As she waited, she anxiously looked around the room, searching for anything she could use to start small talk with, anything she could use as a distraction if she got backed into any uncomfortable corners regarding this Oliver person. The only reason they let her in today was because of her supposed connection to him.

There were diplomas in thick wood frames on the wall. The largest one, above the desk, displayed a medical degree from the University of Michigan to a Julia DeHaviland. Across the room was another diploma, this one for a PhD in pathology from the same university.

The room was furnished in dark mahogany. Persian carpeting in shades of gold, blue and burgundy covered the floor, completing the effect of an inviting office. For all of the pleasing colors, there was only a thin veneer of warmth in the room. The rest gave off a sense of sterility. There were no pictures on the desk or on the bookcases. In fact, other than the degrees, nothing personal was in the room. It had a feeling of remoteness, a distance at odds with the welcoming décor.

Val began to chew at her nails. There was nothing in this room, no photos of children, a significant other, nothing to help move a conversation away from the topic of Oliver if need be. Jesus Christ. Val’s heart pounded harder. I don’t even know what this man’s last name was. Or what in the hell his job was here.

Without realizing it, she bit down again, this time a little too much, and winced in pain. She pulled her hand back and checked to see if she was bleeding. When she did her eyes froze on her scar. Mr. Tate’s tooth marks were still engraved on her skin. He was the reason she would never practice dentistry again.

He had been her patient for only a couple of weeks when he was arrested in connection with the deaths of three young girls. One victim had bite marks on her breast. The local police asked if she could get a set of dental molds of his teeth so that they could be compared to the wound. Val agreed.

Mr. Tate was brought handcuffed and shackled to her dental office. He looked like he had been beaten. His right eye was swollen nearly shut and his lip was fat. Dark purple bruises covered his face. The cops left the room for only a minute to take a call. When they did, he pleaded with her to help him, confirming what she thought. The officers had used him as a punching bag. He said he was in terrible pain and thought his jaw was dislocated. Could she please check it for him?