Split Second

Lucy lowered her head and cried.

She felt arms go around her, and turned to lean into them. She pressed her face against a warm, soft neck and breathed in a floral scent. It was Sherlock. How long had she been here?

Sherlock whispered against her hair, “It will be all right, Lucy. We’ll all figure this out. You’re not alone with this any longer.”

CHAPTER 26

Georgetown

Monday morning

Lucy was eating Cheerios along with Sean, both of their bowls heaped high with cereal and sliced bananas. She was hungry, and that surprised her a bit. She’d also slept pretty well the night before in Sherlock and Savich’s very nice guest bedroom just down the hall from Sean’s room. She’d heard him talking in his sleep a couple of times during the night, since she’d left her door open, something about King Neffer not playing fair. She was very grateful to them for bringing her home with them last night.

Savich said, “We need to leave soon for Quantico, Lucy, to see Dr. Hicks.”

“I called Coop, asked him to meet us at Quantico. I’d really like him there, too, Dillon. Oh, dear, I forgot to call Uncle Alan. I’ll be ready in—” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me. Oh, it’s Uncle Alan. Hello. I was going to call you.”

Savich listened as he helped Sean wash his hands, and so did Sherlock as she put clean dishes back into the cabinets. Neither missed the devastation in the rise and fall of Alan Silverman’s voice. Lucy’s face was white and set.

Several minutes later, Lucy clicked off her cell. She patted Sean’s clean hand as she said, “Uncle Alan said Detective Horne came by earlier, told them what had happened. He is understandably shocked and disbelieving. I suppose I would be, too, if I hadn’t—well, he and Aunt Jennifer are very worried about me, want me to stay with them. I told them no, I can’t. Then Uncle Alan told me he didn’t think we should have a memorial, that if we did, everything would come out and my grandmother’s name would become infamous. He wants to bury grandfather’s remains privately. I suppose I agree. What good would it do to give the tabloids this kind of sick story?”

CHAPTER 27

An hour later, Coop, Savich, and Lucy walked into Dr. Emanuel Hicks’s office in the Jefferson Dormitory at Quantico.

Dr. Emanuel Hicks, one of the FBI’s top psychiatrists, was skinny as a knife blade, a problem for him only because he was known for impersonating Elvis, and a skinny Elvis was hard to pull off. He took Lucy’s hand, looked her in the eyes, and said, “Lucy, I know it took courage for you to agree to come to see me, to let me help you try to go back and remember what you were so frightened of in that attic. I agree with Savich that something might have triggered actual fears from your childhood, memories that have been buried deep in your mind. Now, you were five years old?”

“Almost six. Dr. Hicks, I’ve been thinking about it, and now I simply can’t imagine forgetting anything that important. I’m thinking those feelings weren’t real.”

Dr. Hicks said easily, “People do find that hard to believe; they want to dismiss feelings that suddenly surface, but I’ve seen it. Lucy, even before you opened that lid, you must have known, deep down, that something terrible was in that trunk. Do you prefer to think you simply manufactured the little girl—namely, yourself—to help you deal with what you were feeling, to explain your own fears?”

Lucy leaned toward him, hope in her voice. “Doesn’t that make sense?”

No, not at all. Dr. Hicks said, patting her hand, “That’s what we’re here to find out, all right? Are you sure you want to go back, Lucy?”

“No, I’d rather not be frightened like that again, but I know it may be the only way to find out what really happened. So, I’m ready when you are, Dr. Hicks. I’ve never been hypnotized before. What if I don’t go under?”

Dr. Hicks said, “I think you’ll go under like a dream, Lucy. You’re very intuitive. Isn’t that what you told me, Savich?” At Savich’s nod, he continued. “That always makes it easier.”

Savich said, “Perhaps more than intuitive.”

“Oh, no, surely not,” Lucy said.

Coop was standing very quietly by the single window. “I remember that time in Kansas City when you just sat back and said you’d bet your knickers the old guy next door was the killer we were looking for. You said it was by looking at him, something in his eyes. Of course, it turned out it was that old man. Yes, I’d say you’re more than intuitive, Lucy.”