Page 48 of The Perfect Appearance

“Dr. Poole, I’m Kat Gentry. This is Gila, who is going to make a gesture of goodwill so that maybe you’ll hear us out.”

Gila frowned.

“I oppose this decision,” she muttered, nonetheless handing over the gun.

The doctor took it, stared unblinkingly at Kat for several interminable seconds, then placed it in the waistband of her pants at the small of her back.

“Make it quick,” she said.

Kat stepped forward so that she could speak quietly enough not to be heard by the pale brunette, the older woman with the head wound, or anyone else.

“You’ve heard of the Clone Killer?” she asked in a near-whisper.

“Of course,” Dr. Poole said. “He’s all over the news.”

“Right,” Kat said. “Then you know his real name is Mark Haddonfield. You know that he’s been murdering people who have been saved by the profiler Jessie Hunt. You probably know that she uncovered his identity and that he’s been on the run ever since. What you mightnotknow is that Jessie Hunt is my best friend. I'm a private detective, and I've been trying to help find this guy using tools that the LAPD doesn't necessarily have access to."

“I wish you the best of luck,” Poole said, “but I don’t see what any of that has to do with me or this clinic.”

“Maybe a lot,” Kat explained. “A few weeks ago, Haddonfield attacked Jessie Hunt’s sister. He was trying to harm her to get at Jessie. Luckily, she managed to avoid the assault by diving at his leg, injuring him, then calling for help. He limped away in bad shape. We believe that he likely went for treatment at some point, but only when he couldn’t hold out any longer, and not using the traditional medical system. He wouldn’t have wanted a record of a young man with his description getting care for a left knee injury. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone asking questions. He likely would have come to a place like Skid Row, where no one would give him a second glance and he could pay for everything in cash—stay off the radar of the police.”

Kat could see from the change in Dr. Poole’s expression that she’d hit paydirt. Still, she kept going to emphasize her point.

“But he wouldn’t have wanted to go to the kind of clinic that treats hardened criminals,” she said. “He’s a serial killer, but he’s also a sheltered college student. He’d probably come to a clinic that helped the most vulnerable, offer some sob story, and hope to get out without anyone realizing that they’d been in the presence of a person who had already killed five people for sport. Dr. Poole, does my description match anyone you or your staff might have treated in the last five days?”

Before the doctor could answer, Kat saw two large men, equal in size to Harvey, storming toward them. They looked extremely angry, and their attention was fixed on her and Gila.

“And could you maybe call off your attack dogs too?” she quickly added, pointing at them, “because I think they want to do some serious damage to us right about now.”

Dr. Poole turned around and saw the men, who were almost on them now.

“It’s okay, guys. They can stay,” she said calmly.

“Nadia, the little one just beat the crap out of Harvey,” the taller, swarthier dude objected.

Dr. Poole looked at Gila, impressed, before turning back to the men.

“She shouldn’t have done that,” she said, “but my understanding is that it was an emergency situation. Still, when you bring Harvey in, she’ll offer a heartfelt apology, won’t you, Miss Gila?”

“Just Gila,” the bodyguard grumbled. “Yes, I will.”

The men skulked off unhappily as Poole turned back to Kat.

"I treated him personally yesterday," she said. "It didn't register at the time because he didn't perfectly match the description from the news. He was young, tall, and skinny, but he didn't have glasses, and his hair was dark, not curly blond like the reports said. But I noticed that he squinted badly when filling out the basic paperwork and thinking back on it, he might have been wearing a wig. His hair sat funny."

“And you treated his leg?” Kat pressed.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “He had an injury to his left knee, pretty clearly ligament damage, possibly a tear. We don’t have access to the equipment needed to confirm that, but it was consistent with someone slamming into the joint and bending it awkwardly. He told me that he fell down some stairs.”

“What did you do for him?”

“There wasn’t much we could do, really. If my diagnosis is correct, he’ll probably need surgery to resolve the issue. I told him that, but he dismissed the idea. So I outfitted him with a brace and gave him some medication for pain and to reduce inflammation. I told him to ice it regularly if he could and to avoid weight-bearing for a while if possible. I suggested he come back in a week so I could look at it again, but now I'm guessing that's unlikely."

“Did he say anything personal?” Kat asked. “Maybe mention how he got here, allude to where he was staying? Did he ask if there were any decent markets nearby or where he might find cheap clothes?”

Poole shook her head.

“No, there was no mention of where he was staying or clothes. In fact, looking back on it, he dressed like he wanted me to think he was homeless. But neither he nor his clothes smelled, which is a rarity around here. Truthfully, he didn’t look like he’d been on the street a day in his life. But again, it didn’t click for me in the moment.”

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