“You say Corinne Brown called you from Anchorage yesterday, at what time?” Signy asked calmly.

“I don’t remember exactly. Late afternoon. Surely you can examine my phone records for the exact time?”

Signy smiled. “What’s your pin? I’ll check your phone.”

Gleeson gave her a condescending look. “I think you can wait for the cell provider to give you the records. This is all bullshit and I have a right to privacy.”

Eventually, they’d be able to get into his phone if they had to. Gleeson was already looking at losing his license to practice, losing his academic position, and being listed as a registered sex offender for the porn they’d found on his machine.

“Approximately, when did she call?” Signy asked again.

“Around 4:30-5:00 PM.”

“Did she sound agitated?”

“She was upset. I told you this. She apologized for the confusion and for not turning up at work. Said she’d be back Monday although with the weather, I doubt…” He stopped talking. “Wait. Is Corinne all right? Did you talk to her? Did she confirm what I’ve told you?”

Signy pulled a photograph from her plain vanilla folder and placed it face up on the table in front of them. It showed a ghostly-pale Corinne in a hospital bed against white sheets. You couldn’t tell from the image whether she was alive or dead.

Gleeson covered his mouth with his hand, eyes horrified. “The killer followed her to Anchorage?”

Signy stated calmly, “Corinne never went to Anchorage, Kim. She was found in a snowbank in Fairbanks with a knife in her chest.”

“Wait. What? That doesn’t make any sense.” Gleeson leaned forward in an aggressive manner. Eban mentally braced himself for the guy to attack. “None of this makes any sense! Why did she pretend…” He looked up. “You think someone was with her. Making her say those things. That’s why she was crying.”

“Did Corinne’s crying bother you?”

“I don’t like anyone being upset, Detective. Despite all these insinuations I’m a good person. A good therapist who cares about my patients. That’s why I became a psychotherapist in the first place—to help people.”

Eban broke in. “You say you were head-hunted for the position here. That’s not true, is it?”

Gleeson’s gaze shot to his.

“I spoke to your dean earlier and he said you applied for a position that was advertised. Why did you leave Anchorage and suddenly want to teach at UAF?”

Gleeson’s eyes glittered before he looked away.

Signy placed three photographs on the table in front of him. Two women. One man. “Do you recognize any of these people?”

At first Gleeson frowned. Then he blinked rapidly. He touched the middle photograph. “Her. I saw her on the news. She was murdered in Anchorage last spring.”

“All three of these people were killed in a similar manner to Martin Carstairs, between last May and the previous June in Anchorage. Where were you based during that time?”

The new attorney whispered something in Gleeson’s ear.