His slow, low tone nudged words along, always taking the long way around a thought.
“I do, but not of the sort you might imagine.”
“I’m listening.”
“Someone’s been getting into my e-mail,” I flatly replied. “Apparently this person got into the file where our passwords are kept and got hold of mine.”
“So much for security. . .”
I held up my hand to stop him.
“Sinclair, security’s not the problem. I’m being hurt from within my own ranks. It’s clear to me that someoneor perhaps more than one person-is trying to cause me trouble. Perhaps even get me fired. Your secretary e-mailed mine to let her know you wanted to see me. My secretary passed this along to me, and I allegedly replied that I was too busy to see you at that time.”
I could tell Dr. Wagner found this confusing, if not ridiculous.
“There are other things,” I went on, getting increasingly uncomfortable with the sound of my own voice spinning what seemed such a fantastic web. “E-mails asking calls to be rolled over to my deputy chief, and worst of all, this socalled chat room I’m doing on the Internet.”
“I know about that;” he grimly said. “And you’re telling me that whoever is doing this Dear Dr. Kay stuff is the same person using your password?”
“It’s definitely someone using my password and posing as me.”
He was silent, sucking his pipe.
“I’m very suspicious that my morgue supervisor is connected with all this,” I added.
“Why?”
“Erratic behavior, hostility, disappearing acts. He’s disgruntled and up to something. I could go on.” .
Silence.
“When I can prove his involvement,” I said, “I’ll take care of the problem.”
Dr. Wagner returned the pipe to the ashtray. He got up from his desk and came around to where I was sitting. He settled into a side chair. He leaned forward and looked intensely at me.
“I’ve known you for a long time, Kay,” he said in a kind but no-nonsense voice. “I’m well aware of your reputation. You’re a tribute to the Commonwealth. You’ve also been through a horrendous tragedy, and it wasn’t that long ago.”
“Are you trying to play the role of psychiatrist with me, Sinclair?” I wasn’t joking.
“You aren’t a machine.”
“Nor am I given to wild thinking. What I’m telling you is real. Every brick of the case I’m building. There are just a lot of insidious activities going on, and while it may be true I’ve been more distracted than usual, what I’m telling you has nothing to do with that.”
“How can you be so sure, Kay, if you’ve been distracted,
as you put it? Most people wouldn’t even have returned to work for a while-if ever–after what you’ve suffered. When did you go back to work?”
“Sinclair, we all have our ways of coping.”
“Let me answer my own question for you;” he went on. “Ten days. And not a very happy environment to return to, I might add. Tragedy, death.”
I didn’t say anything as I fought for composure. I had been in a dark cave and scarcely remembered scattering Benton’s ashes out to sea in Hilton Head, the place he loved most. I scarcely remembered clearing out his condo there, then attacking his drawers and closets at my house. At a maniacal speed, I removed everything right then that would have had to go eventually.
Had it not been for Dr. Anna Zenner, I couldn’t have survived. She was an older woman, a psychiatrist who had been my friend for years. I had no idea what she did with Benton’s fine suits and ties and polished leather shoes and colognes. I didn’t want to know what happened to his BMW Most of all, I couldn’t bear to know what had been done with the linens that had been in our bathroom and on our bed.
Anna had been wise enough to keep all belongings that mattered. She didn’t touch his books or jewelry. She left his certificates and commendations hanging on the walls of his study, where nobody would see them, because he was so modest. She wouldn’t let me remove the photographs arranged everywhere because she said it was important for me to live with them.