Part 25 (1/2)

”There is no need to thank me,” she a.s.sured him, and meant it.

Although such a positive change was always rewarding to observe, Ann knew that his recovery was far from a mission accomplished. One of the biggest challenges that psychiatrists face is to keep their patients committed to their medication once they feel well again, and Ann dearly hoped that Martin would continue his daily dose when it came time to wean him off their regular appointments. The studies on olanzapine showed a higher level of compliance than with many of the other antipsychotic drugs, and she allowed herself a feeling of cautious optimism about Martin's future as she watched him walk out of the clinic.

With her last patient now gone, her mind focused with neat precision on her next task, and a tiny cloud of apprehension threw a shadow across her heart. Her official day was complete, but there was something else Ann felt she needed to do. She wanted to check a name in the bas.e.m.e.nt files before she left the office, and she suspected that what she would find there would not make her happy.

Ann made her way down the hallway and walked around to the large front desk where the clinic receptionist was busy at the keyboard. ”Sai, could you pa.s.s me the key for the storage room, please?”

Sai flashed her wise dark eyes in Ann's direction, her neat ponytail snapping to one side like a black whip as she turned her head. Without a word she fished the small key out of the top drawer of her desk and turned her striking, symmetrical face back to Ann.

In j.a.panese, the name ”Sai” refers to intelligence. Ann thought her parents named their girl well. She was by far the best receptionist they had employed at the clinic.

Ann thanked her, and Sai nodded and turned her attention back to her work at the computer terminal.

”Will you be staying on much longer?” Ann asked the top of Sai's head.

Sai turned and looked at her quizzically, broken again from the focus on her work. ”I wasn't planning on it. I have a dinner date-”

”That's okay. I'll close up today,” Ann said. ”I'll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Any break from routine in the clinic was unusual, and Ann's comment appeared to give Sai pause.

”Is everything alright?” Sai asked, a worry line flawing her smooth forehead. Such a question was inevitable.

”Yes, everything's fine. I just need to check some old client files and I don't know how long it will take.”

Sai nodded.

With the single key warming slowly in her hot palm, Ann made her way towards the rear exit of the building and the staircase that led down to the storage room. The corridor grew cold as she ventured further into the bowels of the building, and she was glad for the warmth of her wool Donna Karan pant suit. She pulled the collar close around her neck.

What if I am right about this?

Ann supposed that she would have to consider her options carefully, but only if her concerns were confirmed. For now she simply had to check.

She made her way to the base of the stairs and was met with the stale smell of neglect as she unlocked the storage room door. Blindly, she flipped the light switch on with one groping hand, reaching around the wall in the dark. The overhead lights came on with a flicker and a dull buzz, the fluorescent tubes illuminating the grey filing cabinets that held every file from the clinic that had been inactive for more than two years. The tops of the cabinets were thick with dust, and Ann was glad she didn't have to come down here too often.

She went for the first cabinet on the left-”A to B”-and pulled a drawer open. Her fingers moved with nimble efficiency to find her target.

BLAKE.

When Makedde Vanderwall had said the name during their appointment, it had rung a bell, but it had taken until today for Ann to place it. As the link surfaced in her mind, Ann found herself wis.h.i.+ng she had not heard that man's name coming from the lips of Les Vanderwall's troubled daughter.

Blake...

She had to be sure.

CHAPTER 38.

Roy Blake's mobile phone rang when he was only twenty minutes from the cabin.

”Blake,” he said.

”Hi, Roy, this is Georgina.” She was one of the UBC security staff. She usually worked the phones.

”How's it going, Georgie?”

”Good, thanks.” The line crackled a bit. He was starting to get out of range. ”Sorry to bother you when you're off-duty like this, but someone was calling for you just now. She wanted you to get back to her as soon as possible.”

She? ”Oh yeah?”

Makedde...

”She said her name was Dr Ann Morgan. She said it was important.”

It took him a moment to register the name, and when he did, he felt a wave of panic.

”Sure, Georgie,” he managed. ”Hang on just a sec while I pull over.” There wasn't a lot of traffic around, so he pulled over to the side of the road easily, and grabbed a pen out of the glove box and a piece of wrinkled newspaper off the floor of the cab.

”Okay, what's the number?”

She gave him the digits and he scrawled them on the front of yesterday's newspaper.

”NAHATLATCH MURDERS Female students found dead. UBC panic as RCMP clueless...”

CHAPTER 39.

Now Dr Ann Morgan had a dilemma.

Roy Blake.

What she knew complicated everything.

When she had seen the newspaper article about the Nahatlatch Murders, it got her thinking. The hunter aspect Makedde had mentioned...the Nahatlatch. She knew someone who liked it out there...or used to. Someone who had a place not too far away.

The Blake brothers.

Roy and Daniel Blake were an interesting pair. Ann had met them when she hired Daniel to do some basic yard work. He had left one of those photocopied pamphlets at the door. The rates were good, and with Ann's hectic schedule, there was so much that wasn't getting done. But the young man had only worked for her a few times before he showed a great deal of interest in the fact that she was a psychiatrist. He started asking questions about certain conditions...things she suspected he was going through. Ann doubted that he had ever talked with anyone about his concerns before. He was confused and he wanted help.

For years Daniel Blake had been told that he had done things he couldn't remember doing. People would say h.e.l.lo to him on the street-people who he couldn't remember meeting. He found things in his room that he thought were not his.