Snakes & Ladders (34 page)

William Stephen Mercury.

‘What are you doing with that?’ he asked.

The nurse blinked as if coming out of a bad dream, then looked down at the file in her hands. ‘This? Oh yes. Well . . . Dr Ostermann wanted it. He wants to review the history. See what went wrong. See if there were any warning signs he might have missed – he’s quite upset over the whole matter and he blames himself. He’s always so . . .
protective
of his patients. He’s taking this quite hard.’

Striker nodded. ‘I completely understand. Unfortunately, him seeing it won’t be possible just yet. We’re actually here to seize that file.’

The woman said nothing back. Felicia stepped forward and took the file from her.

‘Oh dear,’ the woman said. ‘Dr Ostermann—’

‘Can speak to me whenever he needs to,’ Striker finished.

As if on cue, Dr Ostermann came marching around the corner of the west corridor. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. His eyes looked dark and large behind the glasses, and when he caught sight of them they grew even larger. He stopped walking, looked at them for a brief moment, then continued across the foyer.

‘Detectives.’ He looked directly at Felicia. ‘I trust you are well?’

She bumped her fist over her chest. ‘Heart’s a Timex. Keeps on ticking.’

Dr Ostermann licked his lips, almost nervously. ‘Well, that is so very good to hear, Detective Santos. After what happened out there . . . when the shot went off and the way you fell down . . .’

Felicia nodded. ‘It’s all over now.’

Dr Ostermann’s eyes fell from Felicia’s face to the file folder in her hands and his expression darkened.

‘Is that my file?’ he asked.

‘It’s our file now,’ Striker said. ‘We’re seizing it.’

‘Seizing it? But . . . I still need to go through it. Review our sessions. See what went wrong.’ He gave them both a desperate look. ‘Detectives, you must understand, I’m
mandated
to—’

‘I’m not unreasonable,’ Striker said. ‘We can make you a copy.’

This seemed to placate the doctor. He nodded slowly to the receptionist, and she then led Felicia into the back room. Moments later, Striker could hear the loud hum of an old photocopier working. As they waited for the copies, Striker studied Ostermann’s posture and expression. The man seemed highly strung and fidgety.

It made sense, given all that had happened.

‘Why did you leave?’ Striker asked.

Dr Ostermann blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Burnaby General. The hospital. Why did you leave? You knew we needed to talk to you.’

Dr Ostermann splayed his hands. ‘I knew you could find me here any time you desired – a man of my position cannot hide from anything, as I’m sure you well know.’ He gestured to the area around them and raised a finger, as if sermonizing. ‘Look at this place. Mapleview. My clinic. It was in absolute
chaos
. Everyone was traumatized. I had to return here as soon as possible to rectify the situation.’

‘That sounds a tad melodramatic,’ Striker said.

‘I had my staff to consider, Detective. And the other patients. Appointments were scheduled. Medications due. The entire clinic was in an uproar over what had happened. I simply had to be here.’

‘What about Dr Richter?’ Striker said.

‘I have left messages,’ was all he said. His face took on a tired look, and he absently rubbed his brow.

Striker just watched the man and said nothing more. When Felicia and the receptionist returned, he took the file from them and casually flipped it open. It was thick, compartmentalized. And as he paged back through the entries, he noticed one more thing.

The file was incomplete. Huge periods of time were missing.

He looked up and met the doctor’s eyes. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’

‘The rest?’

Striker smiled. ‘You like doing that, don’t you?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Repeating my questions. Is that a practised technique of yours? A way to delay time and think your answers through?’ When Dr Ostermann said nothing back, Striker continued. ‘Huge chunks of time are missing in this file. So I will ask you one more time, Doctor, where is the rest of the file?’

Dr Ostermann’s face tightened. ‘There is no
rest of the file
, Detective. Any parts that are missing are unfortunately somewhere in the system.’ He adjusted his glasses, and continued. ‘Before coming out west, Billy was also being seen by army psychologists in Ottawa. He went back there several times. Not much is known about these sessions. I’ve requested copies of that file many times myself, but have never received so much as a response from the military. Which is not surprising. It all comes down to financial liability in these matters. And you know how secretive the army is with all their records.’

Striker leafed through the folder. There were
many
gaps in time. ‘What about the rest of the missing patches?’

Dr Ostermann shrugged. ‘Billy bounced around the system for quite some time before finding me. A few years at least. I began seeing him just under three years ago – and all our time is documented precisely in this file or the one we keep at Riverglen. There are two, after all; he was unfortunately sectioned for some time.’

Striker and Felicia shared a glance at hearing this. Then Striker spoke again. ‘So Billy saw another doctor around here?’

‘Well, yes. Before me, Billy saw
many
different doctors. I’m not privy to all that information. And to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t even know what other files exist. Billy was something of a ghost in the system. I did the best I could for him. And I failed terribly.’

The words seemed to take a toll on the doctor, and his posture slumped. Behind him, the receptionist worked hard at trying to look busy, but the blush of her cheeks gave away her discomfort with the situation.

Striker said nothing for a long moment, waiting out Dr Ostermann to see if the man would say more. When he did not, and instead remained completely silent, Striker gave Felicia a glance, and she spoke up.

‘Did Billy ever see Dr Richter?’ she asked.

This seemed to surprise Dr Ostermann, and he blinked. ‘Dr Richter? Well, yes. But only when I was unable to attend the sessions – which was a rare occasion indeed.’

‘But there were times?’ Striker pressed.

Dr Ostermann nodded. ‘There were. A few.’

‘Well, we’ve tried to get hold of this Dr Richter several times—’

‘Dr Richter is away,’ Dr Ostermann replied. ‘On leave for
personal
reasons I am not allowed to divulge. I have no other contact information, other than the cell-phone number you were given. I would suggest you leave another message like I did.’

‘I have left a message,’ Striker said. ‘In fact, I’ve left many.’

Dr Ostermann frowned. ‘Well, I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do for you.’

The words rang empty to Striker.

‘One last thing,’ he said. ‘Before the shoot-out with Billy, what were you doing here at Mapleview?’

Dr Ostermann looked at Striker in confusion. Like he didn’t understand the question. ‘I was sorting through the clinic records. We are in the process right now of archiving the older files. It is quite a bit of work, I can tell you.’

Striker nodded. ‘I find that interesting. Yesterday, when I asked you if you worked here, you said no.’

‘I said no?’ Dr Ostermann replied. He calmly removed the spectacles from his face, withdrew a silk cloth from his front suit pocket, and cleaned the lenses as he explained. ‘That is not quite true, Detective. What I said to you the other day, is that I
no longer
work here – I have, however, worked here in the past. Quite a bit, in fact. Now, I more or less just oversee things. Mapleview Clinic is, after all, a branch of the EvenHealth project.’

‘You’re saying this is semantics?’

‘Precisely.’

‘My mistake then,’ Striker replied.

He turned to Felicia, gave her the nod to leave, and they said goodbye to Dr Ostermann and his receptionist. When they were out of the front doors, back into the darkness of the pressing night and the cold gusting winds, Striker gave Felicia a hard look.

‘Semantics?’ he asked.

‘Bullshit?’ she replied.

He agreed. ‘Something just isn’t right with Dr Ostermann,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time we started making him a top priority.’

‘Surveillance?’ Felicia asked.

Striker flashed her a smile. ‘Yeah. Time for a little game of I Spy.’

It was getting late now, six o’clock, and the rush-hour grind was thickening still. When the traffic came to another standstill, Felicia reclined her seat a little and looked at him. ‘I’m starving,’ she said, and gave a smile. ‘Getting shot will do that to a girl.’

Striker forced a grin, but said nothing. They drove down Boundary Road and cut through the McDonald’s drive-thru for a couple of burgers: a Big Mac and a coffee for Striker, a Filet-o-Fish and an eggnog shake for Felicia. Striker looked at the combination and scowled.

‘Nice mix of flavours. What next – steak tartare and caramel sauce?’

‘Hey, relax. Be festive.’

‘It’s January. Christmas ended four weeks ago.’

‘Scrooge.’

They parked behind the Harley-Davidson motorcycle shop on Boundary, away from the rush of the street. As they ate, they went over what they had to work with. Striker took out his notebook and paged back through the notes. He also read through the pages of the Billy Mercury file. In it was a copy of unpaid billings to the government. The session notes were written and signed by Dr R. M. Richter, yet the name on the billing sheet was Ostermann.

‘That’s odd,’ he said between bites. He took out his cell phone and called up Mapleview Clinic. When the receptionist answered and learned it was him again on the phone, she sounded nervous.

‘Oh hello, Detective,’ she said. ‘Dr Ostermann is busy at the moment—’

‘That’s perfectly all right. I’m not calling to talk to him.’

‘Then how may I help you?’

‘I have another question,’ Striker explained. ‘How come all the billings for Billy Mercury’s treatments are done under Dr Ostermann’s name when it looks like Dr Richter was the one who did the sessions?’

The receptionist was straight to the point. ‘Dr Richter works nights. After-hours private work.’

‘I don’t follow,’ Striker said.

‘All the doctors here pay a portion of their income to the clinic, so the money comes through EvenHealth first – under Dr Ostermann’s physician number – then the clinic deducts the percentages owed and delivers the rest of the income to the attending psychiatrist.’

Striker nodded. That made sense.

‘Any return calls from Dr Richter?’ he asked.

‘None, Detective.’

‘And you have no idea when the doctor will be back?’

‘Next Monday, the book says.’

Monday. That figured.

Striker had had enough of waiting for doctors. He asked the receptionist for Dr Richter’s billing number. When he wrote it down in his notebook he saw that it was indeed the same number as on all the prescription pads. He thanked the receptionist for her time and hung up. He immediately called up the College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC, gave his badge number, and asked them to verify that the physician number did, in fact, exist. The clerk got back to him within seconds. ‘Yes,’ he said. And the name corresponded.

Dr Riley M. Richter.

There was no permanent clinic listed with the College of Physicians and Surgeons. No home address either. Just one contact number – the pager he already had.

Frustrated, he hung up. Frowned. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Another goddam headache was coming; he could feel it, right behind his eyes.

‘Tylenol?’ Felicia asked.

He ignored the offer. ‘Mandy Gill and Sarah Rose were both taking their SILC class—’

‘Social Independence and Life Coping skills.’

Striker nodded. ‘Yeah. Under the EvenHealth programme. I got that. Point is, they were both doing sessions there, along with Billy. Now the three of them are dead. Larisa was also taking therapy sessions at Mapleview, and from Dr Richter, who was writing all the prescriptions. Larisa is one of the links in all this. We’ve got to find her.’

Felicia touched his arm. ‘And we will find her, Jacob. I promise you that. But don’t lose focus here. This case is done. And it looks pretty straightforward.’

‘Does it?’ Striker asked.

‘It does to me. Billy Mercury was a delusional psychotic who had an obsession with Mandy Gill first, and then Sarah Rose. We don’t know all the details involved but we do know this – both women are now dead.’

‘And what about Larisa’s message?’ Striker asked.

‘We’ve already been over this. Larisa said she knew it was murder, yes, but her warning came
after
we’d been plastered all over the TV news. And even if she does know something about the murder, what she probably knows is that Billy was responsible. And that’s why she wanted to come forward. Now that she’s gone into hiding because of this mental health warrant, it’s kind of thrown a monkey wrench into everything. But it makes perfect sense – she doesn’t want to be institutionalized again.’

Striker thought this over before speaking. ‘And what about the palm print found on the fridge at Mandy Gill’s crime scene – it doesn’t match Billy’s.’

‘It doesn’t match
anyone’s
,’ Felicia reminded him. ‘And it’s just a partial print at that. It could belong to the former tenant, a guest of the former tenant. A squatter, even.’

Striker listened to every word she said.

‘It all makes sense,’ he admitted.

‘It does make sense. You’re just too close to Larisa to see that. You don’t
want
to see that. That’s why you’re having problems with closing the case.’

‘Not because of Larisa,’ he said, ‘but because there’s
holes
.’

‘What holes?’

Striker counted them off. ‘The videos, for one. Both Mandy Gill and Sarah Rose had their deaths filmed. I know it, you know it. And yet there was no video equipment inside Billy’s apartment. I looked for it.’

This didn’t sway Felicia one way or the other. ‘He’s obviously kept it somewhere else. We’ll check into it. Maybe he’s got a storage locker somewhere. Or a second pad. A safety deposit box. There’s a million places. We’ll do some foot work.’