Page 20 of View from Above

She confirmed his theory by scanning through the calendar herself. Mallory stared at the screen, her mouth parting. “That’s… one of my patients.”

“If those are the days you were drugged, it can’t be a coincidence that patient is your last appointment every day before.” He noted the slight strain in the back of her lacerated hand over the mouse. “I’ll need a name, Mallory.”

“I can’t give it to you.” The words barely registered over the kick of the air conditioner overhead. She licked her lips, refusing to face him. “Not without a court order.”

“Mallory, someone has been coming into your office, possibly your home, to sedate you, and you’re going to keep me in the dark?” he asked.

“I’m sorry.” She logged out of the system and shoved to her feet. The chair’s wheels slammed into his boots, but she didn’t seem to notice. “My patients trust me. I won’t break that confidentiality. Not to mention I could lose my license.”

“Even if one of them is trying to kill you?” They were so close. They couldn’t stop now. “Without that information, we might not find who is doing this. Virginia Green, Angie Green, your father—they’ll never get the justice they deserve. Is that what you want? For their killer to walk free?”

“Don’t you dare put that on me, Payton.” A hardness set in her jaw as she confronted him. “I took an oath to help people. That requires trust. If I give up their personal information to police without a warrant, how can they trust me? I won’t have any patients to treat without it. If I don’t have any patients to treat, I’ll be right back where I—” Mallory stepped back as though she’d physically taken a punch to the gut. The muscles in her throat worked overtime.

“You’ll be what?” His heart squeezed at the sight of her internally building that wall between them again.

“I’ll be right back where I started. And I can’t go back there, Payton. I won’t.” She stood a bit taller, every ounce the self-confident, straight-talking woman who’d busted into his life without permission. “If you want that patient information, you’ll have to find another way to get it.”

As much as he hated the idea of wasting time going through proper channels to request a court order, she was right. She’d built her life independent of her family’s legacy for a reason. She’d founded her practice from the ground up, put in the time, energy, and money to grow her clientele. It was part of her, and he couldn’t ask her to give that up any more than she could ask him to quit the department. “All right, Doc. You’ve made your point.”

Hell, he hated this. The disconnect that’d wedged between them since last night. But as long as he was investigating her father’s death, it was probably for the best. Because once emotions got involved, there was no telling what could go wrong. Looking into his father’s disappearance had taught him that firsthand. “I have a partial photo of our suspect from the precinct’s surveillance. If the woman who pretended to be Angie Green’s lawyer is behind this, there’s a chance she’s done her homework on you, too. I can run what I have by the security team for this building, see if I can’t get a better photo and an ID to go with it.”

“Okay.” Mallory folded her arms across her chest, staring down at some invisible spot on the shag-like rug. “In the meantime, I’ll have my father’s assistant send over that footage you wanted from Kotite Litigation. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Two birds, one stone.”

“Right. Stay here. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” Payton hesitated at the door.

She didn’t answer as she slid back into her office chair and logged into the server for a second time. His gut demanded he stay, that they try to get through… whatever it was that’d thrown them off balance, but they were running out of time. Both Virginia Green and Angie Green had died with five injection marks in the back of their necks. Mallory had already accrued three of her own. There was no telling when the killer would try again. He strode down the hallway and approached the main desk in the lobby. After flashing his badge and asking for directions to the security office, he hit the elevator’s call button to head down to the first floor.

Within minutes, he was knocking on the door between him and potential answers into Mallory’s mysterious patient. An officer, around thirty, if Payton had to guess, pulled the heavy automatic-locking door open. Tattoos ran the length of the man’s left arm encased in a uniform shirt two sizes too small. A regular gym rat from the look of him, the officer centered himself in the doorframe and blocked an array of monitors inside the closet-like control room. “Help you?”

“Detective Nichols, Homicide, Seattle PD.” Payton tugged at the badge hanging around his neck. “I’m looking into the possibility a murder suspect has gotten access to one of the offices on the fourth floor. Mind if I take a look at your security footage from the past three weeks?”

“You can take a look, but I’m not sure it’s going to do you any good.” A gold tag reading “Martinez” reflected dim lighting from above. Short cropped black hair and an equally thick beard broadened a wide forehead and accentuated the man’s Latino heritage. Martinez motioned to the full-color screens stacked, one on top of another. “The people who hired me to set this all up a few years ago wanted to attract high-end businesses. Law firms, psychologists, luxury brands, things like that. Companies pulling in high figures don’t appreciate Big Brother keeping footage of their dealings and clients though.”

Payton surveyed the equipment. “This is all closed circuit. No backup.” Shit.

“Nah, man. I’ve got a whole team of guys who keep an eye on these systems in real time, but right now, I’m having to take the bulk of the shifts. Baby on the way,” Martinez said. “If you tell me who you’re looking for, I might be able to help.”

Payton pulled up the photo Wells had sent over last night and handed off his phone to the guard. “Have you seen this woman in the last three weeks? She may have been posing as a client for a therapist who leases an office on the fourth floor.”

“Hard to tell without seeing her face.” Martinez scrubbed a hand down his beard. “But there’s something familiar about her. Hold up.” Pointing two fingers at the screen, he handed the phone back and took a seat at the massive console surveying every floor, elevator, and main workspace in the building. “A couple weeks ago, there was a woman who told the receptionist on the fourth floor her therapist had passed out during their session. Receptionist called us. By the time we got up there, the therapist was coming around.”

Mallory?

“And the patient?” Payton asked. “Did you get a look at her? Name? Anything?”

“No. She was gone.” Martinez shook his head as he clicked through one camera to the next. “Haven’t seen her since. We called EMTs. In the commotion, she must’ve high-tailed it out of there, but when the techs were taking statements about what’d happened, the receptionist described a dark-haired woman like the one in your photo. You really think she killed someone?”

And Mallory hadn’t remembered any of it. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. Do you remember what day this was?”

“Yeah, man. Last week. Wednesday. I remember because my wife bitched me out for being home late.” The guard leaned closer to his screen. “Here we go. After that incident last week, I installed my own backup. The guys upstairs have no idea, but I didn’t want to be held responsible in case something like that happened again. Doesn’t hold much, just a few hours’ worth of footage.” Video rewound at a fast pace to the point Payton almost missed his own appearance at the elevators before he’d come down to the security office. “Take a look.”

He studied the grainy video feed as it played forward from what looked to be the same floor Mallory’s office resided. The timestamped ticked off in one corner. Ten minutes ago. Payton watched himself get hit the call button for one elevator and stepped inside. The doors closed on him.

And she stepped into the frame.

Long hair, same blue blazer. Although it looked as though she’d changed out her slacks for fitted leggings or jeans, he’d recognize her anywhere. Just as she’d done in the precinct, she kept her head turned away from the camera.

“She’s here.” The woman walked out of camera range, toward the offices on the other side of the floor. Payton ripped out of the security office and ran for the stairs. “Martinez, I need anyone you have available on the fourth floor. Now!”

---