin owned by a Northstar executive.”
“Is he arrested?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“He left before officers arrived.”
My hope collapsed.
Miller held up a photograph recovered from the cabin.
It showed a white pickup.
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
“Neither did we.”
He placed another photograph beside it.
The truck had been captured at a gas station.
Richard stood beside it.
And in the passenger seat was Dr. Calvin Reese.
I stared.
“Before he surrendered?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“What were they doing?”
“We asked Reese.”
My pulse quickened.
“And?”
Miller’s smile disappeared.
“He says Richard wanted him to examine someone.”
“Who?”
May you like
Miller looked at me.
“Samuel Kerr.”
