by C. C. Harris
‘Where are you Curtis?’ Sarah said aloud, not caring that James could hear her desperation.
They worked meticulously through the night on every piece of information, taking power naps and eating pizza.
Sarah sighed. ‘I had the commissioner on my back again. He’s getting restless and he wants an update.’
Sarah felt like a circus performer, juggling responsibilities to her team, delegating and managing paperwork, keeping the budget on track, and trying to appease the chief, the commissioner, and the media.
The public were ignorant about the lack of resources and the financial constraints. They just wanted answers, and she didn’t blame them. At times, the department became a pressure cooker and tempers flared, especially when staff were looking for time off or more pay. Seeing big-time drug dealers driving fancy cars didn’t help either.
The worst aspect of the force was cops who were exhausted. It jeopardized the chances of getting a killer off the streets. Their partners had no choice but to tolerate the night shifts or their twenty-four seven call-outs. Every fortnight, Sarah shouted her team a dinner and a few beers at the corner bar. It was a great way to boost morale. She worked out some creative accounting. Bar nights went under the meetings budget, and she didn’t hesitate to put her own money on the table for drinks.
Sarah recognized that her sleep was irregular, and the nightmares were increasing. Getting seven hours’ sleep was history. Exhausted, her thoughts drifted back to Curtis. She was praying he would suddenly call and laugh it off.
‘Gee, time really does fly when you’re desperate to solve a case,’ Sarah groaned. ‘The suns coming up and we’re no better off.’ She stretched her arms out wide and wriggled her fingers as if she was playing a keyboard. She usually covered her mouth when she yawned, but even this was too much of an effort. Her mouth opened wide as she held her head back and rubbed her eyes.
At that moment, one report jumped out at James. ‘Sarah, what’s this about professional misconduct?’ He slid the folder across the table.
‘Jesus…I’d forgotten about that. From what I remember, a client claimed he assaulted her in the basement garage.’ Sarah scanned the paperwork. ‘Her name is Nancy Fisher. Thanks, James, for your fresh pair of eyes.’
‘What’s her family background?’ James asked.
‘Her parents live in Ohio. They said their daughter was diagnosed with factitious disorder, and so there were serious doubts about the accuracy of her complaint and her sense of judgment. Doctor Ellison’s license was only temporarily revoked during the investigation. The allegations of professional misconduct were later dropped when she decided not to press charges.’
‘Mmm…there is a problem,’ James stated. ‘It could be a case of the boy who cried wolf. If she was telling the truth, it would be difficult to convince a jury that this time she wasn’t lying. I wonder whether the doctor crafted the client’s factitious diagnosis. It would be…let’s say…a convenient diagnosis.’
Sarah pushed back her chair and picked up her jacket. ‘You may have just found the break we’ve been looking for. How about we check Curtis’s apartment again then pay Nancy and her factitious disorder an early morning visit?’
‘Good idea,’ James responded.
FIFTEEN
Cognitive Environment Therapy
Nancy lived a good forty minutes out of New York. Her front yard looked more like a dust bowl, with weeds growing three feet high around the perimeter of a wire fence. What a depressing and lonely looking place, Sarah thought.
Before James had a chance to knock on the door it opened, exposing several chains looped across the gap.
‘What do you want?’ Nancy asked.
‘Hi Nancy, I’m Lieutenant Wilkins and this is my colleague Detective James Christianson. We’re from the NYPD and we’d like to ask you a few questions.’ Sarah and James flashed their badges.
‘How do you know my name?’
‘You were one of Dr Ellison’s clients, is that correct?’
‘Why are you asking?’
‘We’d like to talk to you about your complaint against the doctor,’ Sarah said.
‘I’ve told the police everything. Sorry…I have to go.’
‘We won’t take long,’ said James.
‘I’ve already gone through hell and back with him. Can I have another look at your badges?’
James held them up again.
Nancy slid open the chains. ‘Come into the lounge room.’ Her voice was timid.
She moved papers off a couch. ‘I’m not used to visitors. Sorry about the mess.’
‘No need to apologize,’ Sarah responded.
‘My cat Emmy…she really likes company, so excuse her affection.’
‘You don’t need to worry about that, I love cats,’ Sarah said, tickling the cat’s neck.
James looked down at the police report. ‘We noticed from your complaint that Dr Ellison assaulted you in the basement garage of his building, is that correct?’
Nancy shifted nervously in her chair.
‘Take your time. We know this is difficult for you,’ James said. He knew he had to be sensitive. She was extremely vulnerable.
Nancy thought they sounded genuine, but she was still guarded. She had trusted her psychologist. Now she trusted no one.
‘Why would you believe me? No one else did. Not even my own family believes me,’ Nancy responded flatly.
‘Because we read your complaint and we believe you. We don’t want this psychologist to keep hurting people. Are you able to remember what happened?’
‘He said…um…as part of our therapy session we would go...um…for…a walk through Central Park. It wasn’t until we got down to the basement that I felt…sort of nervous.’ Nancy spoke in a whisper as if the psychologist was listening in.
‘Why were you in the basement?’ Sarah asked.
‘He said the basement provided quick access to Madison Avenue.’
‘What happened next?’ Sarah asked.
‘Once we were in the basement I told him I’d changed my mind. But he became insistent that I try his CET therapy.’
‘What exactly was this CET therapy?’ Sarah asked.
‘Cognitive environment therapy. He said it was like mindfulness. But he made me promise…’
‘What did he make you promise,’ James asked. ‘No one can hurt you now. It’s ok.’
‘He made me promise to keep it our secret until it was accepted as a leading therapy for anxiety. I had to sign a confidentiality agreement. He said I had unhealthy perceptions of the world which caused my panic attacks and my brain needed…I think he said…retraining. He said my thoughts needed changing to stop my anxiety. In every session he said I worry too much and I’m severely disturbed.’
‘What else did the doctor say?’ Sarah asked.
‘He said being in Central Park was the ideal place to do his therapy, so I could experience being in the moment with nature. He said I had a critical voice that needed quietening in a peaceful environment. I thought he was so clever. He said he was the first person in the world to discover this ground-breaking therapy.’
Sarah continued her questioning. ‘What happened then?’
‘At first, what he said made sense. I wanted to stop my anxiety attacks and get off my medication. He knew I hated taking medication. He promised one day that I would be free from drugs. He said he was…really proud of me.’ Nancy stammered, then looked up. ‘I hope I’m making sense.’
‘Your definitely making sense. What happened next?’ Sarah asked.
‘I told him I wasn’t sure and maybe we would do it another day, but he was insistent and said I would never get better. He said I would always hear the negative voices in my head and never be free from medication. I felt guilty for doubting his therapy. Nancy gazed at her feet as if reliving the moment.
‘It’s ok Nancy. He can’t hurt you now,’ Sarah stated.
‘He put his arm around my shoulders and his voice…changed.’
‘What do you mean his voice changed?’ James asked.
‘He sounded angry. He said he expected more of me and that he was disappointed. He sounded like my dad. I was scared…I was scared he wouldn’t see me again. I felt I couldn’t live without him. I was ready to agree to the therapy until suddenly…’
‘Until suddenly what? I can understand this is very difficult for you Nancy, but no one is going to hurt you.’
Nancy stroked her arm. ‘He tightened his grip around my shoulders.’
Sarah continued validating. ‘You’re doing well, Nancy.’
‘Then a maintenance man walked out of the elevator.’
‘How do you know it was a maintenance man?’ Sarah asked.
‘He was wearing overalls and I’d seen him working around the building before.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I managed to pull away from the doctor’s grip. I ran out of the building as fast as I could.’
‘Was there anything else you remember about the doctor,’ Sarah asked.
Nancy hesitated. ‘There was one thing…but I’m not sure.’
Sarah continued the questioning. ‘Nancy, we’re not here to judge you. It doesn’t matter how small you think it is, it could still be useful.’
Sarah had done enough interviews to know that it was normal for anyone to be nervous. She knew it was important for Nancy to feel safe to talk.
‘Well, I saw something.’
Sarah turned the page in her notebook. ‘What do you think you saw?’
‘I thought…he was holding something in his right hand.’
‘What do you think it was?’ Sarah asked.
‘It looked like a knife. I left the basement in a panic. He used to tell me in my sessions that I was delusional so I’m not sure. Sometimes I think he’s following me but when I turn around…there’s no one there.’
Sarah leaned forward. ‘Why did you drop the charges?’
Nancy hesitated. ‘He terrified me. The day before the court case, he rang and said that if I went to court, I would look like a fool. People would laugh at me. I was always embarrassed, and I hated myself. I was the weird kid at school and he knew I covered my scars. He said the jury will know I’m crazy when they see my cuts.’
James said, ‘School can be horrible. It’s a time when you can feel the most self-conscious and embarrassed.’
‘Yeah. It was pretty shit.’
‘Did he say anything else?’ James asked.
‘He laughed and said, “Who’s going to believe a neurotic with a factitious disorder?”
‘Did you tell anyone that he called?’ James asked.
‘No. My head went crazy. I couldn’t do it anymore.’
James voice softened. ‘What do you mean you couldn’t do it anymore?’
‘After his call I swallowed a heap of pills and ended up in hospital. I can’t remember calling an ambulance. I knew that no one would believe me after that. My memory can be bad, but I remembered everything he said. When he called, I could hear evil. His voice was scary, and I couldn’t stop shaking. Am I crazy? Do you think you can hear evil?’
‘If you are being threatened then it’s understandable why you could hear evil,’ James responded.
Nancy’s tears blurred her vision.
‘Can I get you something, maybe a glass of water?’ Sarah asked.
‘No thanks, I’m ok.’
James opened a file. ‘I’m curious – who diagnosed you with this factitious disorder?’
‘He did. He said I had a compulsion to lie. I told him how I’d lied to police about wanting to kill myself. I didn’t mean to lie. My parents were druggies and didn’t care if I was dead. Child Services kept moving me to different foster homes. I felt like the world had dumped me. People cared if I said I wanted to kill myself. It felt good.’
‘Are you getting any support now?’ James asked.
‘I have a really kind counselor at my church. She helped me to find a part-time job at Walmart. She said I’m smart and kind. No-one has ever said that to me before.’
‘She sounds really supportive,’ said James.
‘Yeah she is. I don’t watch the bad stuff on the news and I go for walks when my thoughts are busy. I also fundraise at the church.’
‘That’s great it’s working out for you Nancy. I can hear your working really hard to help yourself,’ said Sarah.
‘Some days aren’t good, but I don’t want to feel bad anymore.’
‘We will need you to come down to the precinct for a formal statement. James and I can take you now.’
‘Can I go this afternoon?’
‘Sure. I’ll arrange a police officer to pick you up at 2.00 pm. Does that suit?’
‘Yes, that should be ok.’
‘Are you sure that’s ok? You sound a little hesitant,’ said Sarah.
‘Can I have a female cop pick me up?’
‘Absolutely, Sarah responded. I’ll arrange that for you. We’ll see you at the precinct this afternoon. Thank you, Nancy. We appreciate your time. We know this hasn’t been easy for you.’
As they left, Nancy looked up at the sky and thanked the world for her good feelings. She didn’t feel lonely today. She felt they cared. She reflected on Sarah’s kind words and enjoyed the moment. The noise in her head quietened. Nancy looked affectionately at Emmy brushing against her legs. ‘I can see you’re feeling good today too.’
SIXTEEN
Ghost Whispers
Two days had passed since Nancy provided her statement. Sarah had been a cop long enough to know Nancy was telling the truth. She wondered why he had taken her to the basement garage. Did he kill his clients there and put them in his trunk? Was there a place in the basement he stored bodies, or did his colleague wait in the basement and act as his accessory?
Sarah needed to get onto the killer’s trail fast if they were going to find Curtis alive. She wondered whether more victims were being groomed.
They had held back long enough and now it was time to check out the basement. It was a risk that the psychologist might take off, but she hoped his arrogance at having outsmarted the police so far would keep him from running. She wanted to find out whether the psychiatrist Dr Cameron was involved, but he had been away on a conference, so they hadn’t yet been able to talk with him. She couldn’t think of anything more dangerous than two killers working together.
Despite giving James short notice to meet on Madison, he was there within thirty minutes.
They stepped into the elevator from the foyer. It rattled to the basement and gave a loud clunk as it stopped. Sarah imagined what it would have been like for his victims. Their terror would have begun here. Would they have felt any pain, or had they been anesthetized? What would their thoughts have been about their trusted therapist turned killer? Had they frozen with fear or tried to run?
As the doors opened, Sarah shivered. ‘Is this basement creepy or what?’ Sarah asked.
‘It’s bloody creepy. Maybe there are ghosts telling us something.’
‘Thanks James, I really needed to hear that. I’m spooked enough.’ Then she whispered, ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ James asked.
‘I thought I heard voices. This place is getting to me.’
Sarah didn’t know whether to believe in ghosts or not. Stories of ghostly sightings sometimes sounded genuine, but she was a facts and evidence person and found it difficult to get her head around anything supernatural. Her job was a constant reminder that people in the land of the living were the dangerous ones.
James noticed the walls were patterned with bird shit and water zigzagged across the concrete floor. It reminded him of the Catacombs of Paris. The difference was, this place wasn’t a tourist attraction, and the guests were on a murder list.
‘It would make sense why the psych was disturbed by a maintenance worker when Nancy was with him. This basement has serious water problems,’ James said, tiptoeing across the floor.
‘Tell me about it. It’s a shocker. If anyone wanted to commit a crime, this would be the perfect place.’
‘Why aren’t there CCTV cameras down here? The security in this building is slack,’ James said. As he approached the dumpster in the corner, he noticed something.
‘Sarah, does this look like blood to you?’
‘Mmm, maybe.’
When he took a closer look, he spotted a shiny object. Using his handkerchief, he carefully picked it up.
‘Look what we have here. This is part of a cell phone. I wonder who owns this.’
Sarah stepped back. ‘I think it’s time we brought our team in to cordon off the area before we contaminate a crime scene. In the meantime, how about we pay our friend the psychologist a visit. I’m not sure you being a criminal psychologist will go down well with the doctor. How do you feel about walking into his office as a dumb-ass cop instead?’ Sarah laughed.
‘Good thinking. I’m a natural at that. I can also put on some dumb-ass accent if you like?’
‘You’re a great actor, James. I’m looking forward to it. Let’s go rattle his cage.’
SEVENTEEN
Dangerous Façade
The doctor’s reception area was a noticeable contrast to the basement.
James studied the décor to help understand the doctor’s personality. There was nothing out of place. A drink dispenser stood in the corner of the waiting room and three rows of magazines were displayed in order of subject matter across the coffee table. James wondered whether he was a psychopathic perfectionist.
Amateur artworks with cheap frames decorated the walls. This guy didn’t come from a wealthy family, he thought.
Sarah tapped the desk bell. It wasn’t long before an office door opened.
The doctor appeared unperturbed. ‘Yes, can I help you?’
‘We’d like to speak with Dr Ellison?’ Sarah said.