Gleeson nodded. “Of course.” He wore a worried frown. “I’ll call Corinne again. Maybe she’s sick or misunderstood the schedule.”

“Give me her address and I’ll send an officer to check on her,” Sergeant Robertson offered.

Concern shot through Darby as she looked at the officer’s stern features. Did he think something bad had happened to Corinne? Would people blame her for that too?

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Gleeson said with a complete lack of conviction.

“I’d like you to walk through the place as soon as the evidence team is finished. See if you can determine exactly what is missing.”

Gleeson nodded. “Of course. I’ll stay right here but I might grab a coffee first. Can I get anyone anything?” he asked them in general.

“No, thanks,” Darby said quickly.

“Do you keep any backup records at your home office?” Eban asked.

Gleeson’s teeth were chattering. “Not paper records or any recorded material from here anyway. I have records from previous patients from my old practice in Anchorage. I keep current patient records encrypted on a cloud service so I can access them remotely.”

Darby wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her private information being stored in the cloud.

“How long have you been in Fairbanks?” Eban asked.

“I started in the psychology department at UAF in the Fall. Head hunted.” Gleeson gave a subdued smile. “I opened the clinical practice in September. Oh, god, this could ruin me right from the get-go.” He looked as if he might throw up.

“Did you know Martin Carstairs?” Eban asked.

“Are you asking if he was a patient?”

Eban cocked her head. “Was he?”

Gleeson shook his head. “I didn’t know him. I saw him dancing at the Burns Supper on Tuesday night though. He seemed very jolly.”

Eban frowned. “You were there?”

Gleeson nodded. “Took the wife and kids. That’s why I wanted to get away early on Tuesday. We all enjoyed ourselves until we found out the news about the murder the next morning, especially as one of my patients was the prime suspect.” He gave Darby a concerned smile.

Darby had sat next to Gleeson’s wife at the meal. Melanie. She’d liked the woman even if their son had stared at her a little unnervingly. But a lot of male attention unnerved her since her attack, even teenagers.

“Did you notice anything unusual at the ceilidh?” Eban asked.

“No. When we left, Darby and Martin were still dancing.” He pushed up one bony shoulder. “The kids had school and I had to lecture at nine.”

“What about Adele Surrey? Do you know her?”

Gleeson stamped his feet on the concrete. “Who?”

“The woman who helps out down at the church,” Darby prompted.

Gleeson frowned. “Oh, yes. Adele. She’s a nice woman. Not a patient of mine though. She simply gets the room ready before our group sessions—” He cut himself off. “Why? Oh, hell. Was she the woman they found murdered?” His washed-out eyes bounced from Eban to her, and Darby didn’t know how to respond.