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Will sighed, “I think Doctor Whitmore is right.”
“You don’t know that,” said Valerie. “She could be involved.”
“Yes, she could,” said Will. “But it’s unlikely. She’s brimming with empathy and care for others. Hence why she embraced you. I read that as someone who was worried that the burden of such cases must be difficult. And besides, look at her frame. She’s slender and lightweight. I doubt she could strangle someone. It takes real physical power to do that.”
“I get what you’re both saying,” Valerie said. “But I’m not taking her off our list of suspects for now. It’s still possible that she’s involved.”
Neither Will nor Doctor Whitmore said anything in reply. The three forlorn figures left the residential building with more questions than answers, as the dark of night finally descended all around Elmwood Retreat.
A darkness Valerie was certain shielded the killer.
She began to muse about the victims and the probability of the next kill. The murders were happening in quick succession, and only one had taken place outside of the facility.
Valerie felt the dread emanating from the walls of Elmwood.
The next kill is here, and it will be soon, she thought.
She knew then that was worthwhile to investigate Elmwood in the dead of night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
If a murderer hadn’t been on the loose, Valerie would have thought the surroundings cozy.
Doctor Whitmore’s study in the residential building smelled of oak and luxury leather. A fireplace roared beneath a mantelpiece, and outside the winds caressed the building with autumn roar.
Valerie heard the jiggle of ice cubes as Doctor Whitmore filled each glass with a fine bourbon. He then put the bottle back with a few others in an open cabinet. He handed a glass to Valerie, then Will, Charlie, and Sam Teller.
“You come from Buford, don’t you, Sam?” Doctor Whitmore said.
“Yes, Sir,” he said, holding the bourbon. “So, I guess I shouldn’t drink this if I’m going to head home soon. It’s nearly midnight.”
“Why not stay in one of the rooms?” Doctor Whitmore offered.
“We’re all staying, Sam,” Valerie said, somberly. “If you do the same, we can get back to searching the records first thing in the morning.”
“This bourbon is delicious,” Will said.
“Yeah, mighty fine,” Charlie agreed.
Doctor Whitmore sighed, the flames dancing shadows over his face. He stared at the glass in his hand, watching the ice cubes slowly melt into his drink.
“I am sorry, Doctor Whitmore,” Will said. “This can’t be easy.”
“I’ve been here for twelve years, six as head psychiatrist,” he replied. “I’ve worked tirelessly to make this a haven for patients,and some thug has come here to take their lives. It doesn’t seem fair. I hardly think the retreat will survive this.”
“Do you think they’ll shut it down?” Doctor Whitmore asked.
“I’ve recommended to the Board that we move our patients to other psychiatric wards in the area,” he said. “It’s the only way I can safeguard them.”
“That’s a double-edged sword,” Valerie said. “Obviously the priority is to safeguard lives, but the killer might change his victim profile when the patients are gone.”
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure, Sam,” Charlie replied.
“Shouldn’t we put a guard on to protect the patients until they’re moved on?”
Valerie smiled. “Yes, Sam. That’s why we’re here. I want us to keep watch, two at a time, if you’re up to it?”