to him?”
“No. I wanted to, but Ana said I couldn’t—that it would violate ‘doctor–patient confidentiality,’ or some bullshit like that, but I thought she was just trying to protect him. He had her under some kind of spell, if you ask me.”
“Like a magic spell, you mean?” Butts said.
Santiago froze, his eyes wide. “God, you don’t think—I mean, I know he’s whacked, but do you think
he
could have—”
“It’s very unlikely,” Lee reassured him. “We think Ana was the victim of someone who has killed before.”
“Really? So you might know who killed her?” Santiago searched their faces for a sign of hope.
“No. We don’t have an actual suspect yet,” Butts answered.
Santiago’s whole body seemed to deflate. He slumped back down in his chair, and his vacant stare returned. “I don’t know, man—maybe I could have done something to prevent this. I just don’t believe it. How could this happen to her? What did she ever do to anybody?”
“You said before she thought she was being followed,” Butts reminded him. “Did she say anything more about that, like who it might be?”
Santiago ran a hand through his curly black hair, which glistened in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the row of windows. Outside, Lee could see the water of the Delaware sparkling silver in waves of reflected light.
“She was real secretive about that. She said she’d uncovered some kind of childhood abuse or trauma or something. I got the sense that the doc had spooked her so much that she believed whoever it was had come back to get her.”
“So you didn’t really believe her?” Lee asked.
“Naw, man, I just thought it was that crazy doctor, filling her head with all kinds of nonsense. That’s the thing about Ana: she’s—she
was
gullible, you know? She was always looking for answers, and when someone came along who looked like they had them, man, she was right there, first in line to get wisdom. The thing was, she wasn’t always good at judging people, so she could get hurt.” He shook his head sadly. “I tried to protect her—I always told her to question people’s motives more, that kind of thing.”
“Like with Dr. Perkins?” Lee asked.
“Yeah. That’s why, when we had that fight on Friday, she was so angry at me—because I didn’t believe her. Jesus,” he said softly. “Do you think that’s who killed her—whoever was following her? I mean, do you think there really
was
someone following her?”
“It’s possible,” Lee said, “but even if there was, it’s also possible that her death was totally unrelated.”
“Oh, man, I’d never forgive myself if it turned out her crazy fantasy was true. I just thought it was another one of Dr. Perkins’s latest weirdo theories—and he had plenty of them, let me tell you.”
“Like what?” Butts asked.
“Oh, man, you name it. He had this whole thing about past lives, and all kinds of mystical crap.” He snorted in disgust. “I left that shit when I left California, man. I can’t believe
I ran back into it on the East Coast. There’s irony for you, huh?”
“Yeah, real ironic,” Butts replied. “Do you happen to have this guy’s contact number?”
“Yeah, it’s in my office. Just give me a second, okay?”
They followed him to the front of the building and waited in the foyer while he went into his office, emerging shortly with the number written on the back of an old menu.
“Here you go—he’s in Stockton, just the other side of the river in Jersey.”
“I know it,” Lee said, taking the number, which was scribbled in between the tenderloin of pork with sage dressing and the salmon mousse with dill sauce. “Thanks a lot.” He glanced at Butts. It was time to end this interview—they had what they came for.
“I—I guess I should talk to someone about a funeral,” Santiago said, gazing off toward the river. A hazy mist had settled over the sluggishly flowing water. “She had no family,
“No. I wanted to, but Ana said I couldn’t—that it would violate ‘doctor–patient confidentiality,’ or some bullshit like that, but I thought she was just trying to protect him. He had her under some kind of spell, if you ask me.”
“Like a magic spell, you mean?” Butts said.
Santiago froze, his eyes wide. “God, you don’t think—I mean, I know he’s whacked, but do you think
he
could have—”
“It’s very unlikely,” Lee reassured him. “We think Ana was the victim of someone who has killed before.”
“Really? So you might know who killed her?” Santiago searched their faces for a sign of hope.
“No. We don’t have an actual suspect yet,” Butts answered.
Santiago’s whole body seemed to deflate. He slumped back down in his chair, and his vacant stare returned. “I don’t know, man—maybe I could have done something to prevent this. I just don’t believe it. How could this happen to her? What did she ever do to anybody?”
“You said before she thought she was being followed,” Butts reminded him. “Did she say anything more about that, like who it might be?”
Santiago ran a hand through his curly black hair, which glistened in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the row of windows. Outside, Lee could see the water of the Delaware sparkling silver in waves of reflected light.
“She was real secretive about that. She said she’d uncovered some kind of childhood abuse or trauma or something. I got the sense that the doc had spooked her so much that she believed whoever it was had come back to get her.”
“So you didn’t really believe her?” Lee asked.
“Naw, man, I just thought it was that crazy doctor, filling her head with all kinds of nonsense. That’s the thing about Ana: she’s—she
was
gullible, you know? She was always looking for answers, and when someone came along who looked like they had them, man, she was right there, first in line to get wisdom. The thing was, she wasn’t always good at judging people, so she could get hurt.” He shook his head sadly. “I tried to protect her—I always told her to question people’s motives more, that kind of thing.”
“Like with Dr. Perkins?” Lee asked.
“Yeah. That’s why, when we had that fight on Friday, she was so angry at me—because I didn’t believe her. Jesus,” he said softly. “Do you think that’s who killed her—whoever was following her? I mean, do you think there really
was
someone following her?”
“It’s possible,” Lee said, “but even if there was, it’s also possible that her death was totally unrelated.”
“Oh, man, I’d never forgive myself if it turned out her crazy fantasy was true. I just thought it was another one of Dr. Perkins’s latest weirdo theories—and he had plenty of them, let me tell you.”
“Like what?” Butts asked.
“Oh, man, you name it. He had this whole thing about past lives, and all kinds of mystical crap.” He snorted in disgust. “I left that shit when I left California, man. I can’t believe
I ran back into it on the East Coast. There’s irony for you, huh?”
“Yeah, real ironic,” Butts replied. “Do you happen to have this guy’s contact number?”
“Yeah, it’s in my office. Just give me a second, okay?”
They followed him to the front of the building and waited in the foyer while he went into his office, emerging shortly with the number written on the back of an old menu.
“Here you go—he’s in Stockton, just the other side of the river in Jersey.”
“I know it,” Lee said, taking the number, which was scribbled in between the tenderloin of pork with sage dressing and the salmon mousse with dill sauce. “Thanks a lot.” He glanced at Butts. It was time to end this interview—they had what they came for.
“I—I guess I should talk to someone about a funeral,” Santiago said, gazing off toward the river. A hazy mist had settled over the sluggishly flowing water. “She had no family,
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