Page 33 of Let Her Hide

"Of course," Jake said, nodding understandingly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small photograph, which he slid across the table towards the therapist. "Do you recognize this woman? Her name is Carrie Puglisi."

Dr. Fitzgerald picked up the photo and examined it closely. His brow furrowed, and he shook his head slowly. "No, I'm afraid I've never seen her before. Is she connected to this somehow?"

Jake exchanged a glance with Fiona, his jaw tight. He had hoped that Dr. Fitzgerald might provide a crucial link between all three victims, but now that possibility seemed to be slipping through his fingers. "We're not sure yet," he admitted, trying to keep his voice steady. "But we suspect there might be a connection."

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the low hum of the ventilation system. Jake's mind raced as he tried to think of another angle of approach, and Fiona tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. Time was running out, and they were no closer to finding answers.

Fiona leaned forward, her eyes still focused on Dr. Fitzgerald. "What about bees, hornets, and wasps? Do you have any expertise or interest in them?"

Dr. Fitzgerald shook his head, a bemused expression crossing his face. "I'm afraid I don't know much about them beyond what any layman would. Stinging insects aren't exactly my area of interest."

Jake studied the therapist's body language - the open palms, the slight tilt of his head. There was something genuine about him that made Jake's gut feeling shift. This likely wasn't their guy, he realized with a sinking sensation. As fervently as they'd hoped to find a connection here, it seemed increasingly likely that they were grasping at straws. Bringing him in was a reach in the first place, he realized.

"Dr. Fitzgerald," Jake began, trying to hide the disappointment creeping into his voice. "I understand the constraints you're working under, but we desperately need any information you can provide about Craig Tozer and Gary Fogel. Anything at all could help us make sense of these deaths."

"Agent," Dr. Fitzgerald sighed, rubbing his temples. "I wish I could offer more assistance, truly. But revealing any information about my patients would be a breach of confidentiality. The clinic would fire me, and they might even press charges. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied."

A heavy silence filled the room. Damn. They really did need that warrant. Fiona glanced at Jake, her eyes dark with frustration and concern. They were running out of time, and each dead end pushed them further from unmasking the truth.

But talking to Fitzgerald without the warrant wasn't getting them anywhere either. It all felt like a waste of time.

Jake stood up from his chair, his eyes fixed on Dr. Fitzgerald. "Thank you for your time, Doctor," he said curtly. "We'll be in touch if we have any further questions."

Dr. Fitzgerald nodded, his expression one of relief mingled with regret. "Of course. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."

As they left the interrogation room and made their way down the hallway, Fiona turned to Jake, her voice a low whisper. "What now? We're at a dead end."

Jake rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. He knew what he had to do—no matter how tired he was. “We need that warrant.” He took a breath, steeling his resolve. “I’m gonna go talk to the judge myself.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

He stepped out of his car and walked toward the clinic, a smile on his face. The warm morning air did little to calm the storm brewing inside of him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass mixed with a hint of exhaust from passing cars.

"Morning, James," he said, offering a smile to the security guard as he entered the building. James nodded, returning the greeting with a wave.

"Morning, everyone!" he called cheerfully, stepping into the bustling administrative area. His coworkers greeted him with half-hearted smiles and murmurs, each distracted by their own tasks. He glanced around at their faces, wondering if any of them truly understood the pain that festered within him.

"Hey, you're early today," Karen, the receptionist, commented as she handed him a stack of patient files. He offered her a grateful smile before heading toward his office.

"Trying to get a jump on things," he replied, keeping up the façade of normalcy.

Once safely ensconced in his small, cluttered office, the smile fell from his face like a discarded mask. He sank into his chair, allowing the sinister emotions to rise to the surface. Rage bubbled beneath his skin, memories of abandonment and abuse gnawing at his mind like a relentless beast.

He was only four years old when his family abandoned him during a road trip. Left alone in an open field, he could still remember the fear and confusion that consumed him as he watched their car disappear over the horizon. It didn't take long for the authorities to find him, but instead of being reunited with his family, he was placed into the cold, unforgiving arms of foster care.

His new home, if it could even be called that, was ruled by a tyrannical foster mother who showed him only cruelty and neglect. Every day was a battle, a struggle to survive in a world that seemed determined to break his spirit.

He turned his attention to the stack of files on his desk, searching for something – anything – that could provide an outlet for the darkness within him. He flipped through the pages, scanning each case with practiced ease, knowing that somewhere within these files lay the key to his twisted desires.

"Abuse… depression… anxiety…" he muttered under his breath, feeling the anger churn within him like a cauldron of boiling rage.

As he delved deeper into the patient's lives, he could feel the familiar pull of vengeance tugging at his heartstrings. It was there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And once it did, there would be no stopping the floodgates of retribution that threatened to consume him whole. He looked around the office, wishing it were somehow appropriate to keep his precious bees with him. The world didn't understand them, just as they didn't understand him.

His thoughts drifted back to his first encounter with these insects when he had been only a child living under the cruel reign of his foster mother. He had discovered a small beehive nestled in a tree near their home and became captivated by the bustling activity of the bees inside. Over time, he learned to cultivate them, collecting new species and expanding his knowledge of their secret lives.

But it wasn't until his foster mother met her untimely demise that he truly understood the power of his beloved insects.

It had been an accident, or so he told himself – the deadly wasps he had been studying had somehow escaped their enclosure and found their way into her bedroom. She had been stung multiple times, her body swelling grotesquely before finally succumbing to the venom.

---