I hear a knock at the door and nearly jump out of my seat. I look down at my watch and curse under my breath. How is the first patient in a room already? The waiting room was empty just a few minutes ago.
“I’ll be right out!” I call.
Then I hear another knock. “Dr. Davis?” It’s Harper’s voice. “Can I come in?”
I take another long swig of coffee. “Yes, come on in.”
Harper cracks open the door just a bit and peeks in before she slides through the crack. “Um, Dr. Davis… the, um… the police are here to see you.”
I almost comically spit out the coffee in my mouth. “Thewhat?”
“There’s a policeman.” Harper wrings her fiststogether. “He said he needs to talk to you right away.”
“About what?”
She just shakes her head.
My thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Why are the police here? What could they possibly want to talk to me about? Does this have to do with Henry Callahan? Did they trace my 911 call and want to blame me for the collision?
But I know one thing. I can’t say no.
“Send him in,” I say.
Chapter 11
The policeman who comes into my office is in plain clothes—a dress shirt and tie under his jacket—which makes me think he must be some sort of detective. He’s also significantly older than the cops I see pounding the pavement outside. Maybe late fifties or early sixties—almost the age my father is right now. His close-cropped hair is mostly gray and his shirt buttons strain slightly to hold in his gut.
All I can do is sit there, too petrified to speak.
“Dr. Davis?” The officer smiles, but it’s a halfhearted smile. It doesn’t even get halfway to his dark eyes. “I’m Detective Ed Barber.”
“Hello,” I manage.
Police officers terrify me. Ever since that day my entire life changed when I was eleven years old. But for the most part, since that time, I haven’t had any bad interactions with police officers. Especially since I changed my last name. After my grandmother took me in, she insisted I change my last name to hers. I was eager to oblige. The last thing Iwanted was for people to know I was that monster’s daughter. And it’s not like Nierling is a common surname.
“Do you have a minute to chat, Dr. Davis?” the detective asks.
“Not really.” My laugh comes out sounding strangled. “But have a seat.”
Barber doesn’t hesitate to sit down in one of the chairs in front of my desk. As he studies my diploma on the wall, I try my best to talk myself down from the ledge. I had nothing to do with the car accident last night. That was entirely Callahan’s fault. Whatever he’s here about, I haven’t done anything wrong.
Maybe he’s here to get my medical opinion for another case. That’s entirely possible. I’m probably working myself up over nothing.
“Dr. Davis,” he says. “Do you have a patient named Amber Swanson?”
I freeze. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. “What?”
“Amber Swanson. Did you perform surgery on her?”
I pick up a pencil on my desk and tap it against the surface. I don’t understand. Am I being sued? Why would a detective be here about that? “The name sounds familiar.”
“She had an appendectomy.”
Now it’s coming back to me. I was on call for the emergency room a couple of months ago and she came in with right lower quadrant pain. I remember walking into the examining room and finding poor Amber in a fetal position. Fortunately, we got her to the OR before her appendix ruptured. The surgery was entirely successful,and she was in good spirits during her postop appointment.
“Yes,” I say carefully. “I remember her.”
The crease between Barber’s eyebrows deepens. “Unfortunately, Ms. Swanson was found murdered at around three in the morning.”
