Ruth wondered what strange things he was talking about, but decided to save that question until later. “You know I can’t tell anyone what is said in our sessions. Not unless you tell me that you’re going to break the law.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. OK, here goes. Someone broke into my house the day Lieutenant Peirce came to see me.”
“Did you tell Sam, I mean the lieutenant, about the break-in?”
“No, I couldn’t. You see, whoever broke into my house tried to implicate me in the murder of your patient Sylvia, Sylvia…”
“Radcliffe?” Ruth said, placing her notepad and pen on the floor next to her chair. She folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward.
“Someone, the burglar who stole files from your office, hid them in my house. I’m sure he was hoping that Lieutenant Peirce would find the files and arrest me for the break-in at your office and probably for the murder of Sylvia what’s-her-name.”
“Radcliffe,” Ruth said. “But who do you think put the files in your house?”
“Well, it wasn’t just the files. I also found a page from your calendar, indicating where you were spending your vacation. You see, whoever stole the papers from your office knew where you were. I had to come here to stop him.”
“And who did you come here to stop? Could it be your friend, Dennis?”
“He was there, and he is angry with me, but he wouldn’t go that far. At least the Dennis I knew before wouldn’t.”
“But he was in your house the day the files appeared and you didn’t see anyone else in your house, did you?”
“Well, I actually didn’t see Dennis either,” Franklin said. “I heard someone run out the back door, and since Dennis has been stalking me, trying to make me feel guilty, I assumed it was him. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was the person who killed Sylvia…Sylvia…”
Radcliffe, Ruth screamed in her mind, but said nothing.
A click of the doorknob and the squeak of the front door opening caused both Franklin and Ruth to look in that direction.
“We’re not finished, Sam. You’ll need to stay out a little longer,” Ruth said.
“I don’t think so,” Sam said, holding up the stolen files.
***
“He’s been following me for the last month. At first I wasn’t sure whether he was real or a dream, but those papers are real, and I guess so is he,” Franklin said.
“So is who?” asked Sam.
“Dennis,” Franklin said. “I think he put the papers in my living room to incriminate me.”
Sam looked at Ruth and asked, “What the hell is he talking about?”
Ruth touched Franklin’s shoulder. “I can’t say anything unless you give me permission.”
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Sam shouted.
“I need to lie down,” Franklin said. He got up and headed toward the bedroom. “You can tell him whatever you like.” Franklin closed the door behind him.
Ruth took Sam’s hand and led him to the sofa. Sam went along quietly, alternately looking at Ruth and the closing bedroom door.
“Franklin has been complaining at each of our last three sessions that an old friend, someone he had had a falling out with years ago, was stalking him but had not confronted him.”
“What does that have to do with the burglary or the murder case?”
“I’m not sure. There are things about their relationship that I still don’t know, but something happened years ago that made Franklin feel very guilty and fear that Dennis was going to exact some sort of revenge on him.”
“And you think that breaking into your office, stealing these files, and planting them in Franklin’s house is that revenge?” Sam said, shaking the papers in his hand as he spoke.
“Possibly,” Ruth said. “At first I thought Franklin was imagining that Dennis was following him out of guilt for rejecting Dennis’s friendship in the past. But what if Franklin isn’t imagining anything? What if Dennis has held a grudge for all this time and has finally figured a way to ruin Franklin’s life?”
“You think he murdered someone—no, two people—because he wanted to blame the deaths on Franklin? Isn’t that a little extreme, even for someone dealing with a nut like Franklin?”
“It does seem extreme, but there is a lot we don’t know about their relationship, and we know almost nothing about Dennis.” Ruth grabbed Sam’s hand again and yanked him up from the sofa. “Come with me. I have an idea.” She led him to Franklin’s bedroom. Ruth knocked on the door, then entered before Franklin said to come in.
Franklin was standing with his back to the closet door. “I was about to get undressed,” he said.
“We’ll leave you alone in a minute; I just have a few questions.”
Franklin walked to the bed and sat.
“Franklin, what does your ex-wife, Myra, look like?” Ruth asked as she sat next to him on the bed. Franklin began to smile. “She’s quite attractive: long black hair, a very pretty face, and quite a good figure.”
“Big breasts?” Sam said.
“Sam,” Ruth scolded.
“No, I need to know. Does she have big breasts?”
“I think what the lieutenant wants to know is, does she resemble the woman who was killed in your dream, and then in real life, Sylvia Radcliffe?”
Franklin stood up. “I guess she does. I hadn’t thought of that, but how does that matter?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Sam said. “Now tell me—”
“Sam, I was questioning Franklin,” Ruth said, popping up from her seat on the bed.
“Shush!” Sam said. “Now tell me about Michelle Ackerman. How well did you know her?”
“She cleaned my teeth several times. I met her once in a shopping mall, and we had coffee together. I was thinking of asking her out, but the next time I went to the dentist, she wasn’t there. I guess she was dead.”
“Did you see Dennis stalking you around the same time you met Michelle for coffee?”
“I didn’t see him, but I guess he could have seen me. What are you trying to say?”
“Wait,” Sam said. “Did you ever meet Sylvia Radcliffe?”
“No,” Ruth interrupted. “He never met Sylvia.”
“Well, yes, actually I did. I met her at a bar across the street from your office.”
Sam was pacing back and forth across the room. He reached out for Ruth’s shoulder and pushed her back down to her seat on the bed. “And did you happen to see Dennis on that evening anywhere near that bar?”
Franklin thought for a moment. “Yes, I did.”
“Did Dennis know your ex-wife, what was her name…?”
“Myra,” Ruth and Franklin said at the same time.
“Myra,” Sam repeated. “Did he know her?”
“He hated her,” Franklin said.
“She was the cause of the problems between Franklin and Dennis,” Ruth added.
“You knew this and you didn’t tell me? No, that’s right, the doctor-patient thing,” Sam said. “Well, I think this Dennis character just made the suspect list for both murders.” Sam pushed Franklin back down onto his seat on the bed next to Ruth. “Is it possible that this Dennis character killed both Sylvia and Michelle to get even with you because he saw you with both women and was eliminating anyone to whom you might be attracted? He may even have mistaken Sylvia for Myra. After all, he probably hadn’t seen Myra for many years. That might explain the violence with which he murdered her.”
“I don’t believe this,” Franklin said. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this. Please leave; I’m tired.”
Sam and Ruth returned to the living room. “It makes sense,” Sam said. “The violence of Sylvia’s murder, Michelle’s death, the stolen files…” Sam paused.
“What?” Ruth said.
“You are probably the only other woman who is close to Franklin. Dennis was probably the person who chased you through the basement of your office and was eavesdropping at your door. I thi
nk we should get back to the city and find this guy before he comes looking for you. I’ll get my car and be back in an hour. As soon as we can get a cell phone signal, I’ll call and put out an APB on this guy. Hopefully he’s still in the city.”
37
Sam grumbled as he set out to find his car. It had to be somewhere near the shore of the lake. Now, which shore of the lake was the question. He thought he would start by traveling down the south shore since the lake was north of the highway. After walking for several minutes, Sam stopped to reconnoiter and catch his breath. The path he had chosen was strewn with rocks and fallen branches. It didn’t look familiar, but it had been dark when he abandoned his car and walked to the cabin. He had found the lake just a short distance from the point at which he had driven into the ditch. He had then followed the lakeshore for what had seemed like half an hour, but had probably been only a few minutes. Eventually he had spotted a small point of light, the glow from the cabin window, off in the distance. Of course, in the daylight he had no idea how far away that point of light had been. If he was lucky, he would be able to retrace his steps, find his car, and he and Ruth would be out of here before lunch. Sam rubbed his protesting belly. With Ruth doing the cooking, he had little fear of overeating. The work he had done to lose weight was safe.
He didn’t like the idea of leaving Ruth alone in the cabin with Franklin. She had been sitting in the rocking chair going over her notes when he left. Trying to make heads or tails out of that fruitcake of a patient should keep her busy for quite some time. They had been up for only three hours this morning, and the guy had already gone back to his room to take a nap. Well, with his bad leg, he must tire easily. A murderer was still on the loose, possibly in this area, and Sam knew that Franklin wouldn’t be much help to Ruth in an emergency. He wasn’t a small man. He was taller than Sam and seemed reasonably well built, but with his disability he would be no match for the suspect Sam was after. Sylvia Radcliffe had been killed by someone both strong and athletic. She was very fit and the evidence at the crime scene indicated that she’d put up a valiant fight, but in the end was overpowered by brute force. No, she wouldn’t have been protected by someone with Franklin’s disability. He couldn’t run, nor did he have full strength in his left arm. He would be useless in an emergency.
Ruth, however, could take care of herself. She had gotten the drop on Sam on the porch the night before. He actually was lucky she hadn’t removed the safety from the shotgun. An accidental finger on the trigger, and that night would have ended very differently. Well, that was a mistake she wouldn’t make again, he thought. Ruth was a handful all right, but there were a lot of things about her that Sam liked. A thought struck him: Ruth was the second doctor he was attracted to. He stopped short. This was the first time he had admitted to himself that he was attracted to her. Last night he had let the passion of the moment dictate his actions, but now after some time had passed, he realized that, in spite of their disagreements, her meddling, and his need to be in charge, which she totally disregarded, he liked her. He enjoyed their time together in spite of the exasperation he felt at almost every encounter. Dating doctors could have its benefits. Alicia could help him stay physically healthy while Ruth, a psychologist, could help him find peace of mind. Of course, if he kept leading both of them on, Alicia would probably poison him and Ruth would drive him fucking nuts. That was worth a laugh, but now it was time to get back to the business of finding his car.
Within ten minutes he was at the lake. An abandoned osprey nest testified to the fact that fall was coming to a close and winter was quickly approaching. Sam remembered reading about osprey in the magazine section of the Sunday paper. He read how they flew south separately, wintered on their own, and then met up at the old nesting site the following summer. They mated for life, but knew the value of separate vacations. Not a bad deal. He buttoned his jacket and raised his collar. Flying south sounded like a good idea right now.
Sam worked his way along the shoreline looking for the spot in the woods from which he had emerged after abandoning his car. The soft sand of the beach made it rough going. Three months ago he would have been forced to stop often to rest. Now, almost twenty pounds lighter, he was confident that he could slog through this sand in record time.
“Sure, you have no problem walking on this crap,” he said to a wood duck waddling along. “Your shoes aren’t full of sand.”
The sun was still low in the sky and the day still cool, yet his effort was making him perspire. He unbuttoned his jacket. Sam felt a little foolish searching the lakefront for his abandoned car while a killer was still on the loose.
Losing one’s car was not the action of a responsible police officer, and the duck that walked alongside and occasionally quacked remarks to remind him of his mistake did little to salve his wounded ego. The faster he found the car and got back to the cabin, back where he could protect Ruth and her lunatic patient, the better he would feel.
He decided to skirt the end of the woods where the ground was harder and the travel easier. A glint of light caught his eye. It was a reflection from not far into the woods that could be sunlight bouncing off his windshield. He stood on tiptoes to breach the low bushes and get a better look.
Next, several things happened at once. While stretching to catch sight of his car, Sam was startled by a sharp pain in his left side just below his arm. He rocked back as though reeling from a blow. He clutched at the pain, confused. He had had several episodes of angina in the past, but that pain was different—milder, and more centered in his chest. This was like being struck by a baseball bat. A crushing blow penetrating deep inside him. He stumbled backward, trying to regain his balance.
Had he brought his nitroglycerine pills with him to the cabin? No, he remembered, they were in the glove compartment of his car, a car that may be only a few yards away in the woods. He dropped to one knee, clutching the left side of his chest with both hands. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and he felt a burning, an intense burning in his side. He was suddenly aware of a sound. Not a sound that he was hearing right now. Right now he heard only a buzzing in his ears, white noise that drowned out all other sound. No, the other noise had happened before. It had been like an explosion that started his ears ringing just as he’d first felt the pain. Sam could see the bushes in front of him begin to part. Someone was coming out of the woods. Help was coming, a Samaritan to fetch his pills and rescue him in his time of need.
Then the momentary shock of the pain started to subside, and his intellect began to resurface. He detected the smell of carbide on the wind. Sam looked at his hands, still pressed against his chest. Blood was seeping through his fingers. This wasn’t a Samaritan coming to his rescue; it was a gunman coming to finish what he had started. Sam forced himself to release his right hand from the wound now seeping blood through his jacket and snapped his automatic from its holster. He aimed at the moving bushes and fired three shots in rapid succession.
***
Ruth wondered whether she should wake Franklin or let him sleep until Sam returned. Franklin had refused to believe his lifelong friend could have committed these crimes. The longer they’d spoken, the more depressed Franklin had become, and he finally settled in his room to rest, his limp becoming even more pronounced as he became upset.
This episode would probably negate any progress they had made since he became Ruth’s patient. Their session today was the first day he had spoken of lost time, although it didn’t sound like it was a new experience for him. And what was that discussion of a fear of dying about? His whole demeanor had changed during that discourse. Ruth was now convinced that something in his past, something he had not yet told her, held the key to his falling-out with Dennis, and it was manifesting itself as a sleep disorder. There had to be some event in his past that triggered his anxiety, obsessive thoughts, and compulsive acts. Each time she felt that she was nearing a palpable diagnosis, his symptoms would change. Some vital piece of information was missing, and now that
they had a prime suspect for the murders, she could again dedicate their sessions to finding it.
Ruth placed her notepad on the floor and closed her eyes in an attempt to clear her mind. The living room was quiet. Only crackling and an occasional pop from the burning logs in the fireplace broke the silence. Sam had brought in the logs and lit the fire before he left to find his car. The room was now warm and pleasant, and although she had work to do, and she had decided to keep her distance from Sam until they had time to talk and work some things out, she missed him. She hadn’t noticed how blue his eyes were until the glow of the fireplace had danced across them as he looked down at her while they lay on the floor. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the touch of a man’s hand on her skin. Strong, slightly rough hands that tickled when they touched her cheek and sent quivers from that cheek down the length of her body. His touch excited yet calmed her at the same time. Her shoulders and hips seemed to melt into the floor while her toes curled uncontrollably. Now she began to fantasize about the weeks to come. She was contemplating asking Sam to her house for Christmas dinner, or maybe Christmas dinner out. No, she couldn’t ask him to take her out to dinner. A catered dinner—that was it! She would ask him to Christmas dinner and have the dinner catered.
A report from a firearm not far away startled her and caused her to turn in the direction of the lake, even though there was no window on that wall of the cabin. Ruth jumped to her feet. It could have been a hunter shooting a deer. There were probably game lands nearby, but she had an unnerved feeling, a feeling of dread. Something was terribly wrong.
***
Sam lay on the ground behind a fallen log. He had dragged himself there with much effort and was now watching the bushes for any movement. He mustered all the concentration he could and periodically fired a shot in the direction from which he believed the bullet that struck him had come. Sam’s mind was hazy, but he still had hope for survival. His best chance was to keep his assailant at bay as long as his ammunition lasted. He hoped that the gunshots would also attract help from anyone in the area, preferably a police officer or a game warden, but anyone with a gun would do.
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