part0042

Hopkins slapped the photograph of Misty’s shredded face on the steel table in front of Doctor John Grenier. He circled around behind Grenier’s chair and brought his mouth to his ear.

“I’m going to ask you again, where were you last Friday and Saturday.”

Grenier flashed his crooked teeth and looked over his wire-rimmed glasses, which had migrated halfway down his nose. “And I’m going to tell you again, it’s none of your goddamn business where I was or what I was doing.” Grenier placed his fingertips on the photograph and shoved, sending the glossy paper over the edge and onto the floor.

Hopkins picked up the picture and slammed it down on the table once more. “No. You’re going to look at her. You’re going to face what you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what your problem is,” Grenier said, “but I don’t have the slightest clue who that is—or was. Do I need to get my lawyer in here?”

Lawyer. The magic word. The mere mention of it sent shivers down the spine of even the most experienced interrogators. The moment a person in custody asked for an attorney, all questioning would cease. Or else any information gleaned after that point would be inadmissible in court. Fortunately, Grenier hadn’t asked for a lawyer. He’d asked if he needed to get one. And Hopkins wasn’t in the business of providing legal advice.

“This young girl, Doctor,” Hopkins tapped the photograph with his pointer finger, “was one of your patients. Misty Brighton.” Hopkins walked around the table, flipped open the file folder and withdrew a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table toward Grenier. “This is a portion of a log, provided to us by your partner, that shows you accessing Misty Brighton’s records two weeks ago. Ring a bell now?”

Grenier pushed his glasses toward his nose and brought the printout to eye level. “This shows my office accessed the record, not me. You’ll have to ask my receptionist about that. This girl is Ed’s patient. I’ve never seen her before in my life. Now, can I go?”

“Sure you can. As soon as you tell me where you were last weekend.”

“For Christ’s sake, man. I was at the casino, all right? I was at Foxwoods like I am every weekend. If you were any kind of detective, you’d already know that. Look, I’ve got my own problems, all right? I’m up to my eyeballs in debt. I’ve got loan sharks looking to break my thumbs or whatever they do, and now you’re coming at me with this. I don’t need it.”

There it was. The angle. Somehow, this all came down to money. Was this a human trafficking scheme? Were the girls being provided to settle a debt? To be sold on the black market?

Hopkins grabbed the chair from the opposite side of the table and placed it a foot away from Grenier. He sat down and scooted forward so that his knee touched the side of Grenier’s leg.

“Look, you’ve gotten yourself in deep. I get it. I’m sure you never meant for this to get so out of hand. Let me help you fix it. We’ll make this right. You and me together. All you have to do is tell me how it works. What happened to the other girls?”

“What other girls?” Grenier replied. “You’re out of your mind. How many times do I need to tell you, I don’t know what you’re talking about? And, frankly, I don’t care. Read my lips. I. Don’t. Give. A. Shit.”

Hopkins’ entire body tensed. The deluge of rage-filled adrenaline sparked by the flippant statement surprised and overwhelmed him. Before he knew what he was doing, he had sprung from his chair, grabbed Grenier by either side of the head and pushed.

Grenier’s chair slid and slammed into the wall. The five strands of hair that he had combed over his shiny dome flipped up and stood out in different directions. His glasses slid off his nose and sat perched on his upper lip. He was the picture of patheticism. But his eyes. His smug eyes remained defiant and expressionless.