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Even worse than the shock or repulsion, or possibly even fear, in Ruth’s eyes as I told her this would be the look of sadness, disappointment, and self-reproach. Because not only had I let her down, I know she would be thinking she had let me down—and not just me, but the talking cure itself. For no therapist ever had a better shot at it than Ruth—she had years to work with someone who was damaged, yes, but so young, just a boy, and so willing to change, to get better, to heal. Yet, despite hundreds of hours of psychotherapy, talking and listening and analyzing, she was unable to save his soul.
The doorbell rang, rousing me from my thoughts. It wasn’t a common occurrence, an evening visitor, not since we moved to Surrey; I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d had friends over.
“Are you expecting someone?” I called out, but there was no reply. Kathy probably couldn’t hear me over the TV.
I went to the front door and opened it. To my surprise, it was Chief Inspector Allen. He was wrapped up in a scarf and coat, and his cheeks were flushed.
“Good evening, Mr. Faber.”
“Inspector Allen? What are you doing here?”
“I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in. A couple of developments I wanted
to tell you about. Is now convenient?”
I hesitated. “To be honest, I’m just about to cook dinner, so—”
“This won’t take long.”
Allen smiled. He clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I stepped aside and let him
enter. He looked happy to be inside. He pulled off his gloves and his coat. “It’s getting bloody cold out there. Cold enough to snow, I’d bet.” His glasses had steamed up and he took them off and wiped them with his handkerchief.
“I’m afraid it’s rather warm in here,” I said.
“Not for me. Can’t be too warm for my liking.”
“You’d get on with my wife.”
Right on cue, Kathy appeared in the hallway. She looked from me to the inspector quizzically.
“What’s going on?”
“Kathy, this is Chief Inspector Allen. He’s in charge of the investigation about the patient I
mentioned.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Faber.”
“Inspector Allen wants to talk to me about something. We won’t be long. Go upstairs and have
your bath, and I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” I nodded at the inspector to go into the kitchen. “After you.”
Inspector Allen glanced at Kathy again before he turned and went into the kitchen. I followed, leaving Kathy lingering in the hallway, before I heard her footsteps slowly going upstairs.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Thank you. That’s very kind. A cup of tea would be lovely.” I saw his eyes go to the bottle of vodka on the counter.
I smiled. “Or something stronger if you prefer?” “No, thank you. A cup of tea suits me just fine.”