The Tarot Killer by Mary Bracht

Author:Mary Bracht
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, mystery, Roman numerals, Tarot Cards, London, New York, Mental Institution, Psychotherapy, Tattoo needle, Knife, old fashioned German gun, Mary Bracht, Eternal Press
Publisher: Eternal Press
Published: 2012-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Ghafoor’s office was on the same floor as the psychiatric ward he oversaw. We passed by Nurse Everton’s desk but she wasn’t there. Her friendly smile would have eased my nerves a bit and I wished I could have waited for her to return before heading to Ghafoor’s office. Diaz sensed my hesitation but I didn’t want to explain. We carried on down the hallway, past the patient dormitories to the office at the end of the hall.

Inside the room, Ghafoor sat on a high-backed leather chair with its steel legs tucked underneath a glass-topped desk. He didn’t look up from his paperwork when we entered.

“Hi, Doctor Ghafoor. I’m sorry to bother you but do you mind if we speak to you?”

“I’m quite busy, Skye. Must it be this very moment,” he asked. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow or make an appointment for later in the week.” His eyes were glued to his papers as he scribbled something and turned the page.

I let it go. At this point, his childish vie for superiority meant nothing to me. “Yes. This is important. Have you seen the news?”

“No, I haven’t,” he breathed, clearly annoyed. He pushed back from his desk as he continued, “I don’t watch television while I’m on the…” he lost his words when he looked up at me and noticed my battered face and bandaged arms. “What on Earth happened to you? You look like you’ve been in a car accident.”

“Must we do this, now?” Diaz whispered into my ear. He looked back at Ghafoor with blatant dislike.

“Yes, we do. It’s important,” I answered Diaz. Turning back to Ghafoor, I explained, “This is Detective Diaz from the New York Police Department. He’s working with the Metropolitan Police on a murder case.” Ghafoor’s eyes were bulging out of his head. I breathed in deeply and continued, “Look, a serial killer attacked me last night and my friend was murdered. He killed her. Unfortunately, your patients, current and former, are in danger.”

“I don’t understand,” Ghafoor said, his eyes squinting in slits of mistrust.

“A serial killer was stalking me in New York. He murdered three of my patients. He followed me here to London. Last night, he came to kill me but his plan was disrupted and to make a long and very unpleasant story short, he’s murdering anyone who has anything to do with me. So,” I paused, overcome with emotions. “My old patients from this ward are at risk...and possibly you, too.”

Ghafoor paused, seeming to take it all in. I hoped that in his mental deliberations, he would put our petty dislike of one another aside. “Exactly why did you visit my ward, yesterday?” Ghafoor finally asked. His tone revealed that my hope was misplaced.

“I’m trying to figure out who this guy is. The police think it could be someone from my past.”

His eyes squinted into slits. “What were in those bags? Not your shopping.”

“I called in a favor. That’s all.”

“Doctor Prentice, I presume?” Ghafoor said with distaste.

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