Page 60 of Meant to Be
“I didn’t see him, but that doesn’t mean anything. There are several hundred of us.” Doctor Sykes gathered papers, stuffing in them in a worn briefcase.
“I had dinner with him,” Doctor Faye said a little too nonchalantly.
“What time was that?”
“Oh, about seven.”
Mitch did mental math. If Patrick left at lunch, drove to Charlotte Tavern, attacked Jenny and then drove back, he could be back by seven, even considering traffic.
“Anyone see him around three?”
“We were all in session.”
“I think he said he attended the juvenile justice session,” Doctor Faye said.
Doctor Sykes frowned. “I was in that one, and I didn’t see him.”
The hairs on the back of Mitch’s neck tingled. “Do you know where he is now?”
“We’ve broke for lunch. I don’t know what his plans are.”
Mitch wondered why Doctor Faye wasn’t dining with him. “I guess I can wait until he gets back. What time is that?”
Doctor Lloyd’s mouth drew into a thin line of distaste. “We don’t meet back until two. Perhaps you can try his room.”
Mitch smiled and kept his voice light and friendly. “I would, but that’s not information a hotel gives out unless I have a warrant, which I don’t have because Doctor Andres isn’t a suspect. He’s a witness.” Would a group of forensic psychiatrists know he was lying?
“He’s in a suite.” Doctor Faye looked away as she rattled off the room number.
The two men glanced at Doctor Faye, with the same curiosity Mitch felt. To Doctor Faye’s credit, her face remained impassive when she turned back to them.
“Thank you.” Mitch shook their hands again.
He made his way to the elevators and Patrick’s room.
“Hold on.” The voice came through the door when Mitch knocked.
The door opened. Patrick had a cell phone in one hand and waved Mitch in without a look at him. Mitch wondered if Patrick was expecting room service. He followed Patrick into the room.
“I’ll call her, but I can’t until you let me off the phone.” Patrick stood by the window, looking out over Pennsylvania Avenue. “Yes. I’ll call you later. I have go, Julia.” He flipped off the phone and paused, taking a breath before turning. Mitch wondered if that was one of his psych techniques. His shrink had recommended breathing exercises after he came home from Iraq.
“You’re not room service.”
“No.”
Patrick eyes narrowed and then grew concerned. “You’re Mitch. Oh, God, Sydney. Is she okay?”
Mitch scrutinized Patrick. His emotions appeared genuine, but maybe psychiatrists were masters of controlling and even faking their responses. After all, they were experts at understanding people.
“Sydney is fine. I take it that was your sister?”
Patrick nodded. “She spoke with Sydney earlier. She wants me to go back there to protect her.”
“I’m protecting her.”
One of Patrick’s groomed brows rose, making Mitch realize his statement was a little too forceful.
“I see. If that’s the case, why are you here?” As the last words left his lips, understanding crossed Patrick’s features. He blew out a breath. “Why don’t we sit?”
