The Silent Patient - Alex Michaelides Page 0,71
wasn’t aware of that.”
“I—don’t understand. There must be some mistake.”
“I don’t think so. You saw her as a private patient over several years. And yet you didn’t come forward to testify at the trial—despite the importance of your evidence. Nor did you admit you already knew Alicia when you started working here. Presumably she recognized you straightaway—it’s lucky for you she’s silent.”
I said this drily, but I was intensely angry. Now I understood why Christian was so against my trying to get Alicia to talk. It was in his every interest to keep her quiet.
“You’re a selfish son of a bitch, Christian, you know that?”
Christian stared at me with an increasing look of dismay. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Fuck. Theo. Listen—it’s not what it looks like.”
“Isn’t it?”
“What else does it say in the diary?”
“What else is there to say?”
Christian didn’t answer the question. He held out his hand. “Can I have a look at it?”
“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
Christian played with his chopsticks as he spoke. “I shouldn’t have done it. But it was entirely innocent. You’ve got to believe me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. If it were innocent, why didn’t you come forward after the murder?”
“Because I wasn’t really Alicia’s doctor—I mean, not officially. I only did it as a favor to Gabriel. We were friends. We were at university together. I was at their wedding. I hadn’t seen him for years—until he called me, looking for a psychiatrist for his wife. She’d become unwell following her father’s death.”
“And you volunteered your services?”
“No, not at all. Quite the reverse. I wanted to refer him to a colleague, but he insisted I see her. Gabriel said Alicia was extremely resistant to the whole idea, and the fact I was a friend of his made it much more likely she’d cooperate. I was reluctant, obviously.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Christian shot me a hurt look. “There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
“Where did you treat her?”
He hesitated. “My girlfriend’s house. But as I told you,” he said quickly, “it was unofficial—I wasn’t really her doctor. I rarely saw her. Every now and then, that’s all.”
“And on those rare occasions, did you charge a fee?”
Christian blinked and avoided my gaze. “Well, Gabriel insisted on paying, so I had no choice—”
“Cash, I presume?”
“Theo—”
“Was it cash?”
“Yes, but—”
“And did you declare it?”
Christian bit his lip and didn’t reply. So the answer was no. That was why he hadn’t come forward at Alicia’s trial. I wondered how many other patients he was seeing “unofficially” and not declaring the income from them.
“Look. If Diomedes finds out, I—I could lose my job. You know that, don’t you?” His voice had a pleading note, appealing to my sympathy.
But I had no sympathy for Christian. Only contempt. “Never mind the professor. What about the Medical Council? You’ll lose your license.”
“Only if you say something. You don’t need to tell anyone. It’s all water under the bridge at this point, isn’t it? I mean, it’s my career we’re talking about, for fuck’s sake.”
“You should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?”
“Theo, please…”
Christian must have hated having to crawl to me like this, but watching him squirm provided me with no satisfaction, only irritation. I had no intention of betraying him to Diomedes—not yet anyway. He’d be much more use to me if I kept him dangling.
“It’s okay,” I said. “No one else needs to know. For the moment.”
“Thank you. Seriously, I mean it. I owe you one.”
“Yes, you do. Go on.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to talk. I want you to tell me about Alicia.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
CHAPTER THREE
CHRISTIAN STARED AT ME, playing with his chopsticks. He deliberated for a few seconds before he spoke.
“There’s not much to tell. I don’t know what you want to hear—or where you want me to start.”
“Start at the beginning. You saw her over a number of years?”
“No—I mean, yes—but I told you, not as frequently as you make it sound. I saw her two or three times after her father died.”
“When was the last time?”
“About a week before the murder.”
“And how would you describe her mental state?”
“Oh…” Christian leaned back in his chair, relaxing now that he was on safer ground. “She was highly paranoid, delusional—psychotic, even. But she’d been like this before. She had a long-standing pattern of mood swings. She was always up and down—typical borderline.”
“Spare me the fucking diagnosis. Just give me the facts.”
Christian gave me a wounded look but decided not to argue. “What