‘I’ll call the station tomorrow and you’ll get a letter from me in a couple of days. Get yourself back on a real case.’ Artaud stands up and offers his hand. Pace steps towards the desk and shakes it. It isn’t until he feels the doctor’s grip that he realises how frail the man is. He seems a lot bigger in his position of power.

‘I’ve been thinking about those bridges. How do you find so many people willing to take their own life?’

‘It’s a condition for anything living to contemplate its own death. It’s our one certainty. I think that most people at one point or another have considered what the world would be like without them.’

Pace ponders the statement then asks, ‘You think there’ll be another bridge?’

‘I’m afraid there will be, yes.’

‘I have to be there this time.’

‘There is no doubt in my mind that you will be, Detective.’

With that, they part ways.

106

Dr Artaud wakes the next day with blood on his pillow. He checks his nose with his hand, then his ears, but there is nothing there. He feels his face and lips for cuts. Nothing. He has to assume he was coughing again in the night. He can smell the cigar on his fingertips.

Totally worth it.

He fixes himself an espresso from the machine in his kitchen and sits at his desk. He opens the laptop and clicks on a document that is open but minimised. And he starts typing. Four pages before he even fidgets in his seat. Somewhere in the middle, his face screws up and he hits the keys a little harder. Angry about something.

Then he reads through, prints, and places the pages on top of a pile of other printed pages lying face down on his desk. He smiles to himself, lights a cigar and slouches back into his seat, watching the smoke rise towards the ceiling. He licks one of the fillings in his mouth, loving the way the toxic fumes make it taste.

Worth it.

It’s only 10:00. He has no appointments in his schedule until after noon. With the cigar finished, the doctor turns back to his work. He pulls up Detective Sergeant Pace’s file and adds a few lines to the bottom of the report based on their discussion the night before. He feels fairly certain the detective was lying about his relationship but Artaud’s brief was to determine his ability to function properly at work. And that was not in doubt. He hits print, folds the report, and seals it in an envelope marked for the police station.

Next he clicks on a shared ERMA file. There are files for each of the shrinks in the organisation. Artaud scrolls through the information he needs on Rossi, Erickson and Milton. He prints. He files. He shuts the laptop. That’s enough admin for one day.