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“I … I don’t know anything,” Winters stammered. “I swear.”
“Doctor Winters,” Will said. “You were overseeing Agatha Mitchell, Gillian Pugh, and Melanie Adler as part of your case load?”
Doctor Winters nodded. “Yes, but it’s just a coincidence.”
“Where were you the night each was killed?”
“I ... I don’t remember. My memory isn’t great at the moment.”
“You’re the second person to blame their memory on alcohol during this investigation,” Valerie said. “Tell me, do you remember if those three patients were given red, green, or amber privileges? And if those badges were changed at any time, say before they could be updated on their files?”
“Well, that’s simple,” Doctor Winters replied. “I’ve never been given anyone marked as potentially violent, with a red sticker. They need an orderly or security at all times when moving around. All of my patients are either amber or green. It’s true that if their status had changed, the files might not reflect that, but I would have been notified immediately, and the patient would have been given to someone more experienced with violent psychiatric residents.”
This was problematic. Valerie turned to Doctor Whitmore.
“Is this true?”
“Yes,” he said. “Rebecca ... Doctor Winters only works with our lower risk patients. Probability dictates then that she would have a good chance of overseeing all three victims, and still have nothing to do with their deaths.”
“Maybe,” Valerie said, observing Doctor Winters.
There was something about her. Something in the eyes. Something familiar ...
An image flashed before her mind. Valerie saw a man lying in a secure psychiatric hospital. He was covered in blood and had died a brutal death. But what remained of his face was sure. Thefamily resemblance was unmistakable. And the names matched to.
Valerie looked at Will, and he moved his head as if seeing Valerie’s internal turmoil.
“Doctor Winters,” Valerie said, softly. “Doctor Whitmore here mentioned that you were having trouble recovering from a bereavement?”
Doctor Winters’s eyes welled up with tears. “Yes. My brother.”
Will then gasped as though he had seen in his mind the very same image as Valerie. “Did he work at the Culver Institute?”
“Yes,” Doctor Winters said, surprised. “He was murdered there last year. My drinking became a problem after that. I’ve found it difficult to get past it.”
Valerie’s heart went out to the doctor. Trauma could cause a person to spiral in more ways than one. Some turn to drinking. Some turn to drugs. Some turn to destruction. Only a few reach a place of contentment without passing through stages of extreme psychological turmoil.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Valerie said. “We worked that case.”
“Oh ... so you’re the one that chased down his killer?” Doctor Winters said. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Valerie, giving her a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered into Valerie’s ear.
It was rare for Valerie to be thanked so directly. She felt a pang of guilt at now having to put Doctor Winters on her list of suspects.
But duty came first.
Valerie sighed and reluctantly pulled away from the embrace.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Winters,” she said. “But I’m going to have to ask you to remain here until we get to the bottom of these murders. We’ll contact you if we need anything else.”
Doctor Winters nodded sadly. She seemed defeated, as though she had already accepted her fate. But Valerie knew that wasn’t the case. There was always a chance for redemption—no matter how slim it may be.
“Rebecca, I’ll check on you later,” Doctor Whitmore said.
Doctor Winters said thank you and went back into her room.
Valerie watched her go, feeling a mixture of sorrow and resolve. She knew she had to find the truth, no matter who it implicated.
As Valerie turned back toward the hallway, Doctor Whitmore pleaded, “Rebecca is no more a murderer than I am. She’s had enough tragedy in her life, but she has a desire to help and care for people.”