CHAPTER 8

 

 

At least the waiting room looked nice. Rose-tinted gray walls lent an air of comfort and serenity to the suite of offices. Blue-gray carpet of medium length kept noise to a bare minimum throughout. In the hall coming in, Jake Wiley heard the clicking of computer keys. Here in the office with the door closed, even those sounds disappeared.

Comfortable chairs adorned the periphery of the room, separated in a couple of places by low tables. Indirect lighting kept the harshness found in most doctors’ waiting rooms at bay. The other two times Jake had met with shrinks working for the department, they came to the station. Everybody there knew who they were and why they were there. This way, there was at least privacy.

The young receptionist was nice to look at, too. Blonde curls cascaded off her head above dark blue eyes. Jake couldn’t be sure, he thought their color was enhanced by tinted contacts. Just the right amount of makeup decorated skin almost without blemish. A pert smile accented what he figured was an outgoing personality.

They hadn’t said much in the ten minutes Jake waited. He noticed the secretary glancing at him two or three times as she bent over some papers on her desk. Was she interested in him? There were some younger women who sought out older men. And he wasn’t over the hill. Yet. Well, better not go there.

A door down the short hallway behind the receptionist opened. The man who came out was a study in expensive casualness. He wore a dark blue polo-style shirt over pressed khakis. Dark brown loafers completed his attire. Jake remembered seeing the shoes in a catalogue for $200. A catalogue he could only wish his way through.

Jake guessed his age at young twenties. Had to be a client.

“Detective Wiley?” The young man approached Jake, right hand thrust forward. “I’m Doctor Petrino. David Petrino.”

Hiding his surprise, Jake rose and took the doctor’s hand. His normally strong grip was met by equal strength. Maybe this shrink isn’t as much of a wimp as I thought. Not like the other two. The handshakes of the other two shrinks were either a quick clasp of fingers only or a grip on what felt like a pillow filled with pudding. Jake thought much could be learned of a man by his grip. Neither one of the other shrinks made him feel like he wanted to know them in any capacity.

To the doctor, he said, “Jake Wiley.” He’d decided ahead of time to say only what was necessary to this guy.

Perhaps five seconds passed as Dr. Petrino studied Jake’s eyes, smiling. Not to be outdone, Jake met his gaze, keeping his face blank as possible.

“Come on in.” Petrino motioned down the hall.

They turned in at the last door, the one Petrino came from. Inside, there was more room than anyone would guess. Probably fifteen feet by twenty, the office held a feeling of privacy, comfort, competence. The area where the doctor talked to his patients lay at the end away from the door. Two chairs and a small couch clustered around a table. Close by, under a couple of windows, a desk and comfortable-looking chair sat. Stacks of correspondence and charts waited on the doctor.

“Have a seat,” Petrino offered. “How about coffee?”

“Sure. Black, please.” Until the doctor said something, Jake hadn’t noticed the coffee maker on the shelf. Now, the homey smell filled the room. Jake felt himself relax, just a little.

Out of habit, Jake sat on one end of the couch where he could see the door. Dr. Petrino brought the coffee, set it on the low table, eased into a chair across from him.

“I understand you were referred here by the Department,” Petrino began. “Or should I say, required to come here?” He sipped his coffee, waiting.

“The Department requires all officers who are involved in fatal shootings to have at least one session with a mental health professional before they can be certified as fit for duty.” Jake repeated this policy in a flat, mechanical voice.

Dr. Petrino nodded. “And so, you’re here. Do you know why the Department has such a policy, Det. Wiley?”

“Probably two reasons. One,” he lifted his right index finger, “to help the officer deal with any PTSD symptoms he or she might have.” A second finger joined the first. “Two, to protect the public from an officer who might not be able to do his or her job effectively.”

“Right. So my job is to find out if you have any symptoms that would interfere with your job.” He took another sip of coffee, staring at Jake over the rim of the heavy black cup he used. “Not to pry into your private life trying to find out your deep, dark secrets. That your understanding of what’s supposed to happen here?”

More impressed with this young doctor, Jake responded, “Yeah.” He relaxed a little more, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee.

Petrino noted the movement and relaxation. “Good. Now, in order for me to do as good a job as I can, I have to know something about you. So some of the questions I’ll ask will sound like I’m prying. But I want you to understand all the information I get from you is confidential. All I’ll share with the Department is a letter telling them you are or aren’t ready for duty.”

It was Jake’s turn to nod his understanding. “Ask what you want, Doc. I don’t have any secrets.”

Another small smile from the doctor. “Okay. Why don’t you start first by telling me about the incident that led to the shooting?”

“My partner, Wally Martin, and I were undercover in this buncha guys who tried to set up a drug operation in the west part of town. We’d been working the case for several weeks, getting ready for the bust. Had ‘em all set up. Fake buyer, SWAT team, even a DEA agent. Got to the place we picked out, started the deal, then everything went to hell. Don’t know for sure what happened, except that somebody got overeager and tripped the trap too soon. It became a shooting situation then, things got dicey for me and Wally, I had to shoot a couple of the bastards.”

Petrino quietly drank his coffee for half a minute after Jake finished, digesting what he’d heard. And what he didn’t hear.

“What do you think about killing someone, Detective?” Petrino studied him as he asked the question.

Jake had a flash impression of being examined like a mounted specimen. He pushed it away. “It’s part of the job.” He shrugged. “I knew that twelve years ago when I became a cop.”

“But taking someone’s life …?” Petrino deliberately left the question open.

Taking a drink of the surprisingly good coffee, Jake delayed answering. It was his way of keeping himself under tight control. That way, he guarded against saying something that could be taken the wrong way.

“Look, Doc. I don’t go around wanting to shoot people. Dirty Harry doesn’t live in here.” He tapped his chest. “I had it drummed in my head from early on that guns are dangerous; you treat them with respect. When I started carrying a gun for a living, I learned it’s the last resort. Used only when nothing else works. But I also learned to use guns well and to put people down when I started shooting. Especially when my partner or I were under fire and in danger.”

“That what happened in the shooting?”

“Yeah. It was either get myself or my partner shot or shoot the other guys.”

Dr. Petrino thought a moment. “Where’s Detective Martin now?”

The question brought a tiny smile. “You already know that. Or you’re not as good a shrink as you should be.”

“I know he’s not working. Hasn’t since the incident.”

Jake nodded again. “Yeah.” He gazed at the top of the table, subdued. “Got a bleeding ulcer. May not come back.”

“Umm-hmm,” Petrino responded. “You, on the other hand, are back at work and in charge of the prostitute murders.” He paused, sipping his coffee, drawing no response. “Your partner reacts to the stress of the shooting with severe physical symptoms. You go back to work. What’s the difference here? Have you had any kind of symptom, Det. Wiley?”

“No.” Jake waited two noticeable seconds. “None. I’ve wondered about that, too.” He decided not to say anything about Knox putting him back to work. Petrino obviously knew about it, just as obviously wasn’t making a big deal of it. Probably happened in other cases, too.

“Any unusual thoughts, dreams, feelings?”

“No.” Jake decided not to tell the doctor of his troubling thoughts about the prostitutes and not knowing why. And since he’d slept better the last couple of nights, the dreams weren’t worth mentioning.

“Have you ever experienced any symptoms following a trauma?” Petrino went on. “Like maybe after your divorce?”

He knew about that? Well, of course he did. The Department’s shrink would have access to all information about a cop who came to him.

Jake said, “No. I knew I’d screwed up and caused the divorce. But I can’t think of any symptoms.”

“Umm-hmm,” Petrino repeated. “What happened? To cause the divorce, I mean.”

Shrugging, Jake went on. He’d thought this through several times and had come to accept what happened. “Like I said, I screwed up. We were married for four years. She was the best thing in my life. For some reason, I got the idea she was fooling around on me. She tried to tell me she wasn’t; I didn’t believe her. I divorced her. Now I know she was telling the truth. But I hurt her too much, couldn’t repair it.”

Another nod, another ‘mm-hmm’ from Petrino. “What did you do after the divorce?”

“Worked 80 or 90 hours a week. Tried to lose myself in other people’s misery.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to any kind of feeling, Det. Wiley. And it wasn’t even yours. How did you feel about your divorce?”

Setting his coffee down on the low table, Jake glanced at Petrino, then straightened up. “I hurt. That’s why I worked so much, to get away from the hurt. It was the best way I could think of to punish myself and not think about what I’d done.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest, surprised he’d said so much. Even more surprised he felt okay about it.

“You’re obviously a bright man and well aware of your motives. I don’t often find that in my clients.” Petrino leaned forward a little. “How did you feel about killing those drug dealers?”

Another small shrug. “No particular feelings one way or another. Like I said, I’ve always known that shooting at someone with that someone shooting at me might be part of the job. Accepted it. Knew it could happen. I didn’t want it to, but decided a long time ago, if it did happen, I’d win. And I did.”

“That’s a pretty hard attitude.” Petrino’s tone became more challenging.

“I work in a tough job.” Jake’s voice hardened. “Look, Doc. If you’re saying I like to kill, you couldn’t be more wrong. There’s nothin’ fun about it. But there’s even less fun in getting killed.”

Petrino smiled, tight, grim. “Good point, Detective.”

Both fell quiet then, pondering what was said.

After a couple of minutes, Petrino went on. “What about earlier, Det. Wiley? Before your marriage.”

Jake began feeling a mild unease as they went backwards in his life. Not sure where it came from, he mentally shrugged it off.

“Nothing really interesting. I spent several years in the Army. Made a little rank. Got up to buck sergeant, E-5. Went through Ranger training, the whole nine yards.”

Petrino’s face brightened as Jake told this. “My father was a Ranger, too. Career military, an officer. He was killed in Vietnam in 1974.”

“A couple of friends lost fathers over there,” Jake added. “I didn’t have to fight for real.”

“How long were you in?”

An innocent question, but Jake felt his heart-rate jump. “Six years, all together.”

“Did you think about staying in?”

Several seconds elapsed as Jake thought about what to tell Petrino. “Yeah. I intended to get at least my twenty in, then retire, go back to school.” Several more seconds crawled by as he stared at the wall. “Don’t know why, but I left after my second enlistment was up.”

Jake continued staring at the wall, no thoughts available to him. Something seemed to lurk at the fringes of his consciousness, but wouldn’t come out in the open.

Dr. Petrino studied him openly during a long thirty seconds.

Then came a question Jake didn’t want to hear. But he didn’t know why. “What about even earlier? Before the Army?”

His heart thrashed in his chest. A strange reaction to a logical question. Jake sipped his coffee, taking some time before answering. He noticed his hand trembling on the cup, hoped Petrino didn’t see it.

He did.

“Tell you the truth, Doc, I don’t remember a lot.” He sipped at his coffee, which suddenly tasted bitter. “Don’t have much reason to think about it, I guess. ‘Bout all I know is I was orphaned at four. Went through several foster homes ‘til I was eight. Finally ended up in one I stayed in ‘til I was eighteen.” A short pause while he thought. “That’s about it.”

“Mmm-hmm. You know what happened to your parents?”

Shaking his head, Jake replied, “Not really. I’ve heard a couple of versions. One was that they had an accident and both died. The other that they were involved in a robbery at home and both got killed.”

“Weren’t you curious which way it was?”

“Not really.” Jake tried not to say it too quickly. “I mean, either way, both of them were dead. Right? Doesn’t seem to matter too much just how it happened. And it was a long time ago. I was really young.”

The truth was, this part of Jake’s life did occupy a good bit of his thinking. For some reason, he just never followed through on his thoughts about what really happened to his parents. It was as if something pushed him away each time he tried resurrecting those old thoughts.

“I see.” Petrino accepted Jake’s reasoning, but it was clear he’d like to know more. “It’s unfortunately pretty common for kids in foster care to be abused one way or another. Any evidence that happened to you?”

Jake thought about that as he’d thought about it many times in the past. “No, I don’t think so, Doc. I’ve thought about it a lot, but nothing makes me think it happened.”

Petrino nodded. “What memories do you have of the foster homes?”

“Those before I was eight? Nothing. Oh, bits and pieces. A memory here and there. Learning to ride a bicycle when I was six. Midnight arguments in one home. A fire in another. Couldn’t tell you where I was when those things happened, but I remember ‘em happening.”

When he didn’t go on after nearly a minute, Petrino prompted, “And in the last home …?”

Jake studied his coffee while he answered. “I remember it as a good home. There was a boy there, close to my age. We ran around a lot together, did boy things. Hunting, fishing, that kind of stuff. The parents were fair, treated me good.”

Another minute crawled by, both of them quiet. Jake continued to study his coffee while Petrino studied him. The doc was first to break the silence.

“Any problems with school?”

Engrossed in his memories, Jake was caught off-guard. “Huh? Oh, oh, no. No problems. A and B student the whole time. Wasn’t too interested though. Just didn’t like school much. Maybe that’s why I got out of the Army. Too many schools.” A weak smile followed this.

“Mmm-hmm.” Petrino sipped his coffee again, draining the cup. “You’re an interesting client, Det. Wiley. Good at your job, no clear symptoms since the shooting. No reason to keep you from working, at least none I can see. But there are a lot of gaps in your background. I don’t feel comfortable releasing you until I get these gaps filled in. I’d like to have you sign a release form, so I can see what information I can find. Any problem with that?”

“No, no problem.” Jake hesitated, then asked, “Doc? Why don’t I have symptoms like Wally? Is something wrong with me?”

Smiling, Petrino tried to assure Jake. “I don’t think anything is wrong with you, Det. Wiley. A couple of possibilities work here. One, you may have what is called a hardy personality. Tougher, more resilient than others. Your background suggests this. Having to handle all you went through at an early age could have developed this in you. The other possibility is that you’ll have delayed onset of PTSD symptoms. Sometimes, those symptoms show up months or even years after the trauma.”

Jake showed his concern. Narrowed eyes, wrinkled brow. “You mean, I could have problems a long time from now, because of this?”

“It’s possible,” Petrino replied, nodding. “Have you had to shoot people in the past?”

“Yeah. Three times. All of ‘em fatal.”

“Any symptoms after any of those?”

“No. Went back to work right after the Shooting Board each time. Neither of the other two shrinks said anything was wrong with me.” Jake watched Petrino to see if he’d react to the label.

He didn’t.

Petrino nodded again. “Okay. My best guess right now is you’ll not have symptoms. I’m leaning toward a hardy personality. But I want to be sure before I write any letter.”

“Okay, Doc. Whatever you say.”

Jake didn’t say anything about the near dread he felt as he said this.