wore grim expressions without a trace of sympathy.
“How did you know the deceased?” Morrison demanded.
Beck tried to shake off his shock. “I told the other officers—”
“We’re not the other officers,” Howard snapped. “We want to hear it from you.”
Beck started again. “He was my patient.”
“You’re a shrink? What was his problem?”
“I’m a psychiatrist, yes. And I can’t say.”
“Not much of a shrink, then, are you?” Howard said. Morrison smirked.
“No. I mean, I can’t say. Doctor–patient communications are confidential. As I’m sure both of you already know.”
Morrison and Howard exchanged a look. “Yeah. Thanks for reminding us, Doctor,” Morrison said. “But the guy is dead, and he was walking out of your office. I think we need to know.”
“And if I had any information that would help someone in immediate danger, I would be ethically bound to offer it. But I don’t. Anything else is private. That’s the law. Why is the Secret Service investigating this, anyway? Isn’t this something for the police?”
“Are you a doctor or a lawyer?” Howard said, his tone sharp and mocking. “You’re making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be.”
“You don’t have the expertise to know what’s important and what isn’t,” Morrison added. “That’s our job.”
“Listen, I have a security clearance,” Beck said.
“How special for you,” Howard said.
“What I mean is, if you just call the coordinator at the Department of Defense—” Beck took out his phone to give them the number. Morrison and Howard reacted like he’d pulled a gun. They stepped back. With one swift move, Morrison snatched the phone from his hand and pocketed it.
“Hey. That’s my phone.”
“Doctor Beck, you’re our sole witness,” Morrison said. “Let’s not get bogged down in technicalities. We need to know what he told you. And we need to know now.”
Beck wondered where the hostility was coming from. He’d heard of good cop/bad cop, but this was more like bad cop/bad cop.
Then he recognized the technique. They were trying to put him off-balance. Make him more pliable, eager to please, by bullying him a little.
It only pissed Beck off.
“You want to know what we talked about? Try getting a subpoena. He was my patient. Even dead, he has rights.”
Howard looked like he wanted to punch Beck. Morrison sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then pulled Beck aside. He lowered his voice, as if someone might be listening.
“Look, Doctor. I didn’t want to have to tell you this. We are in the middle of something big, and it involves your client. There is more going on than you know. You have to tell us what he told you. Lives are literally on the line here. I know you’ll want to do the right thing.”
This was even more transparent than the bullying. They were trying to make Beck feel like he was important—inside a big secret. He really didn’t appreciate the manipulation, which wouldn’t work on a first-year psych major.
And, for some reason, he just didn’t trust these guys.
Beck lowered his voice, too, as if he were going to cooperate. “Can you tell me what this investigation is about?”
Morrison shook his head. “Sorry. Classified.”
Beck went back to his regular voice, all pretense gone. “Yeah? Then so is what my patient told me. Sorry.”
“All right then, Doctor. Have it your way.” Morrison stepped back.
Beck thought that would be the end of it. He turned to walk away.
So he was surprised when Howard spun him back around, slammed him against a telephone pole, and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.
Chapter 5
The police didn’t object as the two agents marched Beck across the street and shoved him into the backseat of their SUV. They said they were taking him to their office for further questioning. The cops nodded. Not their problem anymore.
Beck realized they were really going to do this—just drag him off to jail, or some locked room, and interrogate him. Unbelievable.
“You can’t be serious,” he said. “This is basic doctor–patient confidentiality. Any judge is going to laugh you out of court.”
“Shut up,” Howard said as he dug around in Beck’s jacket and removed his wallet. Then he slammed the door in Beck’s face.
The window was still open, however. Beck looked at Morrison, who seemed slightly more reasonable.
“Look. If you’re really going to take me away, someone needs to tell Scott’s wife,” Beck remembered. “Her name is Jennifer Scott. Someone needs to tell her about her husband.”
“Yeah, we’ll take care of it,” Morrison said. He nodded at Howard, who took out his own phone and dialed a number,