Vanished

3

– 3 –

A day had passed with only a few return calls received from colleagues. No local psychologist reported any blackmail threats. Everyone urged her to notify her malpractice insurance company.

She carefully edited and posted an e-mail message on the psychology listserv:

Subject: Blackmail

Message: If you or a colleague experienced a blackmail threat from someone falsely claiming to be your patient, discussing this experience and results can be helpful and supportive. Let’s share ideas for successful outcome.

She included her private email and phone numbers.

At the end of the day, five psychologists responded affirmatively to her private email address. A different company from Cory’s insured three. All five had experienced the same scenario several years ago. None had paid blackmail and none were summoned to court. All were given excellent legal counseling from their malpractice insurance companies.

Relieved, she called her professional insurance agency, and was treated to quick and efficient service—a promise that an attorney would call her within the day. It was only mid-day on the east coast where the legal section was based. She gave her mobile phone number to the insurance agency.

Cory could prove the bogus patient had set her up by making and breaking an appointment two years ago.

She had an additional option. She could attempt to gather evidence from the five psychologists who prevailed in a similar situation. It seemed likely the litigant could have been the same bogus patient. She realized the difficulty in making this happen. Few would be willing to open old wounds and the blackmailer may have used different identities. Still, if necessary, it could be worth pursuing.

Cory habitually responded to injustices with appropriate measures, often to her satisfaction. Her first psychoanalyst, a rigid, pompous person, called her “an injustice collector.” He noted she was always on the lookout for causes to join, and diagnosed it a sign of neurotic behavior. Cory regarded that aspect of her personality as one that defined her in a positive way. She chose not to change it. Instead, she changed her analyst. She had to provide a suitable reason to her supervisor for the change. She figured “a conflict of values” would suffice. And it did.

An hour later, Robert McGill, attorney for the insurance trust phoned her. She explained the situation, providing the facts.

“Doctor Cohen, please don’t worry,” McGill said in a strong, soothing, reassuring voice—the voice of someone experienced in commanding difficult situations. “We have two excellent attorneys in the San Diego area at your disposal. They will meet with you at your office tomorrow at your convenience. Let’s set a time.”

“The earlier, the better. Will nine work for them?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m sure that will be fine. You’re the client, Doctor Cohen. We are here to serve you. From what you described, it is doubtful the case will be brought to court.”

“That is reassuring, Mister McGill.”

“However, if you were summoned to court, rest assured, your attorney would appear in your defense.”

“Mister McGill, if I can prove the same person had attempted such a hoax before, what would the authorities do with a national blackmail scheme on their hands?”

“That is not our concern. I cannot advise you on that. It is the province of the assorted authorities.”

“Thank you and goodbye for now,” Cory muttered,

She hoped the culprit would soon be delivered, charged, and sent to prison. Carole Roy had probably caused her attempted blackmail victims sleepless nights and trying days.

Cory knew how that felt. She had experienced such a condition recently during Ben’s unexpected long absence.

She never questioned her competence and her ability to get along well without a mate, yet she had begun to feel incomplete without Ben. She missed his comforting and enjoyable company. Their relationship had grown stronger since they began working together on his investigations, most recently in the U.K. where he had connections.

She had proved to be a clever, strong, and assertive partner and Ben had welcomed those attributes. Although they were independent, strong-willed people, they rarely butt heads. They loved the excitement, joy, and comfort of working and living together after many years of independence.

Cory was content with her current lifestyle—her offspring launched, managing mostly on their own, and Ben making no demands on her time. She had the freedom to choose her work and play schedules, but there were times when she yearned for the comfort of Ben’s presence. Lately, those times came at a greater frequency.

Ben was investigating a private matter in the U.K. and hadn’t called in over ten days. This was uncharacteristic of him and it worried her.

She grabbed her mobile phone and keyed in his long international number, eager to hear his soothing baritone voice, but he was unavailable.

Frustrated, and deeply concerned, she sent him a text requesting a call.

To relieve her tension, she changed into running clothes and jogged toward the beach for a long run. Ashley’s house was on a quiet street near shops and the beach, and a short detour from her usual path. Many of the houses were vacation rentals. A few were rented for the entire racing season.

In order to read the house numbers, Cory slowed her pace to a walk. She located Ashley’s quaint cottage surrounded by a surprisingly unkempt garden—as though careless movers had dragged the contents of the house across the garden, tearing up plants in the process.

She was surprised to see a printed sign posted on the gate:

PRIVATE SALE BY OWNER. NO BROKERS.

IF INTERESTED, LEAVE YOUR NAME

AND PHONE # UNDER THE FRONT DOOR.

Ashley hadn’t mentioned the sign. Either she hadn’t noticed it, or it was just posted.

Cory resisted the temptation to slide her card under the door. Her professional ethics would deem it unprofessional to play sleuth on behalf of a patient, no matter how well-intended.

And it was possible that tomorrow Ashley’s memory would return and Cory’s snooping would have been unnecessary.

She ran for forty minutes and returned to the office. After making a few notes, she tossed her planner and office clothes into her sport-bag and locked up.

With Ashley’s amnesia upfront in her thoughts, she walked home eager to take a soothing shower.

Suddenly, she recalled the terrifying shower scene in Psycho. Long after the film had been released, many women still reported a fear of showering at home alone. Cory wasn’t easily frightened, but she imagined how difficult it could be for someone who feels vulnerable—like Ashley. Cory couldn’t get the young woman’s plight out of her mind.

After a quick shower, she wrapped herself in her warm and cozy terry robe. Seated at her laptop, she Googled Ashley Hogan’s name and located eighteen in California. Most had photos. None bore even a slight resemblance to her new patient. If Ashley were a professional artist, she would probably have a website. Either she was an amateur or used an alias for her work. Or perhaps her talent had not yet been discovered.

Soon it was bedtime and she still hadn’t heard from Ben.