Page 41 of Power of the Mind
“At this time, we’re gathering character references.”
Hilty chuffed. “Well, you can quote me as saying Row is a sly and manipulative bitch. She shouldn’t be trusted.”
“Harsh words.”
Hilty shrugged.
“Are you aware she’s working as a psychic healer?”
Another chuff. “Yes. She’s always considered herself spiritually gifted. Gentlemen, I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know what she’s done or—”
“Have you referred clients to Ms. Fitspatrick or vice versa?” Diem asked.
“Why on earth would I do that when I find the mere notion of psychic healing to be toxic, never mind laughable?”
I cocked my head with a querying smirk. “But is hypnosis all that different?”
“Yes. Night and day.”
“Really?” I tapped my chin. “They seem similar to me.”
“Because you aren’t educated on the subject. The insinuation alone is insulting.”
“Could you explain?” I asked.
Diem pushed off the wall with a growl. “Don’t bother. He’s wasting our fucking time. Listen, asshole. Your wife has a long criminal history, and you’re tied up in it.”
“I object to that. One incidental charge from over thirty years ago does not make me a criminal. I have nothing to do with that woman anymore.”
“Rowena Fitspatrick has a legitimate license and, for all intents and purposes, appears to be running above the wire, just like you.” Diem’s lethal gaze kept Hilty rooted to the spot. “We want to know if you’ve heard anything, suspect anything, or have had any dealings with her in the past six or eight months.”
“No. How many times must I say it?”
“So you’ve never sent a client you couldn’t help her way?”
“Absolutely not.” Hilty appeared appalled at the suggestion. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“And so far as you’re aware, none of her clients have come to you?”
“No. Rowena isn’t one to admit she can’t help someone.”
Diem shifted his attention to me. “We’re done. Let’s go.”
I crossed my arms like a petulant child and leaned back on the couch. “You bullied over my interview.”
“No, I saved us hours of fucking nonsense. I need to get out of these clothes before I hurt someone.”
“He doesn’t usually wear a suit,” I explained to a confused-looking Hilty. To Diem, I said, “We need to talk about cooperation and sharing. And PS, my case isn’t nonsense.”
“It’s not a case, and you’re not undercover. Christ.”
I made sure to look adequately affronted. “You take that back.”
A rap at the office door shut us both up. Diem gave me the evil eye—it was not Al Capone intimidating in the least—as Sally the Receptionist poked her head in, still with a perpetual look of confusion distorting her features.
“Sorry to bother you. I heard arguing. Do you want me to call the police?”
“It’s under control, Sally,” the doctor said, his tone gentle and kind. “No need.”