Kimberly pressed the red send button and said, “Hello.”
The caller seemed confused. “This is Detective Mark Caruso, of Metro Homicide. What number did I reach?”
“If you were calling Michael, you have the right number, Mark,” Kimberly giggled. “This is Kimberly Cohen. Michael can’t come to the phone right now. May I take a message for him?”
“Oh, hi, Kimberly. I didn’t recognize your voice. I thought I’d dialed a wrong number. I just received some information Michael will be very interested in. Something he’ll want to get printed in today’s Times.”
Kimberly reached inside her purse for a spiral-bound notebook and her pen. “Go ahead, Mark. I’ll write down the information for Michael.”
“Hogg’s dead.”
Kimberly nearly dropped the phone. “What? Gunther Hogg, the veterinarian? How did it happen?”
“Suicide, apparently. It looks like Hogg hanged himself. He was in a holding cell with another prisoner—Smokey Smith, in fact, the same man who burglarized your house. Frankly, I was surprised Smith was still in the slammer. Oscar Stein usually manages to get his clients out on bail right away, unless they’re in for a capital offense. I guess his employees don’t receive the same consideration.
“Smith said he was sleeping on his cot and didn’t hear or see a thing. A guard who was making his regular check of the inmates found Hogg hanging from the bars of his cell by a noose made from a bedsheet. Hogg’s eyes were bulging and his tongue was covered with spittle and hanging out of his mouth and he was still twitching. I guess this will give Michael a finale for the series of articles he’s been writing.”
“I guess it will. Michael won’t be available for about an hour, but I’ll prepare the story under his byline and phone it over to the Times. I know he’ll want to talk with you as soon as he can, though. Will you be in your office later today?”
“Yeah, I’ll be stuck here all afternoon, unless someone else gets murdered. Tell Michael to give me a holler if he needs further details. More than likely, I’ll be here.”
“I’ll do that, Mark. Thanks for the news tip.”
“That’s what friends are for, Kimberly. One hand washes the other—you know the saying.”
Kimberly checked her watch. It was a few minutes past one. If she hurried she could get the story filed in time to be printed in the late edition. Rather than write the story longhand, she phoned the newspaper office, got a stenographer on the line, and dictated it to him. After Kimberly finished, the steno read the article back to her. She made a few corrections and additions and then told the man to print a hard copy of the article for E.J. Geller as soon as possible, in case Geller wanted to do a rewrite before deadline. Kimberly explained that she’d recapped Hogg’s troubles with the law from memory, so, before going to press, the facts needed to be double-checked against the previous articles Michael had written about the veterinarian.
When she finished with the stenographer, Kimberly idly checked the numbers stored in memory on Michael’s cellular. Sure enough, she found Soozie Snyder’s office, cellular, pager, and home telephone numbers. She decided to have it out with Soozie once and for all.
Soozie wasn’t in her office, but answered her home phone on the second ring. “Hello,” she panted into the instrument, as if she had just climbed six flights of stairs.
“Hello, Soozie,” Kimberly greeted with sham charm. “You sound like you’re out of breath. I didn’t interrupt you in the middle of anything, did I?”
“No. I was sitting here waiting for an important phone call. Who are you?”
“My name is Kimberly Cohen.”
“Do I know you? Are you calling about one of my listings?”
“No. I’m calling about Michael Kaplan.”
Kimberly thought she heard a gasp. “He’s all right, isn’t he?” Soozie questioned apprehensively. “Michael was supposed to have been here hours ago, and I’ve been worried something might have happened to him.”
“Michael’s going to be fine, no thanks to you.”
“What do you mean by that, sweetheart?” Soozie asked caustically.
“Don’t sweetheart me, you bitch. I know what you’ve been doing to Michael.”
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Soozie questioned arrogantly.
“I’m Michael’s girlfriend. His real girlfriend. You didn’t know he had one, did you?”
Soozie ignored the question. “Where’s Michael? I want to talk with him. Now.”
“Forget it. Hell will freeze over first, if I have anything to say about it, and I do,” Kimberly gloated. “As I just told you, I know all about the drugs you’ve been using to help you get into Michael’s pants—valium, acepromazine, sodium pentothal, marijuana. You poor thing, I almost feel sorry for you. You’re not able to get a man to go to bed with you unless you put him into a stupor first.
“But that’s over. I know you thought Michael was going to move in with you today. Surprise. He isn’t. Not today or any other day. Don’t ever expect to see or hear from Michael again. I’m back in control now.”
“You’re starting to sound exactly like that blonde bitch Michael’s married to,” Soozie whimpered.
“Myra is a tough lady, all right, but she’s a pussycat compared to me. I’m a tiger. You don’t ever want to cross me again, Soozie. Forget about Michael. Forget you ever met him. I’d suggest you go back to your old boyfriend, but I just heard he committed suicide.”
“Wha—what do you mean? Who committed suicide?”
“Gunther Hogg. He hung himself with a bedsheet in jail.”
“That’s better than the bastard deserved,” Soozie remarked insolently.
“That may well be, but Hogg was probably better than you deserve. Stay away from my man, Soozie, or you’ll have me to contend with. I’m not going to tell you twice.”
Soozie let out a loud wail and slammed her phone down. Kimberly knew she had succeeded in getting her point across loud and clear.
Thirty-Eight
THE BIG STAINED-OAK DOOR opened and Mordechai Weitzman stood in the portal. “Mrs. Kaplan, you may join us now, if you’d like.”
Kimberly was astounded that Michael, who had been in Dr. Weitzman’s office for more than an hour, had failed to inform the psychiatrist she was not his wife. Astounded, but not upset. To the contrary. Her mood might be described as ecstatic, for even though Michael had said he was moving back with Myra as soon as she returned to Las Vegas, somewhere there must be a subliminal significance to the fact that Michael had not bothered to set the doctor straight about which woman he was married to.
“Please sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Weitzman said. “Would you like a cup of coffee or a soft drink?”
“No thanks,” Kimberly replied, taking a chair next to Michael. “I just want to know your diagnosis of Michael’s condition.”
Weitzman sat in his oversize leather executive chair, leaned back, and steepled his hands. He turned toward Kimberly. “First of all—Michael told me you’re completely aware of the events that transpired between him and Miss Soozie Snyder, including those of a sexual nature. I would like to commend both of you for having what is obviously an honest, open, and caring relationship. Few married couples I meet are as trusting of each other as you two. Most people are afraid to reveal the entirety of their inner selves to their spouses.
“Michael had a very interesting experience with Miss Snyder, to say the least. I think we can all agree on that. As you already know from your conversation with Dr. Schwartz, she clandestinely administered an assortment of drugs to him, perhaps on several occasions. The particular combination of tranquilizers, hypnotics, stimulants, and hallucinogens appears to have served a dual purpose. First, it removed all of Michael’s inhibitions. Second, it made him extremely susceptible to hypnosis—which was the second stage of Miss Snyder’s quite successful effort to gain near-total control of Michael’s mind, as well as his body.
“Actually, I’d very much like to meet
the woman. I’m quite intrigued with her. She’s obviously knowledgeable of pharmaceuticals and well-versed in the practice of hypnotism. Do you know if Miss Snyder has a background in medicine?”
“Soozie is a registered nurse and has a degree in psychology. That’s all, to my knowledge,” Michael answered.
“Well, perhaps that’s enough. Miss Snyder may have developed a method of pharmaco-hypnotherapy that could be applied in the practice of psychiatry. Except for the sex, of course. On the other hand, it’s entirely possible that the promise of sexual activity and the fulfillment of fantasies, culminating in sexual release, are an integral part of what appears to be a highly effective behavior modification program.”
“Here,” Michael said, handing Weitzman a ballpoint advertising pen. “All of Soozie’s phone numbers are printed on this. Be my guest.”
The doctor took the pen from Michael and dropped it into his pocket. “Thanks. Perhaps I’ll do just that,” he laughed.
Weitzman turned back to Kimberly and continued to address the majority of his comments to her. “During our session, I placed Michael into a deep hypnotic state. I’ve never before had a subject who could be hypnotized so easily. Doubtless, that was a residual effect of the drugs. Under hypnosis, Michael was able to describe in minute detail what went on between him and Miss Snyder and recollected to a substantial degree their conversations, practically word-for-word.
“I believe I was able to clear Michael’s mind of all post-hypnotic suggestions planted by Miss Snyder, including many of which Michael was totally unaware until they came out during our session. Although he may have periods of post-traumatic stress and require additional therapy for that, I don’t think there’s a great probability he’ll regress involuntarily into a state where he can no longer exercise his free will. Nor, in the future, will he act on suggestions that offend his personal moral principles, unless Miss Snyder hypnotizes him again.”
“I’m going to do my damndest to see that Miss Soozie never gets another opportunity to be alone with him,” Kimberly averred angrily.
Weitzman raised a finger. “Even that may not be enough,” he cautioned. “It’s entirely possible Snyder has Michael so conditioned she can now hypnotize him over the telephone.”
Kimberly’s jaw was tightly set. “I’ll screen all his phone calls, both at work and at home,” she promised.
“Very good,” the psychiatrist concurred, nodding. He turned to Michael. “I’ll want to see you again in a week. Please make an appointment with my receptionist on your way out. I don’t want to rush you, but if you don’t have any questions, my next patient should be waiting in the outer office,” he hinted.
“There’s nothing at the moment, but if we think of anything, we’ll call you,” Kimberly told him. She was equally anxious to leave the doctor’s office, but for another reason. She had plans for the rest of the day.
Weitzman stood and shook their hands. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan,” he said, as he walked them to the door.
THE ENGINE IN KIMBERLY’S PORSCHE roared to life. She stomped on the accelerator and aimed the machine toward her house. Kimberly was in a hurry to get home. She’d waited for Michael far too long, and last night he had made her a promise. A promise to spend the day making love to her. The day was more than half over, but there was still the rest of the afternoon, the evening, night, and morning to look forward to.
“How do you feel, Michael?” Kimberly asked.
“Wonderful. Like I’ve had a catharsis. Thanks to Dr. Weitzman, I no longer blame myself for what happened with Soozie. I’ve gotta admit I thought I might have done something to encourage her; that, somehow, having sex with her was my fault. I know now it wasn’t. As Weitzman explained, I was going through the same emotional upheaval as a woman who’s been raped.”
Kimberly reached over and put her hand on top of Michael’s. “Baby, I understand completely. I really do. I don’t blame you at all. I’m not sure Myra will be as understanding. Are you going to say anything to her about Soozie?”
“God, no. She would never forgive me. You know, the doctor was right. You and I can share many things I would never dare discuss with Myra. We’re truly soul mates, Kimberly.”
And soon we’ll be bed mates, she thought. “By the way. While you were in the doctor’s office, Mark Caruso called you,” she informed him casually.
Michael turned toward her, an eyebrow raised in puzzlement. “Oh? What did Mark want?”
“Gunther Hogg’s dead. He hanged himself in his jail cell.”
“Ohmygod! Please hand me my cell phone. I’ll have to call Mark and get all of the details for the Times,” Michael exclaimed.
“There’s no need for you to bother Mark,” Kimberly smugly responded. “He gave me the information. While you were talking with Dr. Weitzman, I called the office and filed the story over the phone. Under your byline, of course. That’s what a good assistant is for. So, now, we can go home and make love all afternoon, as you promised.”
Michael’s face clouded over. He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since they left Weitzman’s office. It hadn’t taken very long. “Kim, I know what I promised, but I was still under the influence of the drugs Soozie had slipped me. You wouldn’t hold me to a promise made under those conditions, would you?” he asked. He hoped she would still be understanding.
Kimberly had worried that Michael might change his mind after meeting with the psychiatrist. She brushed a tear from her eye. “No. But I remember you also told me you wanted to make love to me. Was that the truth, or were you just saying what you thought I wanted to hear?”
“It must have been the truth. It wasn’t possible for me to lie. Yes, damn it. I do want to make love with you, and have for months. There. I’ve admitted it to you. But I can’t. No, that’s not right. I won’t. Because of Myra. I’m sorry, but that’s the way things have to be.” Michael’s voice was firm but gentle. It was obvious his will had been completely restored.
“If you really feel that way, why do you keep teasing me by letting people assume I’m your wife? Dr. Weitzman, for instance.” Perhaps she could get her way by putting him on a guilt trip.
Michael squirmed in his seat and readjusted his seat belt. “I don’t know. It just avoids complications. Weitzman would have asked too many questions if he thought otherwise.” He knew that was a weak excuse, but he had none better on the spur of the moment.
“Isn’t that his job—asking questions?” Kimberly rebutted, taking her eyes off the road momentarily to give Michael a strong stare. “I can’t buy that answer. Michael, you know I love you, and now you’ve finally admitted you love me and you want to make love to me. We need to put an end to our frustration. It’s time for us to consummate our ‘marriage’. Today. Myra will never need to know. Besides, she made me promise to take good care of you until she gets back. Let me put it this way, Michael. I’ll be doing a favor for Myra,” she argued, only half in jest.
“I think you really meant what you just said,” Michael laughed. “But I don’t think Myra would agree with your rationalization. Tell you what. Would you settle for dinner at the Desiderata instead? I’ve had people tell me dinner there is even better than sex.”
“I’ll never believe that, but if that’s my only other choice, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Kimberly conceded grudgingly. But she hadn’t yet given up. After a romantic dinner, once they went back to her house, she would try again. She still had three or four days to bed Michael before Myra came home.
Michael looked at the clock on the dashboard. “We won’t have to get ready for dinner for a couple of hours yet. Let’s pick up a couple dozen donuts and take them down to Mark. I owe him for the news tip about Hogg.”
MARK CARUSO PEERED up from the form he was struggling to fill out and saw Michael and Kimberly standing in his office doorway. “C’mon in. You are getting a nose for news, Michael,” he said, taking the box from Michael’s hand, opening it, and stuffing most of a chocolate-co
vered donut into his mouth in one fell swoop. “Thanks for the donuts. Sit down—I’ll get us some coffee, then tell you the latest development in the Hogg case.”
Michael and Kimberly looked at each other questioningly, but did as Mark requested. Soon he was back in his office with three large Styrofoam cups filled with an intensely black brew, packets of sugar and creamer, and little plastic stirring sticks. “It turns out Hogg didn’t kill himself, after all,” Mark announced.
Michael’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t understand. Are you saying he’s still alive?”
“No,” Mark laughed. “Hogg’s deader than a car battery on the day you want to leave town on a vacation trip. He was murdered.
“One of the other prisoners—the man in the next cell—heard Hogg and Smokey Smith scuffling and arguing loudly. Then, everything was very quiet. So, the other prisoner held a small mirror outside the bars, like a periscope, so he could see what was going on inside their cell. Smith had strangled Hogg, then strung him up with a torn bedsheet to make it look like Hogg committed suicide. The man wasn’t going to say anything to us at first—he didn’t want to get involved—but when he thought we were going to move Smith into his cell, he became frightened and spilled his guts.”
Blue Goodness (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 33