M. Sellars - In the bleak midwinter

Somewhat more than twelve hours ago, sleep had finally come screaming at her with the throttle wide open and no brakes to speak of. She had seen it coming and her only course of action at that point had been to brace herself and let it happen, so that was exactly what she did. No sooner had she returned to her motel room from the crime scene than the exhaustion struck head on and the pillow came rushing into her face like a deploying airbag. Fortunately, she had just enough time to extract herself from the Kevlar and get undressed before impact.

After that she didn’t remember much of anything. All she knew was that according to the clock, she had spent slightly more than nine hours horizontal and for a change, she’d been blissfully unconscious and devoid of the terrors that had been plaguing her previous attempts at sleep. Beneficial as that was, it still simply wasn’t enough. While the restful slumber had definitely taken the edge off, she needed much more.

Unfortunately, she was well aware that more sleep wouldn’t fix the other problem at hand. She could have sacked out for three days straight and still would have awakened to the realization that none of what had transpired in the early hours of the morning was a dream. It was most definitely a nightmare-of that much she was certain-but it wasn’t the kind that went away when you opened your eyes. That point was driven firmly home when she awoke to find a text message impatiently waiting on her chirping cell phone.

And now, here she was in Mais, hoping to fit a few more pieces of the puzzle into place.

She yawned, then allowed herself a tired sigh and closed her eyes. Even though she kept herself in excellent shape, she had dealt out some serious self-abuse over the past few days. On top of that, no matter how much training you did, you could never truly prepare your body for what a serious dose of adrenalin and a sudden fight would do to cold, stiff muscles. She had felt those effects the moment she rolled out of the bed, and she knew she’d be paying the price for at least another day or so. She didn’t think there was any serious damage, but she was definitely sore, wearing a couple of new bruises, and had aches on top of aches. She was fairly certain that meant the pains were procreating. However, she had dulled them as best she could with a pair of ibuprofen caplets and would take some time to whine about it later. Right now, she was chasing answers-or so she hoped. The way things had been working out since this all started, she wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that she was really chasing yet another impossible question.

Constance fluttered her eyes open and saw that the cell phone screen had timed out, winking itself into dormant darkness. She thumbed a random button to wake it up. She had been waiting almost a full half-hour now. No big deal. She had time.

She scrolled to the text folder then pulled the message back into view and read it for the thousandth time. Then she read it again just for good measure.

It hadn’t disappeared, and it hadn’t changed-not that she expected it would, but in a way she wished it had. Something of that sort happening would be much easier to fathom than most anything else regarding this case so far.

Across the room there finally came a sharp click, followed by the whooshing sound of a door. Constance looked up expecting the nurse, but was greeted instead by a new face.

“Good,” she thought. Though unexpected, it was exactly what she wanted. She slipped the cell phone into the pocket of her coat on the chair next to her and stood.

“Good evening,” the man said as he approached. “I’m Doctor Poe.”

His voice was cautious, as was his expression. However, there was a hint of curiosity showing in his eyes. Constance reached into her blazer and withdrew her badge case, displaying it with an easy flip of her wrist as she returned, “Special Agent Mandalay, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Doctor Poe settled a pair of readers onto the end of his nose and inspected the credentials, then gave her a nod as he returned his gaze to her face. “I was told you want to speak with a patient?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she replied, stowing the leather badge case back inside the folds of her jacket. “Edgar Virgil Reese. I’m given to understand he checked himself into this facility for observation yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, I’m afraid that it goes against policy to allow visitors during a seventy-two hour observation period, not to mention that it’s rather late…”

“I understand that,” she said, cutting him off. “The nurse already told me the same thing.”

“Good, then you are aware of our policy.”

“Yes, Doctor, I’m well aware, but as I told her, I can’t accept that.”

“She was just doing her job, Miz Mandalay.”

“Special Agent Mandalay, Doctor,” she corrected. “And I understand her position. That is why I’m now talking to you instead.”

He nodded and replied with a guarded, “I see.”

Constance couldn’t help but think about the fact that if Ben were here he would be cracking a joke about the psychiatrist’s stereotypical choice of words. She’d heard the detective rib his own sister over such things. Fortunately, Helen Storm was very good-humored where that was concerned. Something told her, however, that Doctor Poe didn’t share that trait.

This wasn’t her first go around with someone like him. She suspected that he was already profiling her as an insecure woman who was overcompensating because of her rampant penis envy. She’d been told something very similar once before by a psychiatrist who had stood between her and the resolution of a case. He hadn’t stood there much longer after that.

But right now she didn’t care. Doctor Poe could think whatever he wanted. The truth is, she had already profiled him as a mid-level administrator with a God complex, so technically they were even.

He fell silent and simply stared at her on the heels of his two-word commentary, seemingly sure that he had the upper hand. Constance mirrored his gaze and kept her own mouth shut. She had played this version of chicken before and with people far better at it than him. Psychiatrist or not, he was actually the one at a disadvantage in this stare-down test of wills. She had paid close attention to his face when she’d flashed her badge. Federal credentials almost always made people nervous, even when they were innocent, and he was no exception to that rule. He may not realize it yet, but he had already blinked before they ever started.

Silence filled the waiting room as an unseen second hand swept around a figurative clock. A minute passed, then a minute plus one-half. It never made it as far as two.

Doctor Poe shifted in place then cleared his throat and followed with a nervous-sounding cough. “May I ask why you want to speak with Mister Reese, Special Agent Mandalay?”

“It’s simply part of an ongoing investigation,” she replied.

“Is he a suspect in this investigation?”

“More like a person of interest.”

The doctor seemed unsatisfied with the answer. “I need to know if he poses a danger to the other patients.”

“Wouldn’t you be the one to answer that question?” she replied.

He appeared to ponder her return quip for a moment, then began to object, “Special Agent Mand-”

Before he could finish, Constance interjected, “I just want to ask him some questions, Doctor, that’s all.”

“Mister Reese is here for a seventy-two hour observation and evaluation.”

He regurgitated the same line she’d already heard a dozen times since her arrival here. Obviously he wasn’t going to easily give up his attempt to stonewall.

“Voluntary,” Constance added. “You and I both know that the Missouri revised statutes guarantee him the right to visitors unless you have good cause to deny such. Do you?”