Glancing over her shoulder, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Baldwin had her spooked enough to watch her back, that was for sure. The thought that Aiden had taken off once he knew Baldwin was in town came back, stronger than before. It made sense. Wishful thinking, probably, but hey, a girl could dream. What would life be like if they weren’t chasing madmen? Boring and staid, definitely.

In the lobby, a black lacquered sign listed Dr. Ellen Ricard’s office on the eighth floor. There was a Judas Kiss

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communal bustle toward the elevators—patients, receptionist, the odd nurse in blue scrubs coming in with coffee from the nearby West End Starbucks. Taylor moved into the scrum and took her place in the elevator. Dr. Ricard’s office was at the end of the long hallway on the right, next to an emergency stairwell. Taylor entered, a discreet ding announcing her presence. The office was finely decorated—a red and gold patterned Aubusson rug took up almost all the floor space, making the matching textured impressionist oils by local artist Jennifer Wilken stand out against the creamy walls. The furniture was thick, square and suede. A glass coffee table held Town and Country magazines, and the place smelled slightly of Chanel perfume.

Alerted by the door’s subtle chime, Dr. Ricard emerged from an interior room. She had shoulderlength silver hair that didn’t match her youthful face. Square black glasses, minimal makeup, black knit pants with a deep-cut black-and-white silk top—Ricard was an odd mixture of hippie and hip. She couldn’t be more than forty, but Taylor wasn’t very good with ages. Ricard crossed the room and held out her hand. Taylor shook it, then followed when the doctor gestured, leading the way into her inner sanctum. The room was filled with sunlight—facing east, the early morning sun spilled through the windows, lending an air of good cheer to the surroundings. Two heavy couches faced one another across a second art deco glass coffee table; a large wing chair covered in black velvet bore the markings of frequent use. Sure enough, Ricard crossed the room, curled like a cat with her feet tucked under her, laid the notepad and pen on 294

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the coffee table and indicated Taylor should sit with a nod of her head. Taylor did, amazed at the control the woman exuded without even speaking. After a moment, the doctor spoke, her accented voice making Taylor feel like she was on a museum tour in Great Britain.

“I’m Ellen Ricard, but you already know that. How can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Straight to business. All right. “Corinne Wolff. She was a patient of yours. I was hoping you’d tell me why.”

“If you know she was a patient, then you know that I’m not bound to tell you anything about our private sessions. But, I am sorry that we’ve lost her. Corinne was a magnificent girl.”

“Then help me find out who killed her, Doctor.”

“Isn’t that readily apparent, Lieutenant? Two days out and you already had a suspect in custody.”

“That’s true, but I don’t think it’s a foregone conclusion that Todd killed Corinne. Yes, he’s been arrested because there’s evidence condemning him, but the investigation into his actions is far from complete. That’s not why I’m here. I understand that Corinne and her husband were…open with their sexuality.”

“Be that as it may. It’s you who isn’t sure. You don’t want to be responsible if he is innocent.”

“You’re right, I’m not convinced. I’m not careless with people’s lives, regardless of their choices. And stop psychoanalyzing me. I’m not a patient, I’m trying to get some answers.”

Ricard finally smiled, and relaxed in the chair. “All right, Lieutenant. I’ll stop playing games if you will.”

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Taylor wasn’t sure what to make of the good doctor. Was this going anywhere, or was she just spinning her wheels?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ricard steepled her fingers, tapping her two forefingers together. “It means I saw the news this morning. That you’d been suspended. Is this true, or did you get reinstated five minutes ago?”

Taylor slid farther into the sofa cushions, miserable. Damn. Ricard waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t care, Lieutenant. I’ve seen the tapes.”

Taylor blanched, but Ricard continued, not warmly, but with a certain sense of shared camaraderie.

“Don’t worry. It’s blatantly obvious that someone is upset with you and trying to ruin your reputation. I’ve been through that kind of crap myself. Intimidation, coercion. Don’t let them get you down. But in all honesty, none of that matters here. I see that you’re true in your desire to find Corinne’s real killer. The fire in your eyes is unmistakable.” She smiled, the first kind look that had crossed her face since Taylor entered her sanctum.

“This will have to be off the record, though. Surely you understand. If I’m going to divulge secrets of a patient to an unfrocked police officer, I can only speak hypothetically.”

Taylor searched Ricard’s face for signs of mocking, and found none. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t like she could march into headquarters and announce she’d solved the case anyway. No, better to take the doctor at her word, listen to what she said, glean as much information as possible.

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“I understand. That’s fine. I’m just curious why someone as controlled and secure as Corinne Wolff would fall apart like she did. For her to be taking prescription anti-anxiety medication during a pregnancy seems wholly out of character, and if it’s a clue that will help me discover if it’s her husband, or someone else, who killed her…”

Ricard was nodding, so Taylor stopped and let the woman gather her thoughts.

“You know a lot about her already. A thorough victimology, I presume?”

“I’m trying to build an accurate victimology. Corinne seemed to be a woman with two distinct personalities. On one side, the suburban housewife and mother, the former tennis wunderkind, the short-lived businesswoman. The other side was apparently out of control, desperately searching for happiness and pleasure. I’d like to find out why this woman had two sides that were so extreme.”

“We all have two sides, Lieutenant. The persona we adopt for our fellow man, and the self that we keep hidden, the real part of us that allows the core to make judgments and derive pleasure from our actions. You can’t tell me you’re the same person at home, in private, that you are in public. Simply being a woman in a man’s position would preclude you from showing any normal weakness or vulnerability on the job.”

“I’m hardly a woman in a man’s position, Doctor. And yes, I am the same woman at work as I am at home. What you see is what you get.”

Ricard smiled, her lips thinning. The woman didn’t like being challenged.

“Really? How many female lieutenants are there in the police force these days?”

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“Plenty.”

“And do they have field jobs or administrative posts?”

“In Metro? Administrative. I’m the only lieutenant in the field.”

“And I bet you have the respect of your team. That you never show them how deep down you wish you could relinquish control and allow them to care for you.”

“Oh, you’re wrong there. We are a team. We work together, and I surrender to them all the time. If I didn’t they’d never trust me.”

“And you have a man at home?”

“Yes.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s with the FBI. He’s…”

“Yes?”

“He’s in the middle of an investigation and keeping certain aspects of the case from me. He wants to protect me, and I don’t need protecting.” Shut up already, Taylor. This chick was good.

Taylor continued. “But that’s neither here nor there, Doctor. It has nothing to do with Corinne Wolff.”