What She Found

The interrogation room had chipped paint on the walls, and Ryan seemed to be counting the cracks in the pieces, Reese noticed.

"I didn't do anything!" Ryan snapped, as he turned his gaze forward. "I would never hurt Hayden, and especially not Dr. Copeland."

That was interesting.

"And why not?" Reese asked.

"He helps people. He's helped me so much. He's the best."

"And Hayden?"

"Hayden is wonderful."

Reese nodded, and grabbed the notepad in front of him, and wrote: Dowd may be guilty. Need to investigate his life further.

"Why were you seeing Dr. Copeland, Ryan?"

The man's expression changed, then. It became hard, angry, his eyes narrowed. "That's none of your business. I'm bound by doctor-patient confidentiality."

Reese sighed. "Ryan, that only applies to the doctor, and Copeland hasn't disclosed anything about your illness."

"I don't have an illness," Ryan snarled, rising from his seat. "I don't appreciate the insinuation you're making, Detective. Can I leave now?"

"I still need to ask you some questions."

Ryan's eyes flickered to the camera on the ceiling, and his eyes widened. "You're recording this, aren't you? Who are you going to show this conversation to?"

Now he understood. Ryan had a paranoid personality disorder.

"No one," said Reese. "You have my word, Mr. Dowd. Now, please sit back down so we can continue speaking."

"No."

Ryan didn't sit, but instead, he pushed the table hard. The metal hit Reese in the stomach, and the air left his lungs. He gasped, bent over, and when he lifted his head, Ryan was gone.

"Fuck," he wheezed.