The Final Bullet Page 6

  The phone on the desk beeped impatiently and Ava finally answered the call. She smiled at the familiar voice on the line.

  “Phoebe! How are you doing? I didn’t expect you to call! You’re dealing with a family crisis and everything is fine here! The last thing you should be doing is worrying about work.”

  “Tell me about it,” Phoebe muttered, “but I wanted to call and make sure you were settling in all right.”

  “Of course I am,” Ava assured her. “How’s Danielle?”

  Phoebe sighed. “My little sister is fighting us at each and every turn. By some miracle, Dad and I managed to pull off an intervention and get her into rehab, but she’s not at all happy about it. Why the hell can’t she see we’re doing this for her own good?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ava replied. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “You’re doing enough. Way past enough. After I got that call from Dad, I was running around chasing my tail. My head was in a spin. I wanted to be there for my family, but my patients needed me, too. I’m so grateful you were able to fill in for me on such short notice.”

  “It’s no problem,” Ava hurried to reassure her once again. “I’m your friend, and that’s what friends are for. Besides, your files are all in order and you’ve made comprehensive notes. I’m sure I’ll work things out.”

  “Thank goodness! How’s Janelle? Have you met her, yet?”

  “Yes. Janelle’s been very sweet and helpful. She reminds me of my grandmother. Your office is gorgeous, by the way.”

  Ava thought of her clinical rooms in the Sydney Harbour Hospital, all steel and glass and concrete. They lacked the warmth and comfort of the room where she now sat. “I officially have office envy!” she added with a laugh.

  Phoebe chuckled. “Enjoy my humble country abode. I’m sure it’s a little different from what you’re used to.”

  “Yes, but in a good way. A very good way.”

  “It sounds like you’ve had a chance to go through my files,” Phoebe added. I hope you have time to familiarize yourself with some of my clients before they arrive, especially the police officers. They need the help, but they don’t want to admit it and it creates a constant struggle. I want you to be prepared.”

  “Who refers them to you?” Ava asked, curious in light of her discussion with Lachlan.

  “The Employee Assistance Program. When an officer makes a call to the EAP, he or she will speak with a psychologist. If the officer requests a face-to-face meeting, it’s arranged. For police officers, living out in the country, finding a qualified professional is often difficult. Some of them are forced to drive hundreds of miles.”

  “The police service doesn’t go out of its way to make it easy,” Ava observed wryly.

  “No, they don’t.”

  “I was speaking with a detective yesterday at a barbeque. He told me any officer putting in a request for counseling, or indeed even admitting to any need for help, is seen as weak and will be looked upon unfavorably when it comes time for promotion. Is it really as bad as that?”

  When Phoebe replied, she sounded grim. “I’m afraid so. I wish I could say it wasn’t true, but I can’t. The cops who find the courage to meet with me are terrified their colleagues might find out. It makes for a tense therapy session.”

  Ava shook her head, bewildered. “Why would the police service jeopardize the recovery of their people? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s an inherited attitude from a different time when men didn’t cry or show their emotions. They’re meant to be tough and unmoving; able to put up with whatever trauma comes their way without thinking anything of it.”

  “They’re flesh and blood people, not machines.”

  “Ha!” Phoebe replied, her voice dripping with scorn. “Try telling that to the police hierarchy. They’ll laugh you out of town.”

  “It makes me wonder how your clients find the courage to contact you at all.”

  Phoebe sighed. “Now you see why I’ve suggested you familiarize yourself with their files. It’s bad enough that we’re expecting them to open up to a stranger. It will go a long way to making it easier, if they feel like you understand where they’re coming from.”

  “Yes, of course.” Ava hurried to reassure her, filled with sudden sadness for the officers and their stories contained in Phoebe’s files. With a surge of determination, Ava silently vowed to do all she could to ease the transition between her and the officers’ usual therapist and to do her best for them in her friend’s absence.

  After promising to stay in touch, Ava wished Phoebe all the best with her family and ended the call. She stared at the phone, recalling the anger and desperation in Lachlan’s face when they talked about the effects of his job and the need for proper counseling. She now understood his negative attitude toward therapy. She thought of the officers who had come forward and were actively engaged in counseling and shuddered, wondering at their level of desperation.

  The phone rang again, rousing her from her dark thoughts. She leaned over and picked up the handpiece. “Ava Wolfe.”

  “Doctor, it’s Janelle. I have another call for you. Line one.”

  “Thanks, Janelle.” Ava pressed the flashing button. “Ava Wolfe.”

  “Ava, it’s Lachlan. Lachlan Coleridge.”

  Ava’s heart skipped a beat. She’d recognized the deep timbre of his voice even before he identified himself. She cleared her throat of sudden nerves.

  “Lachlan, it’s nice to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

  He was silent for so long, she couldn’t help but wonder if he would answer. Her mind flew to the possible reason for his call. Was he going to apologize for his abrupt departure at the barbeque?

  “I… I need to see someone. I… I’d like to make an appointment.”

  His desperate admission, barely above a whisper, shocked her. After what he’d said the day before… Not wanting to discourage him, she hurried to collect her thoughts.

  “Of course. I assume you have approval from the EAP to attend a private physician?”

  “No, I… You’re the first person I’ve called.”

  Ava found the file Phoebe had left out containing the information and the procedure involved in accepting new police clients. She flipped it open and scanned the pages.

  “I’m glad you did,” she replied softly, relieved when she located the paragraph she was looking for. “But there’s a procedure that must be followed. You need to contact someone in the EAP first and request face-to-face visits with a therapist in your area. Your request will be processed and approval for three paid sessions should thereafter be given. Once you receive notice of that approval, you can contact me and arrange an appointment.”

  “That sounds like a lot of bullshit and I don’t want to go through the EAP. I’d rather pay for the sessions myself. Is that a problem?”

  Ava frowned and hurriedly scanned the rest of Phoebe’s procedural file. She couldn’t find anything that precluded an officer from paying for his own therapy. It just wasn’t the way things were normally done. After all, professional therapist services didn’t come cheap.

  “I-I guess that would be all right, but I need to tell you I charge four hundred dollars an hour and I require payment upfront.”

  “Fine. When can I see you? I… I really need to talk to someone.”

  His voice cracked with emotion and once again, Ava’s heart hurt at the thought of his level of desperation. The previous afternoon, he’d scoffed at her suggestion of therapy. Now he was almost begging her for help. She clicked on her computer screen and opened up Phoebe’s electronic diary.

  “I could see you this afternoon at four. Does that suit?”

  “No. I don’t finish work until six.”

  “Okay.” She moved the mouse to the next page. “What about ten tomorrow morning?”

  “No, I’m rostered on the morning shift. We work from six to six.”

  Ava cleared her throat and tried to swallow her impatience.
He wanted to see her as soon as possible, but he wasn’t making it easy. “I don’t have anything else for another two days after that.”

  “I can’t wait that long.” His voice was low and ragged. She bit her lip against his pain.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to do,” she said.

  “What about after work today? I could be there a little after six.”

  She normally finished at five. Regular office hours. She’d been looking forward to reclaiming a little work and life balance. Her hours in the city were hectic. So many needy patients and only so much time, but Lachlan had found the courage to call her. He needed her.

  “All right,” she heard herself saying. “I’ll see you then.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dear Diary,

  The darkness is encroaching, keeping me from sleep. Ha! Sleep! It’s been so long since I felt rested, I can’t remember how it feels. I stare at the walls in the darkness. They are closing in on me; squeezing, choking; suffocating the life out of me. Why hasn’t anyone noticed? Why doesn’t anyone see? I can’t go on like this…

  * * *

  Lachlan replaced the handset in the cradle and sighed. It was done. For better or worse, he was going to receive professional help. Just like Ava had suggested. Ava. His gut clenched. Could he bare his soul for someone he found so attractive, no matter how professional she was? Right now, it wasn’t just her he was unsure of…

  She’d looked just as sexy at Martin’s place as she had a month ago and more recently in his dreams. Her rosy lips, her perky breasts…

  “Who were you talking to?” Martin asked, startling him.

  Lachlan shrugged, not willing to disclose the reason for his call. “No one. It’s nothing.”

  Martin perched on the corner of Lachlan’s desk, his face creased with concern. “You’re sure? ’Cause you looked kind of angry and scared. It wasn’t Kristy, was it? She’s not threatening you, is she?”

  Lachlan shook his head. “No, Martin. Nothing like that. We’re trying to keep things civil, for the sake of the kids.”

  Martin nodded in understanding. “How’d it go with the boss? Did he—?”

  “Lachlan! Martin!” Becker shouted, tearing out of his office. “There’s been a car accident out near the Boolaroo Bridge. A young kid was behind the wheel. He had at least two passengers. You need to get out there.”

  Lachlan’s gut somersaulted at the news and the urgency on his boss’ face. It told him a helluva lot more than he needed to know.

  “Any fatalities?” he asked, grimacing against the pain in his shoulder as he tugged on his jacket.

  Becker’s expression narrowed on his. “Are you all right to attend this one?”

  Lachlan nodded brusquely. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “The dispatcher was only given sketchy details from someone passing by,” Becker replied, “but I believe at least one of the passengers is in pretty bad shape. The paramedics are already on their way.”

  Lachlan’s training kicked into gear. Grabbing his keys, he tossed them to Martin who was also getting himself prepared. “You ready?”

  Martin shot him a somber look. “Yep.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Together, they hurried down the short flight of stairs that led out back to the car park. Martin slid behind the wheel of the patrol car. With a squeal of tires, they hit the road.

  * * *

  It seemed to take forever to drive the six miles to the Boolaroo Bridge, but in reality, it was less than five minutes. With lights and siren blazing, Martin brought the 4WD patrol vehicle to a stop. The red and white of the emergency strobe lights came from two ambulances that were pulled off to one side of the road. The bright mid-morning light glinted off the wreckage of an early model Toyota sedan.

  Slamming the car door behind him, Lachlan followed Martin to the accident site. Two gurneys stood not far away. The fact that they were unoccupied caused anxiety to settle heavily in Lachlan’s gut. He searched for the paramedics and found them. Their movements were unhurried. The dread increased in his veins. There was only one reason why paramedics weren’t frantic with urgency at the scene of an accident. That didn’t bode well for the occupants of the vehicle.

  “Oh, Jesus! Oh, fuck! No! Nooo!”

  Lachlan’s heart thumped at the cries of anguish that were torn from his partner’s mouth. Martin had gone ahead of him and now stood beside what was left of the driver’s side of the car. The mangled body of a teenage boy was barely recognizable behind the wheel.

  The front of the Toyota had come into contact with a huge gum tree and had folded around the thick trunk. From the amount of damage to the vehicle, it was obvious the crash had happened at top speed.

  “Jesus! It’s Travis! Help him, Lachie! It’s Travis! My brother!”

  Martin’s howls were filled with pain and sent shards of ice through Lachlan’s heart. He gasped in horror. “Fuck, oh, fuck,” he whispered, incapable of anything else.

  “We need help over here!” Martin shouted at the paramedics, his agony reflected in his eyes. “For fuck’s sake! We need help!”

  Lachlan forced himself forward until he came up beside his friend. He didn’t need to take a closer look to know that no amount of assistance would save Martin’s brother. The console and steering wheel were caught so tightly against the boy’s chest, he was almost severed in two.

  Blood had poured from a large gash across his forehead and was now congealing in his lap. Broken shards of glass were trapped in his hair and glinted in the sunlight. Smaller cuts and abrasions marked the soft skin of his face and neck. The boy’s pale blue eyes were open, staring lifelessly up to the sky.

  Lachlan glanced through the rear window and caught sight of two more teenage boys. Their necks were twisted at odd angles. Their eyes were sightless. It was obvious both of them were also dead.

  His mind went numb. It was the only way he could deal with it. Although he wasn’t related to any of the deceased, he still knew them. Travis Griffin and two of his mates: Barney Howarth and Jayden Leech. Lachlan wondered where Thomas Downton was. The four of them could usually be found hanging out together.

  With his good hand, Lachlan tugged on Martin’s arm and tried to get him to move away. “Come on, mate. We can’t help them anymore. We’ll need to wait for the Rural Fire Service. They’ll have to cut those boys out of the car. There’s no other way to get them free.”

  Martin’s eyes blazed with fury and he pulled away from Lachlan’s hold. Ducking his head through the shattered glass of the driver’s side window, he grasped his brother’s face in his hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m not leaving my brother alone!”

  Lachlan swallowed against the tightness in his chest. Martin’s pain was palpable, but standing inches away from the battered body of his deceased brother wouldn’t help anyone. Lachlan tried again.

  “Martin, step away. You need to move away. This is a crime scene. You need to get out of the way.”

  “Fuck off and leave me alone!” Martin shouted, sobbing hard.

  “Guys, we have another body over here!”

  The shout came from one of the paramedics a few yards away. Lachlan glanced at Martin and then made his way over to where the paramedic stood. What was left of Thomas Downton lay bloody and broken on the ground. He’d been thrown out of the front passenger seat on impact. Though his face was unmarked, a stake protruded from his chest. The remnants of an old wooden fence post had brought about his untimely death.

  Bile rose in Lachlan’s stomach and he turned away and heaved. Warm jets of vomit poured out of his mouth and nose. The acrid taste burned his throat and brought hot tears to his eyes and all he could think about was how his partner would cope with what lay ahead.

  * * *

  Ava glanced at her watch and frowned. Lachlan was late. She’d stayed back especially to meet with him. Her last patient had left more than an hour ago, along with her receptionist, Janelle, and Rob, the accountant
. And there was still no sign of the chiropractor.

  She hadn’t thought to ask Lachlan for his number, so she had no way of contacting him to find out if he was on his way, but there was no reason he couldn’t have called her and told her he’d changed his mind. His rudeness irritated her. Making the decision to go home, she pushed away from her desk and went to the small cupboard on the other side of the room where she’d stowed her jacket and handbag.

  The sound of the front door banging open and a soft curse halted her progress. As far as she knew, the rest of the staff had gone home. Changing direction, she opened the door to her office and walked down the short corridor that led into the reception area.

  Lachlan was in the process of lowering himself awkwardly into one of the pine chairs that lined the waiting room. He spied her in the open doorway and slowly returned to an upright position.

  “Ava, I’m sorry. I was called out of town to an accident. I… I’m sorry I didn’t phone. I should have.”

  A reprimand died on her lips. There was something so lost and broken about him, like he’d come to the end of the line. His shoulders slumped and his eyes were dull with pain.

  “What happened?” she murmured.

  “Can we go in?” he asked, indicating the rooms that came off the corridor behind her.

  “Of course.” She waited for him to cross the reception area and then turned and headed back the way she’d come. His boots sounded loud on the polished wooden floor. She paused outside the door to her office and waved him in.

  “After you,” she said.

  He entered and stopped just inside the door, as if unsure of what to do. She indicated the chair opposite her desk. He moved toward it and sat down. “This is nice,” he murmured, looking around.

  The large, airy room that comprised Phoebe Jamison’s office was part of what had once been a majestic old house. French doors painted in glossy white opened up onto an enclosed porch where a chair and a comfortable couch were located. A fireplace, containing what looked like original decorative features, was built into one wall. It had been restored with a loving hand, as had the rest of the house.