Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) Gary Ross (most popular novels txt) 📖

sides and back of his head. For most of this hour he has listened—to the particulars of your loss, to the gelatinous pain that seeps into every space left by Grant’s death, to the silence in your house since Miranda and Ben returned to London and the loneliness in your bed. Now, gazing at you through black-framed glasses riding low on his nose, Dr. Clay takes a moment before he responds—a beat you will come to recognize as part of his clinical toolbox. “It sounds as if you think the police are making little progress, Andrea.”

“Please call me Drea,” you say, annoyed with yourself you didn’t correct him the first time he used your full name. You want to tell him Andrea is dead but don’t know how.

“Of course, Drea. Feel free to call me Sol.”

“For now I think I prefer Dr. Clay, if that’s all right.”

“It is.”

“Yes, progress is limited, because we’re dealing with two different states.” Your exasperation is palpable. “Maryland arranged for Fairfax police to interview him up in Montgomery County. Lieutenant Wesley planned to record it so I could hear his voice. But Tucker came with a lawyer who wouldn’t let him speak and denied he was part of Liberty Storm. Nothing to charge him with in Maryland. Nothing to justify extradition to Virginia. I know everybody’s entitled to representation, but Wesley said the lawyer was a woman. What kind of woman represents a monster like that?”

“Frustrating when it seemed nobody was representing Grant,” Dr. Clay says.

“Infuriating. Enough to make me want to drive up to Tucker’s home and…and—”

Sudden tears—the first since you sat down. They startle you, as does the realization you cannot let your husband’s death go unavenged. Now you understand the tissue box on a small table beside your chair. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean for this to—to….”

“To come out?” Dr. Clay is astute, calmly voices what you are thinking. “It’s a normal feeling to want to make him pay for what he did, for all he took from you. I want you to know I understand and I’m not judging you. You have nothing to feel sorry for. But there are questions I must ask you now.”

“All right.”

He looks at his notepad. “This Brick Butler, the man you stabbed in the neck. Have you thought much about him since…he died.”

“You mean, since I killed him.”

“Yes.”

You take a few seconds to think, to remember. “From time to time. Maybe not as much as I should. Are you wondering if I feel guilty?”

“Do you?”

“A little, until I remind myself if I hadn’t killed him, they all would have killed me.”

“Self-defense makes it easier to accept.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Wally Ray Tucker’s address?”

“No.”

“As a librarian, you can find it easily. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a plan to confront him?”

“No.”

“But the idea’s there.”

“Yes.”

“Has it been there for a while or did it come to mind just recently?”

“Just now, as we were talking.” Not entirely true, you admit to yourself.

“All right. Do you have access to a firearm?”

“My husband’s revolver.”

He pauses before asking his next question. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been practicing shooting, at a gun range or anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Do you know gun laws are different in Maryland?”

“More restrictive,” you say, remembering one of your talks with Wesley. “Probably why Tucker’s people didn’t have guns when they broke in. The day before, police got a tip and a man linked to Liberty Storm was arrested in Bethesda with a trunk full of guns from Georgia.”

“So you know it’s a risk to carry your gun into that state.” Another pause. “Do you have it with you now?”

“Yes. It’s in my purse. On the floor there.”

He does not react. “Do you carry it because you’re afraid you’ll be attacked again?”

“I’m not sure.” You shift in your chair a bit. “When the police gave it back to me, I just put it in my purse and left it there. I haven’t forgotten it. I know it’s there every time I pick up my purse.”

“You work at the Library of Congress, where I’m sure they have metal detectors or at least bag checks.”

“Both, but I haven’t gone back to work yet. I extended my bereavement leave into a sabbatical while I try to consider some things.”

“Like what?”

“Whether to retire early or go back to work. Whether to sell the house and move or stay among the memories. I’m not ready yet to decide.”

“Understandable.” A beat. “As for the gun, is it loaded?”

“No. So far. I guess I kind of liked the feel of it on my shoulder. The weight of it.” You take a beat of your own. “Look, Dr. Clay, I know we’ve just met. I’m not trying to freak you out.”

“You’re not freaking me out, Drea. You’ve suffered a horrible loss, to evil instead of fate. Anger, rage, depression, withdrawal, fear, guilt or no guilt—whatever you’re feeling is real and reasonable. Even if it weren’t my job, I would be concerned about you.”

“I know you have to report me if you think I’m going to hurt somebody.”

“It’s called a duty to warn,” he says. “I need to make sure you’re not building up the courage to hurt someone, including yourself.”

You have not told him about putting the gun to your temple and pulling the trigger in the seconds after Grant died. You have no intention of revealing that to him, ever. “I haven’t thought about hurting myself,” you say. “I want to live long enough to see Liberty Storm punished.”

“I’d have a special session with you to celebrate that.” He adjusts his glasses and leans forward a bit. “Drea, you and I are beginning a process I sincerely hope will help you. It’s early yet for us to build up the trust that will make the best outcomes possible. But I can tell you this. If you did manage to find Wally Ray Tucker and use your husband’s gun to kill him, it would feel