“No, you have to be wrong,” Celine snapped, looking from Becky to me. “Casey?”
I stood up and stepped closer to her. “It’s just a theory, Celine. We don’t really know for sure. But Detective Littleton will have to pursue it as a credible threat.”
“What does that mean?” Celine asked.
I deferred to Becky.
“It means I need to question all of your staff at the clinic and…” I knew what she was going to say next and while Becky’s face was stern, I thought I detected remorse in her eyes. “Your patients will need to be questioned as well.”
Celine grabbed my forearm to steady herself, her fingers pressing into my skin. She looked at me for a moment and I nodded, not sure what to say. Her pale face flush red with anger as she jerked her hand away and turned back to Becky. She crossed her arms over her breasts and defiantly cocked a hip. “No, Detective. Absolutely not. Our patients are off limits.”
“Dr. Aponte, I have no choice,” Becky asserted.
“She’s right, Celine. This man is killing vulnerable women who are only targets because they see a psychiatrist.”
“I understand that, but my patients are vulnerable, too, and I don’t want them interrogated by the police. It’s hard enough for some of them to even seek council because they’ve been abused and belittled. They have no self-worth and grilling them about something they probably have no idea about, would only damage what little good my partners and I have been able to achieve.”
Becky put her hand up. “Wait, how did you know? That part hasn’t been released to the public either.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Detective. I was referring to the majority of female patients that I see.”
“She’s talking about the fact that only abused women were taken by the killer,” I explained. “You only see abused women, Celine?”
“Yes. My partners see anyone seeking help, but I specialize in women who have abused emotionally, physically or sexually. What are you two getting at? Stop talking in circles and tell me what’s going on, damn it.”
I glanced at Becky. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” she replied, sitting on the arm of the chair by the couch.
Turning my attention to Celine again, I explained. “I believe another connection has been made between the victims. All four were seeing a physiatrist because they were being abused by a loved one. All four were tortured and killed because they were abused. Ask yourself, what would Freud say about that?”
Celine slumped down on the couch and put her fingers to her mouth. I waited, watching the realization swirl in her eyes. “Freud would say that the killer was himself a victim, and now has become the victimizer. And given the painful abuse he inflicts before he kills, Freud would also probably say that abusing the victim was the only way this person could reach orgasm.”
“Add in that he is incredibly dangerous because he’s not afraid to kill in broad daylight, and I’d say we have a psychological profile on him,” Becky included.
“How do you know it’s not a woman?” Celine asked.
“Because males make up about ninety percent of all serial murderers in the United States,” Becky explained. “And since the 1800s, there have only been sixty-four female serial murderers.”
“Plus, women don’t generally do the type of torture this victim was put through,” I added. “Cutting the hair and pulling the teeth out is all about domination and humiliation, and like you said, sadistic sexual violence.”
“That wasn’t quite how I put it, but I believe you are correct,” Celine said.
“So, you understand why we need to talk with your patients?” Becky asked.
“Yes, I understand, but I’m not going to help you, Detective.”
“Well,” Becky huffed and walked toward the door. “I’ll just subpoena your records and get your client list that way.”
“You can try,” Celine said, standing up again and walking over to her desk.
Becky put her hand on the doorknob, but looked back at Celine. “Their blood is on your hands then. I hope you can live with it.”
“You are way out of line, Detective,” I asserted. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t played the guilt card a time or two myself in an investigation, and it was always done out of frustration, like I’m sure Becky felt now, but I never told an innocent it was their fault. That was just uncalled for.
Becky glared at me angrily and then walked out the door.
I turned back to Celine, who was punching numbers on her cellphone and then putting it to her ear.
“Yes, this is Dr. Aponte, I’d like to speak with my lawyer, please,” she said, folding one arm under the arm holding the phone as she walked over to the window.
Unless she asked me to, I wasn’t going to leave with her this upset, so I sat down in the side chair and watched her pace in front of the window. I observed that she talked with her hands and when frustrated, tucks her red hair behind her ear. Celine had told me over lunch yesterday that her grandparents migrated here from Tuscany, Italy. Her grandmother, an Italian, married an Irishman with red hair. She said they were the typical couple who fought hard and loved each other even harder. Unfortunately, lunch was interrupted before I could learn more about them, and for all the reservations I have about being analyzed by a shrink, I found that I did want to know more about her.
Celine turned and tossed the phone on the desk. “My lawyer assures me that patient confidentiality is paramount, and she doubts that the detective can get a search warrant based on the circumstantial evidence.”
“Good. I thought as much.”
Before I could say more, Celine walked over to me and stood between my legs. She leaned over, placed her hands on the chair arms and kissed me, hard, on the lips. The electrical energy was so palpable that I could feel its rippling effect in my groin. I heard a groan and realized it came from me. Just as I came to my senses and parted my lips to penetrate her mouth, she pulled away. Damn it!
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, running a finger across her lips. “I, um, just wanted to thank you for supporting me.”
“The detective was just doing her job, Celine. And she isn’t going to let it go, either.”
“Well, neither am I. It goes against everything I believe in,” she said and stepped back.
“I’ve been in this situation before, and I know that when a doctor says they won’t betray their patients, nothing on earth will change their minds.”
“Have you subpoenaed patients before?” she asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.
“Yes, I have,” I said pointedly. “And I would do it again if the situation warranted it. A detective has to follow where the leads take them, Celine, within the confines of the law. And like Detective Littleton, I followed the leads to the letter of the law.”
“Our convictions are the same, even though they are pitted against each other,” she replied.
“Yes, I believe they are, but I’m hoping that we can work together to find a way to catch the murderer in spite of it.”
“We can. We have to. The alternative is unacceptable.”
“Good, then tell me about your patients.” She started to protest and I stood up and held up my hand. “Just hear me out first. Based on what you said, I believe that the perpetrator is a patient at your clinic.”
“A patient? Why do you think that?” she asked.
“It’s the easiest way to find his victims. As a patient, he can arrive early for his appointment and sit in the waiting room, stalking his next victim. Celine, he may even be your patient. Someone you talk with every week. Someone who has your confidence even as he sits close to you plotting his next murder.”
“Oh, no,” she cried, shaking so badly that I thought she would fall down.
I rushed to catch her in my arms. “It’s all right, Celine. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” She wrapped her arms around me, and I could feel her trembling. I held her tighter. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
I hit the accept button and said, “Chief Dennis. What? Slow down. I don’t understand.” I held my breath and listened, then my stomach turned over. “I’ll be right there!” As I put my cellphone back in my pocket, I looked at Celine. “I have to go. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Go.”
“Think about what I said and let me know if a patient comes to mind that either could be the killer or his next victim.” She started to protest again. “Just think about it, Celine.”
***
I ran down five flights of stairs and into the pediatric ICU. “What’s wrong?” I asked breathlessly as I walked up to Scottie outside her son’s room.
She jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my middle. “He’s better, Casey!” she exclaimed, grabbing my face with her hands. Just as I caught my breath, she stole it away again with a kiss.
Things have been really off kilter since I came to work at this hospital, and I’m not sure what’s causing it. It just never happens that I am kissed by two beautiful women in the same day. Hell. In the same hour. Especially when I wasn’t the one who initiated it. What was even more perplexing was that I’m standing here, thinking about that as she’s kissing me. I’ve had my share of women, even thought that I loved one or two, but when that boy died because I couldn’t protect him, something inside of me died also. I’m afraid, terrified really, that someone else will depend on me and end up in a pool of blood. And now, here I am, ingratiating myself, although it was not my intention, with two very different women who are depending on me for support. Am I that stupid, or just that arrogant? Damn that psychiatrist in rehab. Now he’s got me thinking like a shrink.
Scottie pulled back and looked into my eyes. Smiling, she got down, and straightened her blouse. ““It was our prayers that turned the tide, Casey. His fever is coming down and the antibiotics are working!”
“That’s wonderful,” I exclaimed.
“He’s still critical, but the doctors are giving me some hope now.”
I glanced through the glass door at the little boy. “That’s fantastic.” I could not see a change in him. He was still deathly pale and hooked up to several monitors and IVs. God, please, don’t take her hope away.
Scottie looked up at me with her doe-like eyes and said, “Casey, will you pray with me again?”
Smiling, I replied, “I just did.”
Moisture glimmered in the corner of her eye as she took my hand in hers. “Thank you. Um, would you sit with me a while?”
She seemed to want company and even though I needed to go report in with the CEO, I followed her into the boy’s room and sat in the across from her.
“It started out as a sniffle he brought home from preschool, but the next day I was rushing him to the emergency room because he couldn’t breathe.” Scottie inhaled sharply as if she were empathetically feeling what he had gone through. She adjusted the oxygen mask on his face and then leaned back again. “He’s all I have left in this world, Casey.”
“What happened to his father?” I asked, curious why she’d been left alone to handle such an emotional crisis.
“It’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?”
She was giving me the opportunity to back out gracefully, but I didn’t want to. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Well, I never knew his father. You see, my wife and I wanted a baby so I was artificially inseminated.”
Okay, then where the hell is your wife? “And your wife? Where is she?”
That was the wrong question to ask. Scottie’s eyes welled up and silent tears flowed down her cheeks as she looked at her hands. “She was killed in a head-on collision four years ago. My parents disowned me when I came out ten years ago, and her parents don’t know that our son is in the hospital. As I said.” She choked back a sob. “My son is all I have in this world.”
Feeling like a fool, I wasn’t sure what the proper words were to say. Usually, people talk about themselves to try and make the other person feel less alone. I was no different. “My father, whom I idolized, died of a heart attack a few years ago, and my mother remarried. Up until I got shot, we hadn’t spoken because I was so angry with her for remarrying.”
“Wait. You were shot? My, God, how horrible,” Scottie exclaimed.
“It’s okay. I’m fine now,” I quipped. At least I got her mind off her miseries for the moment, but did I really want to dwell on the reason I was shot?
“But why were you shot? How? Who shot you?”
“I was a police detective in Houston. I was shot in the line of duty.” I could tell she was going to want more of an explanation, and I wasn’t prepared to give it to her. As despicable as I knew it would be, I steered the conversation back to her. “Don’t you think if your parents knew about your son, they’d be here to comfort you?”
Her head jerked back as if the sudden turn in the conversation caused a whiplash effect. The color had returned to her cheeks as her anger inclined. “No, I don’t. They weren’t at my wife’s funeral; why would they give a shit about my son?”
“I’m sure that in time, they will regret it.” The fact that they’d already had ten years to think about it probably meant that she would never see them again. I never realized how very lucky I was to have the parents I did, until just now. The second my mother heard about the shooting, she was by my bedside despite our feud. I’m ashamed to say that I did not attend my mother’s second wedding out of spite. Like that would have stopped the marriage. Lying in that hospital bed for weeks gave my mother and me the time to heal the rift, and for that I am grateful. “But, why haven’t you told your in-laws about the boy?”
“Because they’re older and barely making ends meet on his pension. They live in Arkansas and can’t afford to fly out here and I can’t afford it either, so I decided not to tell them.” She grabbed another tissue from the box sitting on the overbed table and wiped her eyes. “His name is Cody, by the way.”
“That’s a great name. I dated a girl once named Cody.”
She looked at me with liquid eyes and then began to laugh. I wasn’t sure what was so funny, but it was good to hear her laugh.
“My wife’s middle name was Cody,” she said, smiling. “And that’s what everyone called her.”
Pouring on the charm, I said with a grin, “I’m sure it wasn’t the same girl.”
Scottie threw her head back and howled. Catching her breath, she glanced at me again. “Thank you for that. I haven’t had a good laugh in a long time.”
“You should laugh more. You have a beautiful laugh.”
Her face flushed bright pink, and I thought I had overstepped my bounds. But just as I was going to make a lame joke to compensate, my radio cackled to life.
“Base to Chief Dennis,” Michele said.
I stood up and opened my jacket and then jerked the radio off my belt. “Dennis, go ahead.”
“Be advised that your one o’clock has canceled and the CEO can see you now.”
“Roger that. I’m on my way. Dennis out.” I clipped the radio back on my belt and looked at Scottie.
“So, the CEO is waiting on very special Chief of Security Casey Dennis. Impressive.”
Normally impressing a woman would be at the forefront of my motivation, but nothing had been normal this entire week. I shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess I’d better go. Is it all right if I come back and check on you two?”
She nodded, a twinkle glinting in her eye. “You don’t have to ask that every time, you know. Come back anytime. I’d enjoy the company.”
As I walked past her toward the door, I stopped and put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed, as if I were willing my strength to flow into her. She didn’t turn, but she did pat my hand and I found myself wishing that I didn’t have to go. That I
could stay and comfort her for as long as she needed. Walking out of the unit and past the elevators, the sudden sensation of her legs wrapped around my waist came to mind and it made me angry. How dare my own mind turn something so pure into something so salacious? I spent too many months after rehab trying to fill a hole in my heart with sex, and now I couldn’t seem to control those urges. But this wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about getting her into bed. This was so much more than that. This was about a woman who loved her child more than life itself. A real woman who wanted nothing more in life than to have her son be well and thrive. It was about getting my body to respect that and turning off the arousal button that I had always encouraged before. Are you punishing me, God? Is this why you brought me here?
Chapter Fifteen
Michele Michaels
“No, not that one. You’d look like my grandmother in that one,” Dorey complained.
We had gone across the street to the mall where Dorey insisted we look in a little clothing boutique frequented mostly by teenagers.
“I’m old enough to be your grandmother,” I shot back, putting the granny dress back on the rack.
“That doesn’t mean you have to dress like it,” she retorted. “Here, try this one on.” She held up a dark blue, low-cut cocktail dress with sequins.
I waved my hands and shook my head. “I’m not some twenty-year-old tart, you know. Besides, I’m much too fat for that short a skirt.”
“You’re going to dinner with someone thirty years your junior. Don’t you want to look like her date instead of her mother?”
“I’d settle for an older sister.”
She rolled her eyes at me and kept looking at dresses.
“So, what did you do with the new temps?” I asked, hoping to distract her from the ugly dress she was looking at. “You didn’t leave them on their own, did you?”
“God, no. Robby has them for an hour. I asked him if he would eat lunch with them while I’m here with you and he said he would. To be honest with you, I don’t think much of these two new ones.”
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