Hazel Holcombs face registered faint surprise when she saw Catherine beckoning to her from across the room. As she settled into the chair across from her colleague, she said, "I dont suppose this is just a pleasant coincidence, is it?"
Catherine flushed in embarrassment. She always meant to call Hazel just to chat, or perhaps have dinner, but her schedule never seemed to leave time for it. Hazel had been her supervisor when she was a resident, and they had since become friends. Perhaps more than anyone else she knew, Catherine valued Hazels opinion. She had the ability to provide insight without judgment, and the wisdom to hold her counsel until the patient --or friend -- was ready to accept it.
"No, it isnt," Catherine responded. "I have a professional problem I wanted to discuss with you. Do you mind me interrupting your breakfast time?" Catherine knew that this was probably one of the few private moments Hazel would have all day.
"Your company is always a pleasure, Catherine," the chief of psychiatry replied. "Tell me about your problem."
Catherine relayed the details of Janet Ryans involvement with the recent assaults and the amnesia that followed.
"Im not sure how hard I should be trying to reverse her amnesia," Catherine stated. "Obviously, its vital to know exactly what she witnessed. Its critical to the police investigation. On the other hand, I have to think of Janets psyche first. She is a sexual abuse victim herself. Her brother repeatedly raped her throughout her childhood. Im certain that the shock of witnessing the assault this week triggered many old terrors for her."
"Enough to account for the amnesia?" Hazel asked, dunking the corner of her cheese danish into the steamy black coffee.
Catherine shrugged. "The beating she took by itself may account for the amnesia --but shes beginning to have flashbacks from her early childhood. Previously unremembered episodes of abuse. That is a result of witnessing the rape, Im sure."
"She must be very fragile right now," Hazel commented.
"She is, of course. Shes been working with me individually, and in group, for some time. She has made a lot of progress. This whole event has brought up a great deal for her to handle all at once."
Hazel pushed her chair back slightly and sat quietly regarding Catherine Rawlings. Catherine had been the brightest resident she had ever trained, and she was now the most accomplished psychiatrist on her staff. Hazel hoped to see Catherine assume her own position as head of psychiatry when Hazel retired. She knew her to be both an empathetic therapist and accomplished theoretician. Hazel knew that when Catherine sought her advice, it was often simply to confirm what she already believed.
"What do you think would happen to Janet if she were to recall the details of this recent trauma before she was prepared for it?" Hazel asked at last.
Catherine thought carefully before replying. "I cant be sure -- theres a good chance she would handle it well. She has a supportive partner, and she has made great progress with resolving much of her confusion as to her own guilt -- or lack of it -- for the abuse in her childhood." Catherine hesitated, thinking aloud. "But there is still a possibility that she might see her inability to prevent this rape as a reflection of what she considers to be her failure to protect herself from her brother. It could be damaging."
"Thats your answer, then, isnt it," Hazel stated calmly. "Shell remember when its safe for her to remember."
Catherine felt a wave of relief as she often did when Hazel grasped the essence of some professional dilemma and reduced it to its simplest form.
Of course, her first responsibility was to her patients welfare, regardless of the potential risk that existed if the rapist was not apprehended quickly. If any doubt existed as to Janets well-being, Catherine owed it to her to be cautious.
"Of course. Youre so right," Catherine said quietly. "Im afraid I momentarily lost sight of exactly what my issues are."
Hazel recognized the look of self-accusation that crossed Catherines fine features, clouding them for an instant with self-doubt. Ever the perfectionist, Hazel thought.
"Dont be so hard on yourself, Katie," Hazel said softly, using the nickname few people knew. "This is not a simple matter. Are the police pressuring you to force Janet along?"
"Oh, no," Catherine replied quickly. "Rebecca has been wonderful with Janet."
Hazel picked up immediately on the change in Catherines tone, but she didnt comment on it. Catherine, however, flushed slightly and hastened to explain.
"Rebecca Frye is the detective in charge of the rape investigation. Shes very good with Janet. Shes frustrated, of course, because she doesnt have much to go on. But, shes allowed me to handle Janet my own way."
"Sounds unusual for the police," Hazel noted dryly. It had not been her experience that the police were particularly sensitive about how they elicited information.
"Rebecca is unusual. Shes a police officer, down to her last cell, but shes also a sensitive, tender woman. I dont think thats been easy for her." As Catherine spoke, she remembered the exhausted woman who had sought comfort in her arms just a few hours before, and her body warmed to the memory. Hazel knew Catherine too well not to notice.
"How serious is this -- with this police woman?" Hazel asked pointedly.
Catherine met Hazels gaze evenly, but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty. She sighed deeply and shook her head.
"Oh, Hazel. I wish I could answer that. I hardly know her, really, and yet, my feelings for her are so strong! Shes hardened by her work and emotionally barricaded because of it; but shes also hiding her fear and her tenderness and her caring just to maintain her balance." Catherine spread her hands in a rare gesture of helplessness. "Im afraid Im quite taken with her."
Hazel wasnt all that surprised. She was probably the person who knew Catherine best, and she had watched her hold herself apart from potential relationships -- unsatisfied by casual encounters, not given to sexual liaisons, searching, seeking some deeper connection and being continually disappointed. She knew it had been some years since Catherine had even seriously dated anyone, and that her detachment had grown out of her disillusionment with love. For all of Catherines training and knowledge of life, she remained, at her core, a true romantic. And she remained a woman, Hazel feared, who might never find the soul partner she so desired.
"Well --" Hazel said finally, "I think I can understand your dilemma better now." She raised a hand to halt Catherines quick reply. "Oh, I do not for an instant doubt your professional judgment, or your ability to protect your patient. But ones head is hardly clear when one is falling in love."
Catherine blushed fully and looked down at her hands. "Do you think Im foolish?" she asked softly.
Hazel reached across the table, touching Catherines hand gently. "Not a bit," she replied. "Its normal and healthy -- and about time."
"It may turn into a disaster," Catherine went on, voicing her fear for the first time. "Shes afraid, I feel, of being hurt. Im not sure shes even capable of knowing her feelings for me, or for anything."
"Shes not alone in that, Katie," Hazel said sadly, "but, shes touched you in a way no one has in years, and I doubt that she could have done that if she were truly irrevocably lost to her feelings. Trust to time -- and try to take care of yourself."
Catherine smiled her gratitude and straightened her shoulders. Pushing back from the table she stated, "Ive got to make rounds."
They accompanied each other in friendly silence, strengthened as always by their encounter.
Chapter Sixteen
Rebecca pulled into the hospital parking lot just before 11 A.M. and took the now familiar route to the psychiatry wing. She needed information from Catherine, and she was trying unsuccessfully to segregate her personal feelings from her professional obligations. She couldnt deny the quickening of her heart beat, or the slight inner excitement that stirred just from the anticipation of seeing Catherine. Even though she was bone tired and still reeling from the shock of Jeffs death, the memory of Catherines body beside hers charged the very air around her. She ste
pped off the elevator into the hushed hall of the inpatient ward and tried to assume a professional demeanor.
A woman was bent over a stack of metal folding charts behind the white counter of the nurses station, busily cross-checking medication cards. She looked up and smiled when she heard Rebecca approach.
"Im sorry," she said, "visiting hours arent until one oclock."
Rebecca pulled the slim black leather folder from her pocket and displayed her identification.
"Im looking for Dr. Rawlings," she explained. "Is she around?"
The attractive dark-haired woman, whose name tag identified her as Ruth Murdock, R.N., checked her watch and replied, "She should be finishing with the residents in a few minutes. Theres a conference room just down the hall. Do you want to wait for her there?"
Rebecca nodded. "Thats fine. Ill find it," she added, motioning the nurse to stay seated.
There was little of interest in the conference room, and Rebecca let her mind wander back over the events of the last week, hoping to turn up some detail that might provide direction to her investigation. There was something that kept nagging at her -- something she had seen or heard which might be significant, and she couldnt quite bring it into focus. That feeling was not unfamiliar. She had an idea that all good investigators experienced it -- the swirling impressions which finally consolidated into an image, bringing the greater picture into sudden relief.
The tantalizing "clue" which was often the key to a puzzle whose separate pieces quickly fell into place. She was familiar enough with the process to know that it couldnt be rushed. Eventually, her unconscious mind would work that tiny fragment free and allow it to float to the surface. Then , she hoped, she would begin to close the gap between herself and the man she sought.
The door opened and Catherine walked in. "You dont look like a woman whos been up half the night," Catherine said as she seated herself at the small conference table. The warmth in her smile and the intimacy in her eyes reached out to Rebecca like a caress.
Rebecca felt her cheeks flush despite her resolve to remain detached, and she looked away for a moment.
"It isnt about last night," Rebecca began, her tone stiffer than she had intended.
Catherine studied her intently, replying quietly. "An official visit, then?"
"I need to know about the reporter you spoke with."
"The reporter?" Catherine said blankly.
"Have you seen the paper?"
"No."
"There was an article today revealing the fact that we had a witness to the rape," Rebecca said, unable to hide the anger in her voice.
"Oh, god," Catherine said. "Of course! There was a young man here yesterday, asking questions" She stopped and looked at Rebecca, her eyes filled with concern. "You think I told him?"
"Did you?"
"No, but he seemed to know that the police were involved with Janets case. I assure you, Rebecca, I told him nothing."
Rebecca quickly reached for Catherines hand and squeezed it briefly. "I believe you. Can you think of anyone who might have talked to him?"
Catherines face revealed her frustration. "A dozen people. A hospital is the least private place in the world. Everyone is eager for a story, and every bit of human drama is meal for the gossip mill. It could have been anyone!"
Rebecca nodded. "I was afraid of that. Theres not much we can do about it now, but, it makes it even more important that we learn what Janet saw. Can you help me with this?"
Catherine was quiet for a moment, sorting through her thoughts. The sight of Rebeccas drawn and tired face was wrenching. She wanted so much to be able to offer some relief. But she had a deeper obligation, in this case even greater than her growing affection for the woman before her.
"Rebecca, Ill do all I can. Im seeing Janet and Barbara tonight. If I learn anything at all, Ill tell you immediately."
"I may need to have Janet interviewed by the police psychiatrist, Catherine," Rebecca said quietly. She saw Catherines body tense, and she feared she had offended her. She didnt want that -- professionally or personally. "He may be able to recognize something you dont."
"Of course," Catherine responded formally. "Im not a forensic psychiatrist."
Rebecca shook her head impatiently, "Im not suggesting youre not competent, Catherine! But, he is trained in criminal investigation."
"May I be present at the interview?" Catherine asked.
Rebecca thought quickly. "I dont see why not -- it might make it easier for Janet."
"I dont like it, Rebecca, but I can see that you have to do this."
"Thank you," Rebecca said softly, realizing in that moment how frightened she had been. She couldnt tolerate the thought of Catherine angry at her. "Theres something else I need from you," she continued.
Catherine couldnt suppress a chuckle. The woman was certainly relentless! "Theres more?"
"What do you know about serial rapists? This doesnt seem to fit with what Im used to seeing."
Catherine nodded. "This type of patterned, serial rapist is unusual. Most rapes occur between acquaintances, or in particular settings -- groups, or gang rapes, in bars or at parties. And, of course, the repeat rape of young children by adult sexual abusers, generally family members. The type of rape were dealing with here is a sociopathic activity, a crime perpetrated out of some deep-rooted psychopathology."
"Such as?"
"Oh, any number of things. Low self-esteem, attributed, often incorrectly, to powerful female figures -- a domineering mother, a failed relationship with a woman -- anger at feelings of impotence or lack of control -- inability to direct events around him. The rapist often feels like a victim of social or personal injustices and translates that into anger against women. It is rarely purely sexually motivated, but, of course, sex is equated with power, especially in our culture. So, the rapes represent an attempt to control events, to gain superiority over the perceived persecutor."
"What can I expect in terms of the pattern of these attacks?" Rebecca asked, making notes as she listened.
"Its hard to say. There isnt anything particularly ritualized about them. As far as Im aware, the only similarities are the site, and the fact that all of the victims are runners."
"There is something else," Rebecca said. "All of the victims were sodomized -- there was no vaginal penetration."
Catherine raised an eyebrow as she considered this new information. "Well, I could theorize, of course, but I doubt that it would help you much."
"Go ahead. You never know what may help."
"It could be that the rapist is potent only that way -- fear of vaginal intercourse, of `losing ones penis, is not that uncommon with sexually maladjusted men. There is also the possibility that he is acting out a fantasy in which the victims femaleness is a detractor."
Rebecca stopped writing and looked up. "You mean a homosexual fantasy?"
"Possibly."
"Terrific," Rebecca said disgustedly. "That would definitely help public opinion of gays."
"Its not likely that he is consciously gay, Rebecca. It would be much more likely that he is suppressing homosexual ideation -- and, as I said, Im only theorizing."
Rebecca snapped her notebook shut and rubbed her face in frustration.
"I cant do anything but wait for his next move -- and that means waiting for him to attack another woman."
"What about staking out the area?"
"We try," Rebecca snorted, "but its pretty difficult with only a few people to cover twenty miles of river front."
"I wish I could help you more."
"You can. You can help me find out what Janet Ryan saw that night."
Catherine remained silent, torn between conflicting emotions. At length, she stood up, not wanting to leave but knowing she must.
"I want to see you again, Rebecca," she said at last. "Not here, and not about police business. I want to be somewhere with you where we can talk and rest. I want to be able to touch you."
Rebecca turned quickly towar
ds Catherine, pulling her close against her, kissing her firmly on the mouth. Her hands traveled the length of Catherines back, caressing each curve with trembling hands. When she stepped back, her heart was racing.
"And Ive been wanting to do that since you walked in the room," Rebecca said breathlessly. She touched Catherines cheek softly and then slipped quickly from the room.
Catherine was aware that Rebecca had again successfully avoided her suggestion of any intimacy between them. And she was also aware of how good Rebeccas hands felt on her.
Chapter Seventeen
Rebeccas beeper went off before the hospital elevator touched the ground floor. Threading her way through the log jam of wheelchairs, elderly patients shuffling behind steel-framed walkers, and clumps of disoriented visitors, she reached a public phone and called the station.
"Frye, here," she announced into the phone.
She edged her way out of the path of a speeding adolescent and waited impatiently for her call to be put through.
"This is Watts," the heavy male voice intoned in a bored voice.
"What do you want, Watts?" Rebecca snapped, unable to hide her dislike for her new partner.
"A call came in on the night shift -- a desk clerk down on Delroy found a dead hooker in one of the upstairs rooms."
Rebecca waited for more and was rewarded with the faint background buzz of the phone line.
"Watts," she said in exasperation, "we dont have time to track down some faceless john who got too rough with a hooker. Turn it over to Homicide."
"Yeah," Watts said. "Youre probably right. The whore was just a kid --thirteen, they said."
Radclyffe - Justice 01 - Shield Of Justice Page 7