The Oedipus Murders

by Casey Dorman

  George got out of his car and headed for the restaurant. He needed a drink. Maybe that would clear his head. He stepped inside the restaurant. It was Asian. Because of the hour, there were only a dozen or so customers in the restaurant and no one sitting at the bar. George headed straight for the bar.

  “Gin and tonic, double” George said.

  The handsome Eurasian waiter smiled at him. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

  His words caught George off guard. He had no recollection of visiting the restaurant before. He stared at the waiter, probing his mind for some shred of memory, but nothing surfaced.

  “When was I here before?” George asked when the waiter brought him his drink.

  The man shrugged. “A few weeks or so, I guess. I remember the double gin… and the beard.”

  Maybe the man was mistaken. George couldn’t believe that his mind played such tricks on him. The last memory he had, other than the vague dreamlike visions of the Collie dog, was of sitting home, staring at his wife’s empty chair and drinking his fourth gin and tonic. He looked down at his drink in front of him on the satiny wooden bar. He’d only taken a sip so far. How could he have forgotten that he’d already had four drinks that night? And this one was a double.

  The barman was at the other end of the bar, fiddling with the glasses. George took a twenty from his wallet and left it on the counter. Leaving the rest of his drink unfinished, he walked quickly to the door and out into the night. Behind the wheel of his Lexus, he thought for a moment. He must have driven PCH to get to where he was now, despite his inebriated condition. His house was only ten minutes away with almost no traffic, but there was no other route than the highway. He put the car in gear and headed out of the parking lot onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

  Chapter 8

  “You needn’t lie down on the couch if you’re more comfortable in a chair,” George said as Lucas Bonaventure straightened the creases on the legs of his pants. He was lying on the analyst’s couch in his shirt and tie, gazing at the ceiling. His coat was neatly folded on the seat of one of the chairs.

  “I thought this was how it was done.”

  “It’s up to you. I don’t require you to lie down, but if it doesn’t bother you, I find that it helps to free up a person’s mind if he’s not staring his doctor in the face.” In fact, George felt that his position above and behind his client gave his clinical observations an additional air of authority they might not have had if he’d had to look the client directly in the face. Given Lucas Bonaventure’s tendency to challenge him, George was relieved that Lucas had accepted the couch.

  “I have no problem looking you in the face, doctor. But I want to do whatever is most helpful. This is fine, here.” Despite his protestations, he continued to squirm to find a comfortable position, each time re-straightening the creases in his trousers.

  “What kind of thoughts have you had about our first visit?” George asked.

  “I don’t think my wife has anything to do with this.”

  “With what?”

  “With why I’m here.”

  “Your wife is missing.”

  “Of course. But that’s not something I can do anything about by talking to you, is it? I can help Sherry if I know what’s wrong with her.”

  “Does it bother you to talk about your wife?”

  He started to sit up again, then lay back down. “Why should it bother me? I have nothing to hide.”

  “Why indeed?” George said. “So tell me about her.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever is important. What she was like.” He noticed that he referred to the man’s wife in the past tense. Why was he already thinking of her as dead?

  Bonaventure heaved a loud sigh, as if it were a burden to acquiesce to George’s request. “Regina comes across as gracious, even shy, wouldn’t hurt a fly or step out of line even a bit. But that’s not really her. She’s used to being spoiled. Her father is a rich oilman with offshore rigs near Santa Barbara. He raised her like a princess. Once we got married, she expected me to give her everything her father gave her when she was growing up. When she didn’t get what she wanted, she complained, always comparing me to her father. I’m successful, but I’m not filthy rich like he is. She was never really satisfied with me.”

  “You’re feeling a lot of anger toward her.”

  “No. I’m just telling you what she’s like. You asked.”

  “What made you want to marry her?”

  He heaved another loud sigh. “Like I said, she seemed shy, not too assertive, always wanted to please me. That’s what I was looking for.”

  “So you were looking for a docile woman?”

  George could see from his vantage point that Lucas was frowning as he stared up at the ceiling. “I was looking for someone who wasn’t like my mother. I had a very domineering mother. She turned my father into a wimp. I wasn’t going to let any woman do that to me. Regina kept that side of herself hidden until after we were married.”

  George was surprised by Lucas’ insight. It was at odds with his usual opacity with regard to his motivation. “But she ended up reminding you of your mother?”

  “I heard this would happen, that you shrinks would want to blame everything on the mother.” His hands, at his sides, were clenched.

  “I thought I was asking about your wife.”

  “Wife, mother, it’s the same thing. Neither of them was ever happy with me.”

  “They both treated you the same way?”

  “Sure they did. The same way my mother treated my dad. Even playing around on him.”

  “Your mother played around on your father?”

  “He thought so. I heard them arguing about it all the time. And she had men over when I was a kid. I remember that. She made me stay in my room whenever some guy came to visit.” He was opening and closing his fists.

  “You must have been angry at her.”

  “I hated her for that. She drove my father out of the house.”

  “Your father left?”

  “When I was ten. She kept everything. He just took off. Never heard from him again.”

  “So your mother raised you after that?”

  “If you can call it raising me. She was out all the time. The only thing she ever did with me was tell me that I was a failure. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough for her.” The hatred in his tone was palpable. His fists remained clenched at his sides.

  “Is your mother still alive?”

  “No. She died about ten years ago, drank herself to death. Well, not really. She drove off the road one night while she was drunk. She drank a lot as she got older.”

  “Do you still think about her?”

  “Not really. Not unless my wife does something that reminds me of her.” He turned his head to look over his shoulder at George. “Can we stop this about my wife and mother? I’m more worried about Sherry.”

  “You can talk about whatever is on your mind.”

  Lucas sat up for a moment, as if it took some effort to refocus his thoughts. He turned to face George, his legs hanging over the edge of the couch. “I tried to talk to Sherry’s mother.” The anger was gone from his voice.

  “Her mother?”

  “I wanted to find out if there was something in her history that would lead her to be the way she is, something her mother could tell me about.”

  “What did her mother say?”

  “Said there was nothing wrong with her daughter. She was nice about it. She was worried when I told her that her daughter might be in danger.”

  �
�You told her that Sherry was in danger?”

  “Sure. I needed to impress on her how serious this was. Her mother finally admitted that her daughter was naïve. She was glad that I was looking out for her. She offered to meet with me.”

  “The mother offered to meet with you?”

  “Um hum. We didn’t set anything up. I’m afraid of making Sherry mad if she finds out.”

  “So you’re still looking for an explanation of Sherry’s behavior.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I need to find out how to help her so nothing bad happens.”

  “But I told you that I can’t help you understand her. I’ve never met her.”

  “I could set something up.” Lucas was still sitting on the edge of the couch. He stared at George, waiting for his response.

  George was bothered that Lucas’ suggestion aroused his interest. “That isn’t how I work. She’s not my client.” It reassured him to cite the rules of therapy.

  “What if I tell her that I’m getting help so I’ll stop bothering her and my doctor wanted to meet her to find out who I was talking about. That would be true wouldn’t it?”

  Such a meeting violated all the tenets of therapy. George felt guilty and stimulated by the prospect at the same time. “Let me think about it. In the meantime, we’d better stop for today. Can you come back in another couple of days?”

  Lucas smiled, as if he were satisfied with his therapist’s answer. “Sure, depending on the time.”

  “I’ll let you work that out with Mrs. Schrempf, my secretary. She will arrange the appointment.”

  Lucas got up and put his coat on. “This is interesting doc. I’m not sure whether it is going to help, but it is interesting.”

  He walked his client to the door. “Mrs. Schrempf will set up your next appointment.”

  Chapter 9

  “I can’t believe you talked to him. I told you that the man was harassing me at work. Why didn’t you just hang up on him?” Sherry Bennett was frustrated. Why did her mother do things like this? She scanned the parking garage as she exited the elevator. She didn’t want anyone overhearing her conversation. She would have texted, but her mother refused to use her phone for anything but talking.

  “He’s your boss, honey, I couldn’t hang up on him.”

  “He’s not my boss for long. The man is acting weird and if I had another job to go to, I’d be out of here. He’s creepy, mom. He keeps telling me that he’s worried about me, but then he tells me that I’m acting like a whore. He wants me to wear long skirts and stop talking to any of the men in the office. He scares me.”

  “Maybe he’s concerned. I’ve told you that your skirts are too short, remember? You have to be careful or men will think you’re advertising that you’re easy.” Her mother’s voice had taken on the lecture quality that usually made Sherry stop listening.

  “C’mon mom. I don’t dress like a whore and it’s none of his business how I dress anyway. Nobody’s ever tried to bother me except Mr. Bonaventure. You’re just siding with him because you don’t want me to lose my job.”

  “Of course I don’t. I think you’re overreacting to a boss who cares very much for you.”

  “I don’t want him to care for me. Besides, his wife is missing. That’s really creepy. He should be out looking for her, not stalking me.” She had been so absorbed in the conversation that she’d forgotten where she was going. She stopped and looked around for her car, feeling disoriented. “I have to hang up mom. I’m paying so much attention to talking to you that I can’t even find my car.”

  She closed her phone and tried to jog her memory. She didn’t warrant her own parking space, as the executives in Bonaventure Enterprises did, so she had to take whatever space she could find in the parking structure that served the employees of the more than thirty firms occupying the building. She’d been upset when she’d arrived for work and she hadn’t paid attention to where she had parked.

  At least there weren’t many cars left in the garage. She had stayed late talking to Gary Olson, one of the computer techs whom she knew was interested in her and who was always nice to her, even if she didn’t reciprocate his amorous feelings. Then her mother had called and she’d talked to her until she was almost the last one in the office other than Mr. Bonaventure himself. She’d begun to worry that she’d have to talk to him if she didn’t leave, so she continued talking to her mother but left the building.

  She saw a van she thought she’d parked next to in the morning. Probably her car was behind it. Behind her she heard footsteps, hurrying across the floor. She froze, then stole a glance over her shoulder. She thought she saw someone moving behind a car off to her left, but no one emerged from the other side of the car. She quickened her pace, her anxiety beginning to turn to panic. Then the sound was there again, this time as if someone were running. She stopped and stared, but could see nothing. She thought about screaming, hoping someone would hear her.

  “Sherry!”

  She whirled around. Gary Olson was trotting across the parking garage floor. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

  She felt a surge of relief. “Sure, I was feeling a little nervous with the garage being almost empty. I didn’t realize you were still in the office when I left.”

  “Trying to impress the boss, I guess. But when I knocked on his door to tell him goodnight, it turned out he’d already left. I didn’t even see him go.”

  She immediately tensed. “He’d already left?”

  He had reached her side. He shrugged. “I guess so. Can’t have been too long ago, though. I saw his car is still in its space, so he must still be in the building.”

  “Really?” She glanced over at the van behind which she thought her car was parked. She thought she saw someone move behind the van. “I’m glad you’re here, Gary. I think my car’s behind that van over there, but I’m not absolutely sure. Walk with me over there will you?”

  “No problem. You know I like to walk with you, Sherry… and talk to you.” He looked at her with an adoring expression.

  He reminded her of a boy in junior high who’d followed her around like a faithful dog. “Me too, Gary.” At least she wasn’t alone, she thought.

  She’d been right. The back of her car was coming into view. “That’s it!” she cried, surprised at how relieved she felt. She reached the car and unlocked the door, checking in the back seat, just to make sure that no one was there. “You’re a sweetie, Gary. I’ll bring you coffee in the morning to repay you.”

  “How about a drink tonight instead?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Maybe some other time. I’m too tired right now. Thanks again for being my protector.”

  “Hey look,” Gary said, gazing over her shoulder. A long black Mercedes was slowly exiting the parking garage. “There goes Bonaventure now. I guess he was still in the building.”

  Or lurking in the parking garage, she thought. Now she was sure that she was going to find another job.

  Chapter 10

  George wasn’t surprised at how pleased he was when Susan Lin called to ask if they could meet, but he was surprised that she had called him. She promised not to probe for information about Lucas Bonaventure. She said she wanted to talk about professional matters.

  “Then if it’s not about one of my clients, let’s make it more social. How about if I meet you for lunch? My treat.” What was he doing, inviting a young woman for lunch? He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind.

  “We’ll go Dutch, but lunch sounds good. I mostly want to learn about your approach to therapy anyway. And share some ideas. How about the Yard House?”

  The Yard House was a gastropub, part of a chain, which adver
tised the largest selection of draft beer in the United States. He’d only been there once. His wife refused to enter the establishment. She never drank beer herself and frowned on those who did, labeling them “trailer park refugees who wear baseball caps indoors.” “Perfect,” he answered. “The ideal woman; one who likes beer.” He was aware that he was making it sound like a first date. He immediately felt foolish for having said it, although the thought of a date with the attractive young woman excited him.

  “See you at one,” she said.

  — — —

  He walked to the restaurant and arrived fifteen minutes early, which gave him time to secure a table amidst the heavy lunch crowd, a table from which he could see the entrance and spot the young doctor when she came in. She arrived ten minutes after he did. He garnered her attention with a wave of his hand.

  “Beer?” he asked. “It’s their specialty.”

  “A Heineken,” she said, smiling and sliding into the booth across the table from him.

  He’d already ordered himself a strong Belgian beer, which the restaurant served in a goblet. He hoped she’d ask him about it. He’d looked up the beer’s provenance on his iPhone, and he had an urge to show off, which made him self-conscious when he realized what he was doing. “Do you eat here often?” he asked, pushing his insecurities out of his mind.

  “A few times. A lot of the police like the place.”

  “Then I had better watch myself,” he joked.

  “This is really a social visit, or a professional one, but not really police business.” She had settled into her seat, and her smile remained, but her eyes looked serious. “I’m very interested in someone who practices psychoanalysis in this day and age. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but I’d thought that almost no one was an analyst anymore, especially not someone young, like yourself.”