Strong felt his body heat rising, a flop sweat coming on. Would that be right? he wondered. Am I feeling it already? Maybe he’s lying. No one would…
But he’d heard mob clients and gangsters admit to far worse. He reached into his pocket and whipped out his phone.
“Won’t do you any good, mate. Best response average here is about seven minutes. Even if you’re that lucky, you’ll be dead before they have you in the ambulance. Or…”
Strong put the phone away. “Or…?”
Van Kamp took the second small vial out of his pocket and placed it on the arm of the sofa. “Or you give me the information I want and I’ll give you this vial. You do want an antidote, I take it? You’re not feeling like dying today, eh?”
“No.” The color had drained from his face. He felt numb.
“My information is that you processed a payment from a Bob MacMillan less than a week ago. He, like me, was careful enough to pay with cash. But your assistant printed a receipt for him using your accounting service software, and it used his name and given address. That address, I was not surprised to discover, is false, and led me to the Bally Casino, which was fun but unproductive. Now… you may start feeling some tightness in your chest right about now.”
Strong took a sharp breath in through his nose. Is that…? He felt a slight congestion. “I… can’t give out a patient’s information…”
“Oh… that’s all right. Just give me his file.”
“I… I’d have to print off my notes…”
“Then I’d get moving. You have…” He checked his watch, “… seven minutes now. So not even enough time for the ambulance to get here.”
Strong got up and took two paces to his desk. He hit a line on the phone. “Jenny, please print off my patient report for Robert MacMillan and bring it in as soon as possible. Now! Please. Time waits for no man.”
“Yes, sir. Do you need anything else?” she replied.
Van Kamp shook his head gently but said nothing.
“No, that’s it.”
Strong hoped the police would get there quickly. “Time waits for no man” was their panic code, a sign she needed to get help for an out-of-control client. “Do you need anything else” was her confirmation she understood.
“She better get a move on,” Van Kamp said. “If this doesn’t work, you see, I’ll have to work on her. And that will be much more unpleasant.”
“Why are you doing this?” Strong asked, though he realized it was probably a pointless question. Whether Van Kamp had clear purpose or was just psychopathic, the situation wasn’t going to change.
The South African shrugged. “It’s my job. You heal people, I kill them. Not complicated.”
“And you want to kill Bob MacMillan? Why?”
“You know who he is. You treated him.”
“Briefly.”
“Why briefly?”
Strong felt uncomfortable. He’d been a psychiatrist for more than two decades and patient privacy was sacrosanct to him. “I can’t talk about my clients…”
Van Kamp rolled his eyes. “Believe me, mate, he’s not half as worried about you as you are him. Go on, spill your guts.”
“Really, I can’t…”
Van Kamp sighed loudly, exasperated. He reached into his coat pocket and took out his Sig Sauer ACP 45 pistol. He laid it on his lap. “We can really speed this up if you’re going to be difficult.”
“He didn’t want to accept that he has PTSD and possibly ADHD,” Strong said, almost too quickly. “He said he had to think about what that meant, and his life and where it’s going. He wanted a second opinion.”
Van Kamp’s expression shifted visibly at that, from a sort of tired, blank stare to annoyed. “Bloody coward,” he spat. “I can’t believe this guy…”
Asking ‘why’ came naturally to Strong. “Because…”
“Because he was the best, or at least by reputation one of them.”
“The best…”
“At killing people. Did he convince you somehow that he wasn’t a killer, Doc? Because anyone in the trade prior to ten years ago knows how wrong you’d be about that. He’s a bloody legend; or, depending on which country you’re from, a nightmare.”
“He told me about his past… working for people he no longer trusted. Hurting people he didn’t want to hurt.” Where was that report!? Hurry up, you silly girl!
Van Kamp rolled his eyes, mortified. “You must be joking! He’s developed a conscience!?” He shook his head. “Revolting! A man of his expertise and he hates who he is? What a bloody cliché!”
Strong’s tongue had begun to feel slightly fat. He wasn’t lying. He’s dosed me with something. “That antidote…”
Van Kamp held up the vial and shook it a little. “The vial’s almost full. Plenty to go around… if your assistant isn’t doing something stupid, like calling the police. I’ll be gone before they get here, but she’ll be as dead as you.”
A surge of panic struck the psychiatrist again. “I see.”
The door opened and his assistant entered. She had a paper file in one hand and a worried expression. “Thank you, Jenny. That… other call you were going to make for me… We need to cancel that.”
“You mean…”
