Sharyn McCrumb - Sick Of Shadows

“That’s an interesting psychological phenomenon, Sheriff. I wonder if it has ever been studied.”

“Oh, I don’t know if you fellas are on to it, but politicians have known it for years. Now, to get back to what we were talking about before, I just want to have a little unofficial talk. And don’t be afraid of using any of your big words on me. I expect I’ll tag right along.”

“He has a degree from Georgia Tech,” Clay murmured.

“Dr. Shepherd, this is my deputy, Clay Taylor. Clay, will you take notes during this session, please? Doctor, would you like to lie down on the couch while you talk?”

“People always think we do that,” sighed Shepherd. “Mostly, people just sit in chairs, you know.”

“I understand,” said Rountree, with a trace of a smile. “Now-about Eileen Chandler…”

“Well, I’m connected with the university clinic, and when Eileen enrolled at the university this fall, she came to the clinic. She had been referred by her previous physician, Dr. Nancy Kimble.”

“Why was that?”

“Oh, for several reasons, I think. Eileen had just been released from Cherry Hill, and Dr. Kimble was going on sabbatical to Europe this year, so she would have been unable to follow up on Eileen personally.”

“Uh-huh. And what were you treating her for?”

“Well, she was recovering from schizophrenia, but I dealt mostly with her adjustment problems. Dr. Kimble had already worked through everything major. I mean, Eileen was well enough to attend school and to lead a normal life. Seeing me was more of a safeguard than anything else. So she wouldn’t feel completely alone in her new surroundings.”

“Were you treating her for depression?”

“No. I wouldn’t call her adjustment problems depression…”

“Well, would you say she was depressed? Capable of suicide?”

Shepherd hesitated. “It is possible, of course. But I can’t say that I foresaw it. Not depression.”

“All right then, Doctor, why are you here?” asked Rountree gently.

“I was invited to the wedding. I’m not here professionally.”

“And who invited you?”

“Eileen Chandler. She didn’t have too many friends, poor kid. She was extremely shy. And from what I heard about this whole setup, I thought it might be a nice thing to do.”

“I see. Well, anyway, you can tell me something about her state of mind as you’ve observed it since you’ve been here.”

“Er-no. I really can’t. I saw Eileen for less than a minute.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Rountree leaned forward with quickened interest. “Now, why is that?”

Dr. Shepherd was silent for a moment, framing his answer. Finally he said, “Sheriff, it beats the hell outta me. I had been here less than an hour, and I was out in the hall talking to her Cousin Elizabeth, when Eileen walked in, screamed that she didn’t want me here, and went charging off upstairs.”

“And why did she do that?”

Shepherd shrugged. “I’m a psychiatrist, not a mind reader. All I know is, she fled when she saw me, then broke a mirror in the upstairs hall. Her family said it was just wedding nerves, and that may be as true as anything. She wasn’t a stable girl.”

“Should she have been getting married?”

Shepherd grinned. “That, Sheriff, is one form of insanity I don’t deal with. I told you: she was no longer a mental patient. We would have classified her as neurotic. And surely you know that neurotics get married all the time.”

Rountree grunted. “Did she have any reason to resent you being here?”

“I wouldn’t think so, Sheriff. Remember, she invited me herself. Handwritten invitation.”

Rountree sighed. “Well, I’ll have to look into it. You got all that down, Clay?”

The deputy, hunched over his notepad, nodded briefly, and went back to writing.

“So, we’ve established that she was upset, but we don’t know why. Of course, I reckon there’s the obvious. You want to tell me what you thought of the groom?”

“I didn’t know him. I mean, I’d met him, of course, but only once. He came by to pick her up one afternoon after our session, that’s all.”

“But she’d have talked about him, wouldn’t she? Must have been pretty important to her.”

Shepherd grimaced. “Did she talk about him? Constantly! But you see, Sheriff, her viewpoint was hardly objective. According to Eileen, Michael Satisky was a knight in shining armor. She talked like a bride, in fact.”

“Which she was-or almost was. Well, if this turns out to be a suicide, we may have to check the shining armor for rust spots. Reckon I’ll have a talk with the young man. All right, Dr. Shepherd, that’s all I can think of. Is there anything else you want to tell us?”

“Well, let me remind you that I knew Eileen when she was away at school. Away from her family, I mean. That change of environment could make a big difference in her state of mind.”

“How’s that?” asked Rountree.

“Well, Eileen seemed anxious about coming home. As if she were dreading something.”

“You want to take a guess at what that was?”

“Well… offhand…” Shepherd glanced up at the ceiling. “Have you ever met her mother?”

“HE WASN’T MUCH HELP, was he?”

Clay shrugged. “Well, if she was suicidal, and he didn’t know it, it won’t look so good for him professionally.”

“Oh, hogwash!” sneered Rountree. “Her state of mind could have changed something awful since she got home. That’s what we got to figure out: what’s been going on around here-and could it have made her want to kill herself?”

Michael Satisky, who had been sent in by Shepherd, halted in the doorway. “Kill herself?” he echoed, forgetting his nervousness. “Is that what happened? Are you sure?”

“Will you sit down,” moaned Rountree. “And don’t jump to so dad-burned many conclusions. You probably know more than we do right now. So, what do you think? Did she kill herself?”

“How-how could I know?” Satisky stammered. The sheriff’s genial drawl did not make him feel at ease. It reminded him of the easy, philistine confidence of the high school athletes who had made his life miserable as a teenager. He felt that he was being baited, and he became even more tense.

“Well, since you were going to marry her, we thought you’d be able to tell us a little something about her state of mind,” said Rountree with heavy sarcasm.

Satisky winced. “She was upset about something,” he admitted. “But I don’t know why. It wasn’t about our engagement, because she didn’t know-”

Rountree pounced. “Didn’t know what?”

“Oh… well… nothing important. I mean, she didn’t know, so it couldn’t very well be relevant, could it?”

“I think I’d better hear this,” said Rountree. “You’d be surprised at what people know. They got the darndest ways of finding out-listening at doors and I don’t know what-all.”

Satisky blushed, remembering his opening words of the interview.

Rountree pretended not to notice that his shot had hit home. “Anyway, you never can tell what’s going to be important, so I think you’d better tell us what this is all about.”

“It’s nothing really,” Satisky insisted. “I was just… you know… getting nervous. About the wedding and all-uh, this is hard to discuss with police officers…”

Rountree snorted. “You think this is hard? You should have tried explaining to the bride that you’d changed your mind.”

“Well, I hadn’t actually made any decision…”

Too spineless to go through with it, Rountree’s look suggested; but he merely asked: “Are you sure Eileen Chandler couldn’t have figured this out?”