Page 45 of Crosshairs
I said to my grandfather, “I just worry about the kids growing up too fast.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Jane, my boy. She’s more likely to be the city’s youngest mayor than she is to do something stupid.”
“Some people would say running for mayorisstupid.”
My grandfather smiled. “That’s because only stupid people usually run for mayor. Jane will break that trend.”
CHAPTER 54
I’D BEEN CAREFUL once I got into the office. The morning had been a blur. I had some serious anxiety about my new partner, but I couldn’t just start suggesting he could be responsible for a series of murders. Life doesn’t work that way. Once I said it, it could never be taken back. And that would follow Trilling the rest of his career. Assuming, of course, hewasn’tthe Longshot Killer.
I could’ve used some help from Walter Jackson, but I didn’t want to involve him. I gave Trilling a detailed list of things to do on the case. Checking security videos, re-interviewing a few witnesses, and generally tying up his entire day. He didn’t bat an eye at the long list of assignments.
Now I found myself in Midtown Manhattan. Trilling had told me he came to an off-site VA clinic here. That wasn’t too hard to track down. I recalled that he and his mother had both toldme that his counselor’s first name was Darcy. A name just uncommon enough for me to think I could find her.
The clinic was on the third floor of a commercial building just a tad on the run-down side, with cheap carpet and scuffed walls. Not high-end enough for law firms and architects to rent office space.
I walked through the door markedVETERANS AFFAIRS, with thesfaded off the end of the nameplate. In the small waiting room, I found an empty reception desk with a note that said, “Be back in twenty minutes.” I had no idea how long the receptionist had been gone, so I sat in one of the five mismatched chairs available. In front of me was a coffee table with magazines I barely recognized. The best I could find was aSports Illustratedthat was about four years old. I wondered how many coaches the New York Jets had gone through in that time span.
One of the four doors leading to reception opened, and a young man dressed in a T-shirt and ratty jeans stepped out, followed by a pretty woman in her early thirties with short brown hair. I caught a break when the young man said, “Thanks, Darcy. I’ll see you next week.”
As the man headed out the door, I stood up. Darcy turned to me and said, “Can I help you?”
“I wasn’t sure how long the receptionist would be gone so I waited.”
“She’s been gone about two and half years. We haven’t gotten funding for a new one. I wrote that note myself about six months after she left. Pretty good, right?”
I already liked her. I pulled out my badge and introduced myself.
Darcy cocked her head and said, “And you want to talk to me?I haven’t run afoul of the law since I was a graduate student at Boston University.”
I smiled and said, “Couldn’t get into City College, huh?”
That made her laugh and put her at ease.
“I was hoping I might talk to you about one of your clients.”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss any of my clients with the police. I need their permission, and there would be some paperwork with the VA.”
“I understand all of that. And I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m just trying to assess the situation in my office. One of my coworkers told me he comes to see you, and I have some concerns about his psychological stability. I’m worried about him.” I could tell by the look on her face Darcy knew exactly who I was talking about. But she was a pro, so she didn’t let anything slip verbally.
“I can tell you that the majority of my caseload isn’t any threat to anyone. They’re just trying to adjust to life back here after being deployed. Our focus here is assimilation. We’re trying to keep veterans from withdrawing. That’s why so many vets end up homeless. This is one way to try and stop that. All I do is let them talk. I would think you were perfectly safe working with anyone under my care.”
I liked her even more. Darcy was trying to help me without betraying any confidences or breaking any rules. “Do you prescribe medications?”
“No, but I’m supervised by a psychiatrist. She can write prescriptions as needed.”
“Would some of those prescriptions be for serious sleeping pills?”
“I’m not giving anything away by saying most of my clients have issues sleeping through the night. The most common symptom of PTSD,” Darcy said. “As far as the drugs go, I’m a counselor, not an MD. I have a general idea of what each drug does, but I’m certainly no expert.”
The door to my right opened and a tall woman in her fifties with a giant ball of bleached-blond hair stopped in the doorway and stared at me like my fly was down.
Darcy jumped in quickly. “Dr. Hendrix, this NYPD detective was just asking about the symptoms and treatment of PTSD. Can you give him any insight?”
The doctor looked annoyed. Clearly Darcy was used to dealing with her on a regular basis. She seemed to have developed techniques of distraction, much like coaxing a reluctant cat into a carrier.
Dr. Hendrix snapped, “Which drug? We prescribe a huge array depending on what the client needs.”