First five pages:
My hands were visibly shaking as I slid them off the counter, out of view from the receptionist. After stumbling through an awkward explanation of who I was and what I was doing at the police station, she pointed me to an eerily vacant waiting room. The walls were stark white, completely devoid of pictures, and I sat in a hard plastic chair. After waiting no more than five minutes a ruddy-faced, slightly overweight officer entered the room.
“Dr. Forssmann?” His grip was solid and his hands were massive and rough. “I’m Detective Andrews. Thanks for coming by.” He led me through the station to his surprisingly spacious office. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”
“Oh, no,” I said as I patted my extremely pregnant belly. “No caffeine for me. Maybe a cup of water?” If I was going to be viewed as a lousy psychiatrist at least I could make myself out to be a decent parent. As Detective Andrews was fetching water for me I took the time to assess his office. The diplomas on his walls were evidence of a distinguished military career, and the photos framed on his desk and bookshelf suggested he and his wife were the parents of two sons and one daughter. They all appeared to be college aged, and there was no indication any of them were married or had children of their own. A collection of commendation awards and certificates decorated the walls and with so little empty space left I wondered where he would put the new ones, should he ever receive more.
Detective Andrews closed the door behind him, placed a coffee stained mug of water in front of me, and settled his stocky frame behind the faux mahogany desk that separated the two of us. When he sat his shirt collar squeezed his neck like a tourniquet. “So, tell me what brought you here today.”
What brought me here today? I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, before replying in a forced polite tone. “My office manager, Rachel, received a call that there was a letter for me to pick up from one of my patients.”
“What was your patient’s name?”
“Sylvia Woolf.”
“And what business did she have with us?” After another slow and controlled exhale, I realized my deep breathing tactic wasn’t working. My husband, Will, described this pregnancy as an emotional seesaw, which also ticked me off, but I suppose he was right. I had been utilizing a deep breathing technique I often suggested to my patients, but could finally see why most of them said it was useless.
“I’m sorry,” I replied sarcastically. “I think maybe I’m talking to the wrong person. Someone from this department called me to come down here to pick up a letter written to me from my dead patient, Sylvia Woolf. Dead because she committed suicide, even though I treated her yesterday.” My voice became louder with each word, and I was on the verge of tears before I took a sip of stale coffee flavored water and leaned back in my chair, unable to speak without breaking down. I looked Detective Andrews in the eye feigning control of my emotions. His face softened and his expression was full of pity, but it didn’t anger me; it was actually quite comforting.
“Dr. Forssmann, I’m sorry to have to question you like this, but it’s an active investigation, and I can’t release any information to the public. If you bring information to me we can discuss it, but I can’t give you any specifics of the case.”
“You already told my office manager the name of my patient, and that she killed herself and left me a letter, so that’s obviously already public knowledge.” The burning question in my mind that I dared not ask: why is there an investigation into a suicide?
“It’s not really public information. We didn’t have any way to reach you, since Rachel wouldn’t give us your cell phone number, and told us you were gone for the day. I thought about sending an officer to your house to bring you in, but I didn’t want to get the local rumor mills buzzing, so I figured this would be the most effective way to get you here as soon as possible.” My mind was racing, and I couldn’t stop hearing ‘bring you in’. Was I a suspect in Sylvia’s death? I wondered if there was some new law that made psychiatrists culpable for their patients’ suicides, and how I could not know about it. Detective Andrews seemed to sense my fear and calmly tried to reassure me. “You’re not a suspect in this case,” he said, apparently amused at the thought.
“Then why did you need to bring me in?”
“Sylvia’s death is not being investigated. We’re ninety-nine percent sure it was a suicide. The autopsy report will be done in a couple days to make us one-hundred percent sure. The content of her letter to you is what is being investigated. Until we find out what it means we can’t discuss or release any information about her death.”
“Okay, well I guess I need to read it then.”
“I can’t let you read it.” For the first time Detective Andrews appeared uncomfortable. “It’s considered,” he paused a moment as he looked at his large, calloused hands resting on his desk and finally added, “evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” We were obviously no longer talking about the suicide.
“I’m not really sure yet. This is a very unusual case, and I was hoping you could shed some light on Sylvia’s state of mind.” I had the urge to tell him everything about Sylvia’s psychotic delusions, but knew better.
“Because of patient confidentiality laws I can’t tell you everything without…” My voice trailed off.
“I understand, and we’ll get a subpoena if we think it’s necessary, but I’m kind of thinking that Sylvia was just…well, kind of crazy. The things she wrote in her letter are really bizarre, but there are some things concerning enough for us to investigate. If you could just give me some details about your interactions with Sylvia outside of the doctor-patient setting I think it would really help. I mean, did you see her interact with other patients in the waiting room, or with Rachel? Anything you can tell me would be helpful.” Just as I was convincing myself this letter was merely the ramblings of a psychotic woman I remembered the interaction between Sylvia and Rachel. I considered not even mentioning it, since I didn’t want Rachel to get dragged into this, but it kept nagging at me, and Detective Andrews quickly picked up on my uneasiness. “You look like you’re deep in thought about something.”
“I didn’t see Sylvia interact with any other patients, but there was an unusual exchange between her and Rachel, as she was leaving the office after her last appointment.”
“Tell me about it.” Detective Andrews finally opened the notebook in front of him and started scribbling notes.
“After the appointment I walked Sylvia to the front office so she could make a follow up appointment with Rachel. I noticed when she looked at Rachel she seemed almost…disgusted. Well, I usually don’t hang around while patients schedule follow-ups, but I was curious about her expression, so I just stayed in the doorway.”
“Did Rachel seem to respond to the look Sylvia gave her?”
“I don’t know. From where I was standing I couldn’t see Rachel’s face.” I imagined Rachel smiling at Sylvia despite the glare she was receiving, trying to make her feel more comfortable. She had a knack for putting angered patients at ease, but that was not the case yesterday. “After they made the appointment Rachel handed her a reminder card, and Sylvia handed her some sort of religious card. It had a crucifix on one side and some writing on the back.”
“Could you see what it said?” Detective Andrews was listening attentively and feverishly writing every word he heard.
“No, but I’m pretty sure it was something from the bible, because she quoted some scripture to Rachel before she left.”
“What scripture was it?” Shame crept in as I realized my lack of biblical knowledge was about to be exposed.
“I can’t tell you exactly what she said, but I can tell you what I thought it meant.”
“Like I said, Dr. Forssmann, anything would be helpful.” No apparent judgment from the detective.
