by Nora Roberts
Tess looked around her pastel office with its carefully selected antiques and watercolors. Hers, she thought. Every bit of it. And she glanced at the tall, oak file cabinet, circa 1920. It was loaded with case files. Those were hers too. No, she wouldn’t be taking on a partner. In a year she’d be thirty. She had her own practice, her own office, her own problems. That’s just the way she wanted to keep it.
Taking the mink-lined raincoat from the closet, she shrugged into it. And maybe, just maybe, she could help the police find the man who was splashed across the headlines day after day. She could help them find him, stop him, so that he in turn could get the help he needed.
She picked up her purse and the briefcase, which was fat with files to be sorted through that evening. “Kate.” Stepping into her outer office, Tess turned up her collar. “I’m on my way to Captain Harris’s office. Don’t pass anything through unless it’s urgent.”
“You should have a hat,” the receptionist answered.
“I’ve got one in the car. See you tomorrow.”
“Drive carefully.”
Already thinking ahead, she walked through the door while digging for her car keys. Maybe she could grab some take-out Chinese on the way home and have a quiet dinner before—
“Tess!”
One more step and she would have been in the elevator. Swearing under her breath, Tess turned and managed a smile. “Frank.” And she’d been so successful at avoiding him for nearly ten days.
“You’re a hard lady to pin down.”
He strode toward her. Impeccable. That was the word that always leaped to Tess’s mind when she saw Dr. F. R. Fuller. Right before boring. His suit was pearl-gray Brooks Brothers, and his striped tie had hints of that shade and the baby pink in his Arrow shirt. His hair was perfectly and conservatively groomed. She tried hard to keep her smile from fading. It wasn’t Frank’s fault she couldn’t warm to perfection.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You know what they say about all work, Tess.”
She gritted her teeth to keep herself from saying no, what did they say? He’d simply laugh and give her the rest of the cliché. “I’ll just have to risk it.” She pressed the button for down and hoped the car came quickly.
“But you’re leaving early today.”
“Outside appointment.” Deliberately she checked her watch. She had time to spare. “Running a bit late,” she lied without qualm.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.” Pressing his palm against the wall, he leaned over her. Another of his habits Tess found herself detesting. “You’d think it wouldn’t be a problem since our offices are right next door.”
Where the hell was an elevator when you needed it? “You know what schedules are like, Frank.”
“Indeed I do.” He flashed his toothpaste smile and she wondered if he thought his cologne was driving her wild. “But we all need to relax now and again, right, Doctor?”
“In our own way.”
“I have tickets to the Noel Coward play at the Kennedy Center tomorrow night. Why don’t we relax together?”
The last time, the only time, she’d agreed to relax with him, she’d barely escaped with the clothes on her back. Worse, before the tug-of-war, she’d been bored to death for three hours. “It’s nice of you to think of me, Frank.” Again she lied without hesitation. “I’m afraid I’m already booked for tomorrow.”
“Why don’t we—”
The doors opened. “Oops, I’m late.” Sending him a cheery smile, she stepped inside. “Don’t work too hard, Frank. You know what they say.”
Due to the pounding rain and traffic, she ate up nearly all of her extra time driving to the station house. Strangely enough, the half-hour battle left her rather cheerful. Perhaps, she thought, because she had escaped so neatly from Frank. If she’d had the heart, and she didn’t, she would simply have told him he was a jerk and that would be the end of it. Until he pushed her into enough corners, she’d use tact and excuses.
Reaching beside her, she picked up a felt hat and bundled her hair under it. She glanced in the rearview mirror and wrinkled her nose. No use doing any repairs now. The rain would make it a waste of time. Still, there was bound to be a ladies room inside where she could dig into her bag of tricks and come out looking dignified and professional. For now she was just going to look wet.
Pushing open the door of the car, Tess grabbed her hat with one hand and made a dash for the building.
“Check this out.” Ben halted his partner on the steps leading to headquarters. They watched, heedless of the rain, as Tess jumped over puddles.
“Nice legs,” Ed commented.
“Damn. They’re better than Lowenstein’s.”
“Maybe.” Ed gave it a moment’s thought. “Hard to tell in the rain.”
Still running, head down, Tess dashed up the steps and collided with Ben. He heard her swear before he took her shoulders, pulling her back just far enough to get a look at her face.
It was worth getting wet for.
Elegant. Even with rain washing over it, Ben thought of elegance. The slash of cheekbones was strong, high enough to make him think of Viking maidens. Her mouth was soft and moist, making him think of other things. Her skin was pale, with just a touch of rose. But it was her eyes that made him lose track of the glib remark he’d thought to make. They were big, cool, and just a bit annoyed. And violet. He’d thought the color had been reserved for Elizabeth Taylor and wildflowers.
“Sorry,” Tess managed when she got her breath back. “I didn’t see you.”
“No.” He wanted to go on staring, but managed to bring himself around. He had a reputation with women that was mythical. Exaggerated, but based on fact. “At the rate you were traveling, I’m not surprised.” It felt good to hold her, to watch the rain cling to her lashes. “I could run you in for assaulting an officer.”
“The lady’s getting wet,” Ed murmured.
Until then Tess had only been aware of the man who held her, staring at her as though she’d appeared in a puff of smoke. Now she made herself look away and over, then up. She saw a wet giant with laughing blue eyes and a mass of dripping red hair. Was this a police station, she thought, or a fairy tale?
Ben kept one hand on her arm as he pushed open the door. He’d let her inside, but he wasn’t going to let her slip away. Not yet.
Once in, Tess gave Ed another look, decided he was real, and turned to Ben. So was he. And he was still holding her arm. Amused, she lifted a brow. “Officer, I warn you, if you arrest me for assault, I’ll file charges of police brutality.” When he smiled, she felt something click. So he wasn’t as harmless as she’d thought. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Forget the charges.” Ben kept his hand on her arm. “If you need a ticket fixed—”
“Sergeant—”
“Detective,” he corrected. “Ben.”
“Detective, I might take you up on that another time, but at the moment I’m running late. If you want to be helpful—”
“I’m a public servant.”
“Then you can let go of my arm and tell me where to find Captain Harris.”
“Captain Harris? Homicide?”
She saw the surprise, the distrust, and felt her arm released. Intrigued, she tilted her head and removed her hat. Pale blond hair tumbled to her shoulders. “That’s right.”
Ben’s gaze skimmed the fall of hair before he looked back at her face. It didn’t fit, he thought. He suspected things that didn’t fit. “Dr. Court?”
It always took an effort to meet rudeness and cynicism with grace. Tess didn’t bother to make it. “Right again—Detective.”
“You’re a shrink?”
She gave him back look for look. “You’re a cop?”
Each might have added something less than complimentary if Ed hadn’t burst out laughing. “That’s the bell for round one,” he said easily. “Harris’s office is a neutral corner.” He took Tess’s arm himself and showed her the
way.
Chapter 2
Flanked on either side, Tess walked down the corridors. Now and then a voice barked or a door opened and closed hollowly. The sound of phones ringing came from everywhere at once; they never seemed to be answered. Rain beat against the windows to add a touch of gloom. A man in his shirtsleeves and overalls was mopping up a puddle of something. The corridor smelled strongly of Lysol and damp.
It wasn’t the first time she’d been in a police station, but it was the first time she’d come so close to being intimidated. Ignoring Ben, she concentrated on his partner.
“You two always travel as a pair?”
Genial, Ed grinned. He liked her voice because it was pitched low and was as cool as sherbet on a hot Sunday afternoon. “The captain likes me to keep an eye on him.”
“I’ll bet.”
Ben made a sharp left turn. “This way—Doctor.”
Tess slanted him a look and moved past him. He smelled of rain and soap. As she stepped into the squad room, she watched two men drag out a teenage boy in handcuffs. A woman sat in a corner with a cup in both hands and wept silently. The sounds of arguing poured in from out in the hall.
“Welcome to reality,” Ben offered as someone began to swear.
Tess gave him a long steady look and summed him up as a fool. Did he think she’d expected tea and cookies? Compared to the clinic where she gave her time once a week, this was a garden party. “Thank you, Detective …”
“Paris.” He wondered why he felt she was laughing at him. “Ben Paris, Dr. Court. This is my partner, Ed Jackson.” Taking out a cigarette, he lit it as he watched her. She looked as out of place in the dingy squad room as a rose on a trash heap. But that was her problem. “We’ll be working with you.”
“How nice.” With the smile she reserved for annoying shop clerks, she breezed by him. Before she could knock on Harris’s door, Ben was opening it.
“Captain.” Ben waited as Harris pushed aside papers and rose. “This is Dr. Court.”
He hadn’t been expecting a woman, or anyone so young. But Harris had commanded too many women officers, too many rookies, to feel anything but momentary surprise. The mayor had recommended her. Insisted on her, Harris corrected himself. And the mayor, no matter how annoying, was a sharp man who made few missteps.
“Dr. Court.” He held out his hand and found hers soft and small, but firm enough. “I appreciate you coming.”
No, she wasn’t quite convinced he did, but she had worked around such things before. “I hope I can help.”
“Please, sit down.”
She started to shrug out of her coat, and felt hands on her arms. Taking a quick look over her shoulder, she saw Ben behind her. “Nice coat, Doctor.” His fingers brushed over the lining as he slipped it from her. “Fifty-minute hours must be profitable.”
“Nothing’s more fun than soaking patients,” she said in the same undertone, then turned away from him. Arrogant jerk, she thought, and took her seat.
“Dr. Court might like some coffee,” Ed put in. Always easily amused, he grinned over at his partner. “She got kind of wet coming in.”
Seeing the gleam in Ed’s eyes, Tess couldn’t help but grin back. “I’d love some coffee. Black.”
Harris glanced over at the dregs in the pot on his hot plate, then reached for his phone. “Roderick, get some coffee in here. Four—no three,” he corrected as he glanced at Ed.
“If there’s any hot water …” Ed reached in his pocket and drew out an herbal tea bag.
“And a cup of hot water,” Harris said, his lips twisting into something like a smile. “Yeah, for Jackson. Dr. Court …” Harris didn’t know what had amused her, but had a feeling it had something to do with his two men. They had better get down to business. “We’ll be grateful for any help you can give us. And you’ll have our full cooperation.” This was said with a glance, a telling one, at Ben. “You’ve been briefed on what we need?”
Tess thought of her two-hour meeting with the mayor, and the stacks of paperwork she’d taken home from his office. Brief, she mused, had nothing to do with it.
“Yes. You need a psychological profile on the killer known as the Priest. You’ll want an educated, expert opinion as to why he kills, and to his style of killing. You want me to tell you who he is, emotionally. How he thinks, how he feels. With the facts I have, and those you’ll give me, it’s possible to give an opinion … an opinion,” she stressed, “on how and why and who he is, psychologically. With that you may be a step closer to stopping him.”
So she didn’t promise miracles. It helped Harris to relax. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ben watching her steadily, one finger idly stroking down her raincoat. “Sit down, Paris,” he said mildly. “The mayor gave you some data?” he asked the psychiatrist.
“A bit. I started on it last night.”
“You’ll want to take a look at these reports as well.” Taking a folder from his desk, Harris passed it to her.
“Thank you.” Tess pulled out a pair of tortoiseshell glasses from her bag and opened the folder.
A shrink, Ben thought again as he studied her profile. She looked like she should be leading cheers at a varsity game. Or sipping cognac at the Mayflower. He wasn’t certain why both images seemed to suit her, but they did. It was the image of mind doctor that didn’t. Psychiatrists were tall and thin and pale, with calm eyes, calm voices, calm hands.
He remembered the psychiatrist his brother had seen for three years after returning from ’Nam. Josh had gone away a young, fresh-faced idealist. He’d come back haunted and belligerent. The psychiatrist had helped. Or so it had seemed, so everyone had said, Josh included. Until he’d taken his service revolver and ended whatever chances he’d had.
The psychiatrist had called it Delayed Stress Syndrome. Until then Ben hadn’t known just how much he hated labels.
Roderick brought in the coffee and managed not to look annoyed at being delegated gofer.
“You bring in the Dors kids?” Harris asked him.
“I was on my way.”
“Paris and Jackson’ll brief you and Lowenstein and Bigsby in the morning after roll call.” He dismissed him with a nod as he dumped three teaspoons of sugar in his cup. Across the room Ed winced.
Tess accepted her cup with a murmur and never looked up. “Should I assume that the murderer has more than average strength?”
Ben took out a cigarette and studied it. “Why?”
Tess pushed her glasses down on her nose in a trick she remembered from a professor in college. It was meant to demoralize. “Other than the marks of strangulation, there weren’t any bruises, any signs of violence, no torn clothing or signs of struggle.”
Ignoring his coffee, Ben drew on the cigarette. “None of the victims were particularly hefty. Barbara Clayton was the biggest at five-four and a hundred and twenty.”
“Terror and adrenaline bring on surges of strength,” she countered. “Your assumption from the reports is that he takes them by surprise, from behind.”
“We assume that from the angle and location of the bruises.”
“I think I follow that,” she said briskly, and pushed her glasses up again. It wasn’t easy to demoralize a clod. “None of the victims was able to scratch his face or there’d have been cells of flesh under their nails. Have I got that right?” Before he could answer, she turned pointedly to Ed. “So, he’s smart enough to want to avoid questionable marks. It doesn’t appear he kills sporadically, but plans in an orderly, even logical fashion. Their clothing,” she went on. “Was it disturbed, buttons undone, seams torn, shoes kicked off?”
Ed shook his head, admiring the way she dove into details. “No, ma’am. All three were neat as a pin.”
“And the murder weapon, the amice?”
“Folded across the chest.”
“A tidy psychotic,” Ben put in.
Tess merely lifted a brow. “You’re quick to diagnose, Detective Paris. But rather than tidy, I’d use the word reverent.�
�
By holding up a single finger, Harris stopped Ben’s retort. “Could you explain that, Doctor?”
“I can’t give you a thorough profile without some more study, Captain, but I think I can give you a general outline. The killer’s obviously deeply religious, and I’d guess trained traditionally.”
“So you’re going for the priest angle?”
Again she turned to Ben. “The man may have been in a religious order at one time, or simply have a fascination, even a fear of the authority of the Church. His use of the amice is a symbol, to himself, to us, even to his victims. It might be used in a rebellious way, but I’d rule that out by the notes. Since all three victims were of the same age group, it tends to indicate that they represent some important female figure in his life. A mother, a wife, lover, sister. Someone who was or is intimate on an emotional level. My feeling is this figure failed him in some way, through the Church.”
“A sin?” Ben blew out a stream of smoke.
He might’ve been a clod, she mused, but he wasn’t stupid. “The definition of a sin varies,” she said coolly. “But yes, a sin in his eyes, probably a sexual one.”
He hated the calm, impersonal analysis. “So he’s punishing her through other women?”
She heard the derision in his voice, and closed the folder. “No, he’s saving them.”
Ben opened his mouth again, then shut it. It made a horrible kind of sense.
“That’s the one aspect I find absolutely clear,” Tess said as she turned back to Harris. “It’s in the notes, all of them. The man’s put himself in the role of savior. From the lack of violence, I’d say he has no wish to punish. If it were revenge, he’d be brutal, cruel, and he’d want them to be aware of what was going to happen to them. Instead, he kills them as quickly as possible, then tidies their clothes, crosses the amice in a gesture of reverence, and leaves a note stating that they’re saved.”
Taking off her glasses, she twirled them by the eyepiece. “He doesn’t rape them. More than likely he’s impotent with women, but more important, a sexual assault would be a sin. Possibly, probably, he derives some sort of sexual release from the killing, but more a spiritual one.”