The Psychiatrist: Trilogy to The Doll Collector

Chapter 6: Kristopher

It was official, George Brooks had died of a heart attack. The coroner had phoned the news to Dr. Lamb, who addressed us all during breakfast with Sheriff Honeycomb present beside her.

Her speech was very robotic and insincere. This was further elevated by the look of doubt in Sheriff Honeycomb's creased worry lines. The medical examiner's report was obviously bullshit. Or maybe Sheriff Honeycomb was just bothered by the fact that George Brooks had been granted a quick death, instead of suffering at the hands of lethal injection, or better yet, a prison shanking.

Dr. Lamb took a few moments to say a few kind words regarding our lost patient. More bullshit. Running a hospital such as this very rarely afforded you the luxury of having a model patient. We listened to her prattle on about the kind of person that he was.

We all knew who he was and certainly what he was. We didn't particularly care to hear a eulogy about a cannibal with dinner etiquette. Perhaps she thought his death had hurt us in some way. In places like these we developed camaraderie? Dr. Lamb finished off her labored speech by reiterating the facts, George Brooks had died of a heart attack in his bed during the night.

I'd heard that piece of information several times since the incident, and yet, I wasn't buying it. Something was off and maybe it was because I had a sinister mind and one of a cop, but something was wrong. It stunk of bullshit.

I could feel that something had changed. Word had spread that Sheriff Honeycomb had come sniffing around the day before, and had spoken to Maria, or Dr. DG as they were starting to call her.

Aileene Jennings had seen them sitting down in the lobby after their session. When he left, she wasted no time in turning the wheels at the rumor mill. But her words stayed with me. If it were just a regular death, the sheriff wouldn't be poking around. I was a homicide detective. We didn't investigate natural deaths or suicides. He had to have the same suspicions I did, but the question was why? I saw the worst in everything, so my opinion was called for. But Sheriff Honeycomb? That was an open and shut case, unless he'd seen something that was tugging at his investigative instincts.

Maybe it was the meds making me crazy, who knew at this point?

I watched Sheriff Honeycomb dawdle around tables of patients or doctors. He engaged in small talk, but seemed lost. Dr. Lamb was watching him from her table where she was sitting alone.

When the breakfast hour was over, Sheriff Honeycomb seemed to leave with it. However, he reappeared at our designated recreational hour. My suspicions were correct. Something was in fact amiss.

Macy didn't notice me getting up and crossing the room where Sheriff Honeycomb was speaking to Dr. Cannon. I stared at the bookshelf in front of me, not eyes not registering the world on the spines. My ears were too preoccupied in listening in.

Sheriff Honeycomb was speaking, discussing life at the hospital with Dr. Cannon.

"I assume she's adjusting well?" Sheriff Honeycomb asked.

Maria?

"I'd say so. She still has trouble remembering our names, so she had them embroidered in our coats." Dr. Cannon replied.

Dr. Lamb.

"Yes, she always does look at my name tag before addressing me and she's known me for 6 months. I suppose when you're running a hospital of this caliber, you hardly have a moment to remember names."

"Well, she seems good with the patients' names, but she does spend more time with them than with us." Dr. Cannon said.

"Do you remember where you were the night George Brooks died?" Sheriff Honeycomb.