“I’ll notify them, Molly. I can probably take on a few of his if they’re so inclined, but most I’ll refer to other therapists.”

That’s good. Jay would want them taken care of. “What about his office? It’ll have to be cleaned out, right?” Eventually there will be someone else in Jay’s space, taking his place as everyone inevitably moves on.

“At some point, Molly. But there’s no rush.”

I sigh and wipe my cheeks with my hands, pick at my sleeve, and pull it down over my wrist. I don’t think I can face cleaning anything out yet.

That’s where I met Jay. That very office, five years ago. I was having a rough time. I’d gotten a letter in the mail that totally upended my world. The man who ruined my life, who was safely locked away, had sneaked a letter by the prison censors and found out somehow where I was living. Even though I got an apology from the warden, and he was punished for breaking the rules, it rocked my world and sent me running back to therapy. I had to talk to someone, and that someone turned out to be Jay. He was kind, understanding, and nonjudgmental. After three sessions, he handed me a business card for another psychologist. At first, I was distraught, but he told me he was interested in seeing me socially, and the only ethical way to do that was not to see me professionally. I was thrilled and never ended up calling the other therapist. Three sessions with Jay had been enough, or so I thought at the time. Now, with Jay gone forever, I don’t know how I’ll carry on, how I’ll keep the demons at bay.

CHAPTER 12

Rita

I HEAR THE CHIEF IN HIS OFFICE, TALKING ON THE PHONE. I PEER AROUND the door frame. If he’d wanted privacy, he would’ve closed the door, right? He looks up at me from under his bushy gray eyebrows.

“I’ll call you back.” Bob drops the phone in its cradle. “What’s up, Rita?”

“You remember any detectives named Bradley with the Boston PD?”

The chief leans back and threads his fingers together over his ample stomach. “Walt Bradley was a homicide detective. Worked the Strangler case.”

“Huh. I think I did hear Walt’s name.”

“Yeah. He was a bit of a legend. He retired before we were there. Why?”

“Well, apparently Jay Bradley’s father and grandfather were Boston PD detectives.”

Bob blows out a breath. “No shit? Well, that’s something.” Bob scratches his head. “Walt must’ve been the grandfather. I don’t remember his son though.”

“Me neither. Dr. Bradley’s partner said that Jay overheard some pretty gruesome stories when he was a kid.”

“I bet.”

“Think he got himself mixed up with some unsavory characters? Maybe doing research for that book he was writing?”

“Could be, Reet.” The chief leans forward, drops his feet to the floor. “You see Chase yet?”

“No, I just walked in.”

“He’s got notes from the autopsy.”