THE THIRD VICTIM
The funeral was small.
Maya stood in the back of the chapel, pretending to be a mourner, watching the faces of the people who had come to say goodbye to Clara Bennett.
There weren’t many.
The sister from Hartford, red-eyed and clutching a tissue. A few coworkers from the call center, uncomfortable in their funeral clothes. An elderly neighbor who had brought a casserole.
And Dr. Elias Vance.
Maya recognized him immediately. He was hard to miss—tall, silver-haired, handsome in a way that felt practiced. He sat in the second row, his hands folded in his lap, his face arranged in an expression of gentle sorrow.
She had seen that face before. On television. In the newspaper. At the funerals of the other two victims.
Because Dr. Vance had attended them too.
Maya pulled out her phone. She searched for “Dr. Elias Vance Sarah Chen.” A news article appeared. “Local Therapist Offers Grief Support After Bridge Suicide.”
She searched for “Dr. Elias Vance Elena Vasquez.” Another article. “Therapist Speaks on Mental Health Crisis Following Third Bridge Death.”
Third. That was before Clara. The reporter had counted Elena as the third. But Elena was the second. Sarah was the first.
Maya’s hands tightened on her phone.
Dr. Vance had been at both funerals. Had spoken at both. Had positioned himself as a community healer, a grief counselor, a voice of reason in a time of tragedy.
He was also, she discovered, the last therapist both women had seen before they died.
She found the connection in the case files her source sent her that afternoon. Buried in the notes, easy to miss if you weren’t looking.
Sarah Chen — patient of Dr. Elias Vance (8 sessions, last visit 3 days before death).
Elena Vasquez — patient of Dr. Elias Vance (12 sessions, last visit 5 days before death).
Clara Bennett — patient of Dr. Elias Vance (6 sessions, last visit 2 days before death).
Maya sat back in her chair.
Three women. One therapist.
She picked up her phone.
“Hey. Can you pull Dr. Elias Vance’s patient list? All of it.”
The voice on the other end laughed. “Maya, that’s a HIPAA violation. I could go to prison.”
“Then don’t get caught.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait. Just tell me one thing. Clara Bennett. She was seeing Vance. Who referred her?”
A pause.
“I can’t—”
“Off the record. Off everything. Just tell me.”
Another pause.
“Her primary care physician. A Dr. Marcus Webb. Same doctor who referred Sarah Chen and Elena Vasquez.”
The line went dead.
Maya sat in the dark.
Three women. One therapist. One referring doctor.
She had the beginning of a thread.
Now she needed to pull.