McMillan was not charmed. He took a step closer to the gate, and Cray could see his eyes, coal black, strikingly intense.
“What’s best for her,” McMillan whispered, “is a shoulder to lean on. That’s what she’s always used me for. We’re close, her and me. She’s like a… like my daughter.”
“A daughter? She murdered your son.”
McMillan was unfazed. “There were reasons.”
“An odd thing for a bereaved father to say. What would possibly induce you to forgive Kaylie for what she did?”
McMillan brushed this question aside. “I didn’t come here to be psychoanalyzed. I came to talk with her. You’re going to let me.”
“No.” Cray shrugged. “I’m not.”
McMillan’s hands were large and callused, and when they squeezed into fists, they became blunt instruments packed with force, meaty hammers that could have opened Cray’s skull in a cascade of blows, if not for the dual barriers of the iron gate and McMillan’s precarious self-restraint.
A moment passed, and then the hands relaxed, weapons no more, and McMillan asked softly, “How long do you intend to keep me away from her?”
“Until she’s ready to face her past.”
“How long?”
“It could take weeks. Months. An indefinite period of time. There’s no way to predict the length or efficacy of a course of treatment.”
McMillan absorbed this, then rejected it with a shake of his shaggy head. “No, sir. Not weeks, months. I’ll see her sooner than that. She’s my daughter-in-law. She’s family. I have an interest. I can force the issue.”
“It would not be advisable—”
McMillan cut him off. “Screw what’s advisable. I’ve been talking to a lawyer. He’s the one who told me to come on over here and give you a second chance to be reasonable. Seeing as how you won’t cooperate, we’ll just have to go over your head.”
“I run this institute,” Cray said sharply.
“But you don’t own it. One of these big health-services companies in Phoenix has got title. You’re their hired hand, is all. And they don’t like bad publicity, do they? I’ve been reading up on this place. Patient got beaten here last month, state government’s investigating. Another patient, Walter somebody, died just three days ago.”
Cray said nothing.
“That’s not the kind of track record your bosses probably want to see. And now here I come — me and my lawyer — demanding action. You think they’ll side with you? If they do, I’ll go to the papers. I’ll get a court order. I’ll make a stink.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“No, I’m sure I won’t—because it’ll never get that far. They’ll overrule you and let me in, pronto, just you wait and see.”
“You’re a determined fellow, Mr. McMillan.”
“Damn straight I am, where Kaylie’s concerned. Now one more time I’m asking: do I get in to see her?”
“I think not,” Cray answered mildly.
“Then we’ll do it the hard way. I’ll be back.”
“No doubt.”
“Soon. Maybe tomorrow, if my lawyer can open the door to the corporate boardroom quick enough, and I’m betting he can. Good day, Doctor.”
Cray watched Anson McMillan walk to his truck and swing open the door on the driver’s side.
“Why are you doing this?” Cray asked suddenly, the question coming as a surprise even to him.
McMillan paused, half-inside the truck, looking at
Cray over the door frame. “Because she’s not crazy,” McMillan said. “She never was.”
Cray was silent. He stood motionless as McMillan slammed the door and started the engine. Even when the pickup reversed out of the entryway and vanished down the road, he did not move.
“Some kind of nut, huh?” Officer Jansen said finally, for no reason other than to break the long silence.
Cray nodded. “Yes.”
“Think he was serious about all that lawyer business?”
“Yes.”
“So… what are we gonna do?”
“We’ll handle it.” Cray took a step back from the gate and repeated the words. “We’ll handle it.”
He turned and headed back toward the administration building. His mind processed the dilemma, evaluating options, ordering priorities, weighing risks.
McMillan could not be allowed any contact with Kaylie. She knew too much. She would tell him everything. And given what McMillan must know or guess about his son Justin’s past, he might very well put the whole story together, then persuade the sheriff to take a fresh look at the case.
“Dangerous,” Cray murmured, mounting the staircase of the administration building.
Yes. Much too dangerous.
Cray had not avoided arrest this long by taking chances. His survival instinct was finely honed. To save himself, he would do whatever was necessary.
There was only one way to defuse this latest threat. It was a course of action he disliked, one that carried risks and smelled of desperation.
He would dare it, though. He had to. And quickly, before McMillan returned.
Pausing at the front door, he nodded slowly, in silent endorsement of his decision.
Kaylie must die.
Tonight.
A shame, really. He enjoyed having her as his prisoner. He looked forward to their daily sessions, the intricate mind games he played with her. And he would have relished the opportunity to watch her for just a few weeks longer.