IRENE - BLACKBIRD book 6

12. pie

"Rita Cullen?"

"Cullen? Vampire for sure. Wait, I saw a Rita somewhere."

Tanya waited while Gillian and Aldana looked for the name. They had lots of them taken from Irene's blog and social networks, each of them written on a sticky note and pinned to one of the cork sheets on the wall by the board.

"Here," said Gillian. "With the classmates."

"Oh, yes, Rita." Aldana nodded. "The mandatory know-it-all from school. Not really a friend."

Tanya checked her screen, where she had Irene's phone records from the last two years. It'd taken longer than the girl liked, but she'd finally identified every number from every call and text Irene had sent and received. So now they were matching the names with those Aldana and Gillian had found.

Gillian removed the note and crunched it up. "Out. She's of no use. Next?"

"David Dawson."

Aldana frowned. "She never mentioned any David."

"You sure?" asked Gillian.

Aldana grabbed her tablet, where she had Irene's blog in a long text document. She opened a search box and typed 'David'. No matches. Six years of journal and not one David.

Gillian took her turn to frown. "Who the hell...?" she muttered.

Tanya typed something and said, "This is not a cell phone, it's a line phone."

"Can you find us something more on this guy?" asked Gillian.

"On it."

Aldana's eyes darted over the notes, as she repeated the name under her breath. "David Dawson... David Dawson... Dave... Dave Dawson... D. Dawson..." She grabbed Gillian's arm. "DD!"

The other two turned to her and waited. Aldana flashed a triumphant smile as she yanked a note and handed it to Gillian.

"DD!" she repeated. "Irene called her shrink Doctor Deedee or just DD!"

Gillian's lips shaped a perfect, 'oh...', looking down at the note and up at Aldana again. Tanya typed in Warp 5.

"We got'im!" cried the girl a moment later. "David Dawson, fifty-eight, psychiatrist This number is his private practice."

Gillian gave the note back to Aldana. "Pin it with Irene's mother. Scumbags belong together." The bell rang and a bright grin lit up her face. "And here's dinner," she said, hurrying to the front door.

"Yeah, sure that's why you smile like that," said Aldana.

Gillian came back with a steamy plate covered with a kitchen cloth. "Look, gals! Homemade shepherd's pie!"

Brock followed and nodded at them with a quick smile. "It's Mrs. Coleman's recipe," he said. "Not as good, I'm afraid. But I thought you could use a break from takeout."

Gillian took the plate straight to the microwave. Mostly to hide that her grin kept growing stupid at the idea of Brock cooking for her.

While 'the men' were in Burlington, hating Brock's guts to no end for sending them away, he dropped by Gillian's place every evening. He was aware the three women were workaholics to insane levels, and would never take a break for something as trivial as eating. So he brought them dinner, which they had while updating him on the case.

They'd taken three days only to gather what they considered the basic information they needed to get started. That night, Tanya was proud to announce to him that they'd just identified Irene's therapist.

"The problem is that if he failed to report the abuse, he won't feel like talking about Irene," said Aldana.

"And doctor-patient confidentiality can only be broken with a court order," said Brock. "Even after the patient's death."

Gillian brought dishes and glasses to the bar, for Aldana to lay the table. "Then we need some dirt on him. Something that would make'im 'feel like' giving us access to Irene's records."

"Something worse than not reporting an abused minor for six years?" Aldana huffed. "Good luck with that."

"Let me check his finances," said Tanya. "Maybe I can find something shady."

"And also who paid for Irene's therapy," said Brock. "Whoever did it can be charged as accessory to the abuse." He looked at Gillian. "Any news from the lab?"

She was becoming the ultimate expert in hiding her stupid grin at the speed of light. And she proved it once more, because Brock helping Aldana to lay the table was just too frigging cute. Her self-preservation instinct was gagged and locked up under seven keys, so it couldn't argue against all the images that such a domestic moment suggested—come straight from her dreams about her happy life with Brock.

So she shook her head and replied, "Not yet. On Monday."

"And then we'll know if the abuser was blood-related to Irene," said Aldana.

Gillian took the pie from the microwave to the table as the other two sat down. Aldana chided Tanya to leave her computer for a while. The girl complained until she saw Brock arch his eyebrows. That made her give up and remove the computer to the modular. Aren't we such a perfect family, Gillian thought as she sat at the head of the table, with Brock at her right.

A moment later she tried the shepherd's pie and forgot about any irony to join the choir of praises. Brock's pie tasted even better than Mrs. Coleman's.