twenty-three

Megan rifled through an old issue of Psychology Today while she and Nappa waited to meet with Shannon’s mentor, Lauren Bell. The assistant told them she was in the middle of a group session and couldn’t be interrupted, but would be free in twenty minutes. They opted to wait in the lobby. Megan threw the magazine back on the table, missing it completely.

“I’m so fucked off. This unsub is playing with us. First of all, the balls it took to kill during the day,” Megan tugged at Nappa’s jacket to gain eye-to-eye contact, “and now mocking us with a sewing kit?”

Nappa sat forward, demanding her full attention. “That’s what you’re worried about, being mocked? McGinn, the package was sent to you directly. The killer is following your life. Offering condolences for your loss.”

“I know, Nappa. I know.” She rested her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “We both know forensics will come up with absolutely nothing. There’s not going to be any prints.” Megan squirmed in her chair, anxious for Lauren Bell to make her appearance. “We have to get on these tech guys. I want that section of the security video enhanced, Nappa. I know I saw something around the wrist.”

“I saw the same video; I couldn’t make anything out,” Nappa sighed.

“Well, I did. It was a small … something.”

“Let’s go back a bit today. What did Bauer say this morning when you paid him a visit?”

Megan rolled her eyes. “If this is about our conversation, get over it.”

“No, this is about keeping one another up to speed so we can get a break in this case.”

Megan felt more than just a pinch of remorse for withholding the fact that she’d received a call from Shannon’s phone. Now it was too little, too late. The phone was surely out of commission by now. “If we continue to speak to one another like this in a therapist’s office, they’ll think we’re here for marriage counseling.”

“Fat chance.”

The next few minutes were spent in silence before Megan went into guarded detail about her meeting with Bauer, ending with, “It probably would have been a good idea for both of us to have gone.” Swallowing her pride proved more uncomfortable than when she bought her first home pregnancy test. Megan picked up the magazine she’d thrown moments earlier, now taking a more serious read through.

“Anything interesting?” Nappa asked.

“Well”—she turned a few pages of the magazine—“there’s a self-test, ‘Do I Need Therapy?’”

“Yes,” Nappa said.

Megan rolled her eyes. “There’s an article on obsessive-­compulsive disorders, one on how to add humor to your day, and ways to increase communication in your relationships at work.”

“I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

“I’m communicating one thought right now. Would you like me to share it?” She smiled. “Actually there’s an interesting article about antisocial personality disorder.” Megan opened to the page. “ ‘Also known as sociopathic or psychopathic personality and often leads to conflict with society as a consequence of amoral, unethical behavior.’ ”

“Trying to analyze the killer?”

“No. I guess there’s a part of me that still can’t believe what people are capable of. Even after all of the horrible things we’ve seen, I’m still amazed at …” There were too many words to choose from to describe the total disregard for human life they’d witnessed.

“The depravity of it all?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Well, that’s good in a way.”

“It is?” Megan asked.

“Yeah. It means your heart hasn’t turned to stone. The day you walk into a crime scene and feel nothing—and I mean nothing, no anger, no disgust, no reaction whatsoever—well, that’s a very sad day. That’s the day to hand in your badge. At least that’s what I think.”

“I guess so.” Megan placed the magazine back onto the coffee table. This time it made it to the top of the other outdated office subscriptions. “Can I see a copy of the calendar and the initials again?”

Megan looked over the paperwork again just as a roomful of people flowed out of a corner office.

“Hopefully Ms. Bell can shed some light on some of these dates and initials. I feel like I’m trying to put together a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle and the box came with nine hundred and ninety-nine pieces. And no picture on the cover.”

Lauren Bell was the last person to exit the corner office. “Detectives?”

Her waifish build and pale skin made her look about fifty even though they knew she was in her early forties. She had chestnut-colored hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was extremely thin, conservatively dressed in a black turtleneck and wool slacks. She had the same bereaved look on her face as Shannon’s other friends had, but hers had an air of annoyance mixed in.

“Follow me.”

Her military tone made Megan think she was about to scream “Drop and give me twenty!” but she figured when you’re working with the kinds of people Lauren Bell was—prisoners with psychological issues—you had to have balls of steel, even if Mother Nature didn’t give you a set of your own.

They followed her into her office. Once she closed the door, she seemed less uptight. “Sorry. The last two hours have been rather stressful. Comes with the territory, I guess. Please have a seat.”

“Ms. Bell, we’d like to ask you a few questions about Shannon McAllister,” Megan said.

“However I can help. Absolutely.”

“You were Shannon’s mentor for school?” Nappa asked.

“Not so much mentor as field instructor. When Shannon first started the internship program, I was assigned to her,” she said.

“She worked with psychologically challenged prisoners, is that correct?” Megan asked.

“Not exactly. Shannon counseled people who live in a halfway house and are preparing to reenter the community through a work release program. While some of the counselors here deal with only mental illness, Shannon mainly dealt with clients who were dually diagnosed with both mental illness and substance abuse.”

“You’re saying that these clients—mentally ill, substance-abusing ex-felons—leave to go to work every day and willingly return to what is effectively house arrest at night?” Megan asked.

“Yes. They’re wards of the state until the time comes when they’re fully released, and then post-therapeutic and substance-abuse counseling are maintained. Each client is fitted with an electronic monitoring bracelet attached to their ankle. It tracks their location. If they deviate outside the accepted area, we’re alerted immediately.”

“Uh-huh.” Megan’s sour response was noted by Lauren Bell.

“Detective, the recidivism rate for the people in this program is extremely low.”

“Can we get back to the internship program for a moment?” Nappa interrupted. “What exactly does it entail? What kind of interaction did Ms. McAllister have with her clients?”

“For her internship she has individual sessions with six clients every week, what you would probably think of as one-on-one counseling. Once a week she leads a twelve-member group session. I would meet with Shannon one day a week for two hours. We discuss everything that came up for her that week: questions about the agency, clients, if she needed me to do a consult. Things like that.”

“Did she ever mention any problems with any of her clients, maybe someone who had an issue with her? Possibly threatened her?”

Lauren shook her head no. “She was extremely good at her work, and extremely committed to it. When I heard the news about Shannon, I immediately checked to see that all her clients were accounted for on that day, and they were. I checked with each of their bosses. They were on time to work, and all returned to the facility by the required six o’clock check-in. It’s a very tight program. It has to be.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand that we’ll have to check on that ourselves,” Megan added, even though they’d confirmed Shannon had an evening class the night before she was murdered, well past the time her clients were required to return. Megan wasn’t up for a discussion about the efficiency of the program. She switched gears. “Did you and Shannon socialize outside of work?”

“We’d become friends. Once or twice a month we’d go out for drinks. She’d come over to my apartment and babysit my son once in a while.” She leaned on her desk and rubbed the back of her neck. “I haven’t told him yet—my son—about Shannon. I guess I can’t believe this has happened. I’m in classic denial.”

“The last time you saw Ms. McAllister was …?” Nappa asked.

“We had drinks about two weeks ago, and I was due to see her for the supervisory session”—she paused—“the day she was …”

“What did you talk about the last time you saw her?” Megan asked.

“You know, that was the thing—Shannon is one of those people who nine times out of ten is upbeat and positive and just full of energy.”

“But not that night,” Nappa confirmed.

“That night she was in a small funk. Nothing heavy, she just seemed to have a lot on her mind. I think she knew she was spreading herself too thin between classes, homework, her clients, and some of the volunteer work she’d been doing.”

“Where was she doing the volunteer work?” Nappa asked.

“I know she’d put in some hours at the ASPCA, walking dogs, I think. And I believe she was helping a friend out at some clinic, but I’m not sure. For a blood drive or flu shots—I know it was something medical, but I can’t remember what exactly.”

Megan handed her the photocopy of Shannon’s datebook and had her review the initials. “Do you know what some of these initials and dates could be?”

Lauren donned a pair of tortoiseshell-framed reading glasses. “You have no idea how many times I tried to get her to organize herself better. I even bought her one of those Franklin planners—baby steps before using the calendar on her cell phone. I doubt she ever took it out of the box.” She opened her own planner to double-­check the entries. “Okay, obviously, I’m LB, this is the two-hour meeting we had weekly.” She indicated with her pen. “Now, GS has to be ‘group session.’ They were every Tuesday night from six o’clock to eight.” She opened a folder on her desk. Megan was able to see McAllister handwritten on the tab.

Lauren corresponded the papers in the folder with the Xeroxed copy of Shannon’s calendar. “No. None of her clients have these initials.” She handed Megan back the paper.

“Do you know if she was seeing anyone? Did she mention anyone special in her life?”

“Shannon and I were colleague-oriented friends, not girlfriend types. We talked about work and everything associated with work. But to answer your question, I can’t imagine she was seeing anyone. And if she was, she wasn’t able to see him often with how busy her schedule was.”

“Let me ask you something. When you heard about her murder, what was your first thought? By that, I mean did anyone in particular come to mind that you thought may have done this?” Megan asked.

Lauren bit the side of her lip, staring at both detectives. She was teetering on a confession.

“Ms. Bell, we already know,” Nappa said.

A long sigh was followed by an apology. “I’m sorry. Shannon told me about Professor Bauer when I confided in her that my husband had left me and our son for one of his students. He taught an ethics class in Queens.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Some ethics, huh? Well, anyway, I think Shannon felt a huge amount of guilt and probably shame for what she’d gotten into. She said she didn’t want to do to another woman what Carl and his student had done to me.” She sat back in her chair. “Shannon was like that. She took responsibility for her choices. What made her go out with a married man? It was probably due to her youth, and inexperience. But more importantly, what made her end it? Her character.”

“So, Professor Bauer’s was the first name that popped into your mind when you heard the news?” Megan asked.

“His was the only name that came into my head when I heard the news.”