Cold Judgment (19 page)

CHAPTER 27

Dr. Elias put down his brush with a satisfied sigh. He had saved Kay from her illness. She was no longer a time bomb, capable of exploding and injuring others. Her painted face looked tranquil, and he was glad. Kay's life had been frenzied, with schedules and commitments, but now she was free of anxiety and stress.

He had made his plans yesterday, after he'd seen the article in the paper about Dayton's charity fashion show. Kay was a featured model. Dr. Elias knew Kay would try to leave town, but her sense of civic duty would keep her there for the show.

The method practically dictated itself. The automobile was inherently a dangerous device. Several thousand pounds of hurtling metal was a formidable weapon in anyone's hands, especially someone like Kay, who knew nothing about cars. Dr. Elias knew Kay would not notice her Datsun's malfunction until it was much too late

One call to an auto parts store and the mechanic's manual had been delivered immediately, along with the tools he had ordered. He had reviewed the section on the braking system after he'd finished Nora's portrait last night.

Dr. Elias stepped back and smiled. It had been so easy. The faint wail of sirens outside his studio window told him that it was all over. Kay was no longer a problem. There were only two group members left to treat and he would be finished.

His smile twisted to a grimace of agony as he cleaned his brushes and set them out to dry. It had been barely two hours since his last injection, but he would need another before he left the building. First he would make his call to the newspaper and then he could reward himself by alleviating his pain.

The switchboard operator at the
Minneapolis Tribune
was most helpful. Most people were delighted to give out information if the query was worded effectively. Dr. Elias wrote the address in his memo book. Riverside Estates. It was out on Highway 169, on the way to Anoka. Another new housing development on West River Road, and Debra was covering the opening ceremony. It would be a forty-five-minute trip by taxi.

He wrapped himself in his warmest winter overcoat and slipped on his gloves. Snow pelted against the window as he waited for the cab to pull up outside. The weather ball was red. Storm warnings would go into effect in less than an hour, and that would work to his advantage. Not many people would be attending the opening. It would be much easier to catch Debra alone and terminate her therapy.

The taxi pulled up outside and Dr. Elias hurried to the elevator. The injection was working effectively on his nervous system. He felt strong and powerful, capable of completing his duty. First Debra. Then Mac. And then he could die in peace.

Mac parked on the lower level and took the elevator up to the penthouse. As the steel doors opened and he stepped out onto the thick gray carpet, he wondered how many times he had walked down this same hallway.

He remembered the first time, almost five years ago. He had been nervous, apprehensive. Then, as the weeks of therapy had passed, there'd been anticipation as the elevator carried him upward, a lightening of his burden as he walked down the hallway to Dr. Elias's office, a tremendous release of tension in the simple act of pulling open the office door. There was none of that now. Now Mac walked down the same corridor with dread.

Mac shivered as he approached the penthouse door. He hesitated a moment and then rang the bell. There was no answer. Dr. Elias might be in a hospital or clinic somewhere, but Mac doubted it. He figured the doctor was the type of man who would rather die in familiar surroundings, in his own home. There was a good chance he was lying in bed, too weak to answer the bell. Or worse.

Mac reached reluctantly in his pocket for his plastic. He knew he was committing an illegal act, but there was no choice. He had to get inside.

There was a slot for a dead bolt at the top of the lock, but it had not been thrown. Mac's hand was shaking slightly as he slipped his plastic strip into place and jiggled it expertly. The latch resisted at first, but at last it opened.

“Dr. Elias? It's me . . . Mac!” Mac called out loudly as he turned the doorknob. He didn't want Dr. Elias to mistake him for a burglar. “Are you home, Dr. Elias?”

The apartment was as silent as a tomb. Mac entered the foyer warily. He stopped every few steps and called out, but there was no answer.

Mac's trained eyes took in the living room at a glance. Christmas tree in the corner, lights off. Dr. Elias had been alive to order a tree. Mac checked the water in the stand. It was full. Someone had tended the tree recently.

An expensive stereo system sat next to the window. Mac glanced at the turntable. Mahler's Symphony no. 5 in C Sharp Minor. There was a book on top of the cabinet.
A Musical Analysis of Gustav Mahler.

A huge glass case containing pipes hung on the wall. There were hundreds of briars inside. Mac recognized some of the brands. Dr. Elias had nothing but the best.

A Japanese hand-painted teacup with a matching cover sat on the table by a big leather chair. Mac lifted the lid. There was a half cup of coffee inside. Cold. There was no telling how long it had been there.

Mac glanced in the kitchen. It was empty, spotless. It told him nothing.

He walked down the hallway and stepped into the first bedroom. It had been converted into an exercise room, furnished with the best in bodybuilding equipment. Mac was shocked. Of course he'd noticed that Dr. Elias was in good physical shape, but he couldn't picture him pumping iron.

Suddenly Mac realized there was a lot he didn't know about Dr. Elias. The group had shared the most intimate details of their lives with him, but none of them had known anything personal about Dr. Elias in return. He had never invited any of them to these rooms. For all practical purposes, the man's personal life was a mystery.

The master bedroom was next. Mac found himself tiptoeing as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bed was made neatly, with hospital corners. There was a pipe lying in an ashtray on the dresser. Mac felt the bowl. It was cold.

The bathroom was next. Towels hung neatly on the racks. Several were still moist. He pulled open the shower door. The floor was wet.

Mac didn't realize he was holding his breath until he released it in a grateful sigh. Dr. Elias was still alive. He had taken a shower this morning. Mac closed the shower door and hurried out of the apartment. Dr. Elias could be in his office.

There was no answer as he pushed the office buzzer. The door was locked and the lights were out. Mac used his plastic strip on the door.

He called out loudly as he stepped inside, but there was no answer. He didn't expect one. There was a cold feeling inside that Mac had learned to associate with vacant rooms. It was a kind of sixth sense that some cops developed after years of experience. The sound of human breathing was loud when the ear was trained to listen for it.

Two folders lay open on the huge wooden desk. Debra's. And his. Mac shivered. Why were their folders out, when the others were filed away? Was it because they were the only two group members left alive?

The conference room was deserted. Mac hurried down the carpeted hallway to the door at the end. He had always assumed it was another entrance to Dr.

Elias's living quarters.

This door was more difficult to open. There were two locks. Mac worked the plastic strip back and forth until the tumblers released at last. He stepped into what appeared to be a long corridor and snapped on the lights.

Portraits lined the walls. Each one was signed and dated.
Elias '57
,
Elias '64
. Mac glanced at several. He had not known that Dr. Elias was an artist!

This could have been a family gallery, but the paintings were too numerous and far too recent. Mac estimated there were over a hundred, painted from 1955 to 1980. He hurried past the staring eyes of the portraits and opened the door at the end of the corridor.

Inside was an immense studio with glass walls and a skylight. Dim gray light filtered in through the sheets of snow blowing against the glass. There was an easel in the center, and Mac gasped in shock as he caught sight of the painting in progress. The group. Their group! And all the faces were completed except Debra's and his. Suddenly Mac knew the truth!

He remembered sitting in Kay's living room, saying the killer had to be someone who knew the group and their habits. Who knew their habits better than Dr. Elias? No one had thought to suspect their trusted doctor!

Mac stared at the portrait and shuddered. Kay's face had a shiny cast that was different from the rest. He reached out and touched the canvas. Wet paint.

For a moment he was frozen with shock. Mac blinked and swayed slightly. Why was Dr. Elias killing off his own patients? Was he convinced they couldn't survive without him? Had the pain of his illness driven him mad?

Mac stood and stared at the painting for one awful moment, and then he ran for the door. He had to warn Debbie!

CHAPTER 28

Dr. Elias turned up his collar against the bitter cold and made his way painfully to the model home marked OFFICE. The red plastic flags flanking the sidewalk whipped in the wind. Several had torn loose and skittered across the snowy expanse of the front lawn.

The opening had not been canceled. Dr. Elias breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted a circle of people posing for pictures. A woman with her back to him was interviewing a man in a gray suit. Dr. Elias moved closer. The woman turned and he saw that it was not Debra.

Did she have an assistant? He waited until the woman had finished the interview and approached her.

Dr. Elias could barely contain his disappointment as the woman explained that she was filling in for Debra, a last-minute change of assignment. If he wanted to contact Debra he could call her at home. There was a phone in the next room that he could use.

“Oh, I'm so glad you called!” Debra hung on to the phone tightly. It was Dr. Elias. He was still alive!

“You've got to help us, Dr. Elias!” Debra tried to keep her voice calm. “Someone is killing off the group!”

That was the reason he'd called. Dr. Elias had been gone, but he'd come back when he'd heard about the murders. Even though he was very ill, he had gone to the housing development to warn her. She was in terrible danger. Was she alone?

“Yes, except for the baby.” Debra glanced over at the car bed. The baby was beginning to wake up.

Something in his voice changed as he asked about the baby. Debra hurried to explain.

“Oh, I . . . I'm fine, Dr. Elias. Really.” Debra gave a nervous little laugh. “It's not what you think. I'm just babysitting this afternoon as a favor for a friend.”

Had she seen Mac? It was very important that Dr. Elias find him.

“Mac left here a few minutes ago. He went up to your penthouse to try to find you. We knew you were the only one who could help us.”

He seemed very concerned about Mac. Was Debra sure Mac had gone to the penthouse? Was he alone? Or had he taken some of his friends from the police with him?

“He's alone. We haven't told the police about the group. Kay . . .” Debra choked back tears. “Kay was afraid for Charles's career. Mac tried to protect her, but . . .”

Dr. Elias's voice was soothing. Of course she was upset. It was terrible, what had happened to Kay. Now he wanted to know about Mac. There was something new in her voice when she talked about him. Was she involved with Mac?

“Yes.” Debra smiled down at the phone. “I . . . I'm living with him, Dr. Elias. Mac's so wonderful! I never could have gotten through this without him. You were right. It was time to trust someone again.”

There was a silence, and then Dr. Elias spoke again. He had some very bad news for her. About Mac. He wanted to be there in person to tell her, but there wasn't time. This was something she needed to know immediately, before Mac came back. Did she trust Dr. Elias enough to do as he said?

“Of course I do! What is it, Dr. Elias?”

At first the words didn't make sense. Dr. Elias went on to explain. Mac was the killer. He had suffered a setback, a terrible crisis in his therapy. Mac's illness had developed into an almost textbook case of schizophrenia. He was a very sick man. Obviously Debra knew the normal part of Mac's personality. The abnormal part was the killer. Debra and Dr. Elias had to help him.

Debra stared down at the phone. The little holes in the receiver were so small and symmetrical. It was a miracle how the human voice could carry over wires and transmitters to come out in such frightening words in her ear. Dr. Elias was talking to her again. She didn't want to listen. Mac was the killer. Dr. Elias had said so. The man she loved was a killer!

Mac's love for her might spare her, but Dr. Elias said they could take no chances. He had a cab waiting at Riverside Estates. As soon as he arrived at her apartment, they would go to the police together. She should stay right there in her apartment and wait for him. Would she promise not to let anyone in? Especially Mac?

Debra nodded. That was silly. He couldn't hear her nod. She remembered all that nonsense about view phones, the wave of the future. If the view phone had come to pass, Dr. Elias could have seen her nodding.

Mac needed psychiatric help. Dr. Elias would make sure he was treated fairly. Poor Mac might not remember anything about the murders. He could be totally unaware of his psychoneurosis.

Now Dr. Elias was trying to comfort her. Debra nodded again. No, she wouldn't let Mac in her apartment. Yes, she'd wait right there for Dr. Elias. Mac was the killer!

She listened to the dial tone for a long time after Dr. Elias had hung up. Debra felt the tears roll down her cheeks, but she couldn't seem to raise her hand to brush them away. It all seemed impossible, but she had to believe Dr. Elias. He was her doctor, the only one who had cared about her when she'd been in trouble. He had brought her out of her depression and helped her back to sanity. She trusted him.

But she loved Mac! Even now that she knew the truth, she still loved him. Debra tried to think, but a heavy fog seemed to have settled over her mind. Where had Mac been when Jerry was killed? She didn't know. And Greg? Mac had worked late that night. At least he'd said he was working late. How about Father Marx? Mac had no alibi. And Kay! Mac could have cut Kay's brake line while they were in the dressing room.

The phone was ringing. Debra stared at it for a long moment before she picked it up.

“Debbie! Thank God!”

It was Mac. Debra shivered as she gripped the receiver.

“Listen, honey. Don't let anyone in the apartment. I'm on my way. Dr. Elias is the killer! I found the evidence in his apartment. Keep the doors locked. Do you hear me, Debbie? Dr. Elias is the killer!”

“Yes.”

Mac hung up before she could think to ask any questions. Debra shivered as the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Nothing made sense. She had to trust the man she loved. She trusted Mac. And she trusted Dr. Elias. But one of them was lying. Which one should she believe?

She couldn't decide. It was too much to ask. Debra replaced the phone in the cradle and picked up the crying baby. She was late. She had a plane to catch. Steve would be worried if she wasn't on time. Now she had to call a cab and heat a bottle for her son. She could feed him in the taxi on the way to the airport.

 

 

Mac saw red lights flashing behind him as he turned at the corner of Grant and Nicollet. He pulled over to the curb and tried to remember if he had broken any traffic laws. Two officers got out of the cruiser and approached him politely. Mac didn't know either of them very well. He seemed to recall that the younger man's name was Perkins.

“Lieutenant Macklin? Sorry, sir. You'll have to come with us.”

“Come with you?” Mac was shocked. “What is it, Perkins?”

“Orders from the captain, sir. He said to find you and bring you in right away. To Sergeant Holt's office.”

“But I have to get to Lake Street! Jesus, Perkins! Can't this wait?”

“I'm sorry, Lieutenant.” The older officer shook his head. “We've got strict orders from the captain. Leave your car here and ride with us.”

For all practical purposes, he was under arrest. Mac knew these two officers would go by the book. If the captain had signed an order to bring him in, they wouldn't cut him any slack.

A crazy impulse seized him as he reached for the key. What were his chances if he floored it and ran? He might get three blocks before another car picked him up. Then they'd cuff him and take him in anyway.

Mac shut off the engine and followed the officers to the squad car. He'd clear up this thing with Curt in a hurry. Thank God Debbie's apartment was secure. He'd checked it out himself. Debbie would be safe if she followed his instructions and refused to open the door.

 

 

“Which airline, lady?”

The taxi driver turned to look in the back. She must be meeting her husband or something. All she had was the baby. No luggage.

“Lady? Hey, lady! Which plane are you meeting?”

Debra stared at the driver in shock. What was she doing? The baby slept peacefully in her arms. She was holding a half-empty bottle of formula. A plane roared overhead and Debra blinked. She was at the entrance to the airport! With Jackie's baby!

“Oh. I . . . I'm sorry, driver. I've changed my mind. Please take me back to my apartment.”

“It's your money, lady.”

The driver turned around on the access road and headed back toward the freeway. Debra heard him grumble something about crazy passengers. Was she crazy? She must have been to bring Jackie's baby to the airport.

Suddenly Debra remembered and her face turned white. There had been the call from Dr. Elias. And then the call from Mac. One of them was the killer. Which one?

They were on the Crosstown Freeway. Debra saw the sign for Portland Avenue and made up her mind.

“Take Portland, please. I need to stop at Forty-sixth.”

There was a panel truck in the driveway at Jackie's house. Debra told the driver to wait and ran inside with the baby. Jackie's husband was home. She told him she had a family emergency. Could he keep the baby?

“Hey, don't worry about a thing.” He grinned at her and took the baby. “It's a lucky thing I got off work early. I'll call the paper and tell Jackie the kid's home with me.”

A moment later she was back in the cab, heading for her apartment. She had slipped for a moment, but now she was thinking clearly again. Debra still didn't know which man was the killer, but running away wasn't the answer. She had to stay in her apartment and face it somehow.

 

 

“Mac, sit down a minute.” Captain Meyers motioned to a chair. He'd never expected anything like this when Holt said he needed Mac picked up for questioning. A killer shrink and a therapy group that included the mayor's wife!

“I need two men to go with me to Debbie's apartment! He's going to kill her!”

“Hold on, Mac. Dr. Theodore Elias? Is that right? And all the victims were members of his therapy group?”

“Right!”

Captain Meyers frowned. Mac was so agitated he could barely talk. It was pretty clear the man was going off the deep end. Meyers had just come from the scene of the accident and the mayor would be here any minute. He couldn't let Mayor Atchinson hear Mac's crazy talk about his wife!

“Look, Mac. Work it out with Curt. I have to meet with the mayor. We'll pick up this Dr. Elias for questioning if you've got something to back up your story. You stay right here until I'm through with the mayor!”

“But, Captain! You don't understand! I . . .”

Captain Meyers hurried out of Holt's office and shut the door behind him. Poor Mac was having another breakdown. It was sad to see a good cop go down the tubes.

“This whole thing has gone far enough!” Mac slammed his fist down on Curt's desk. “I'm going out that door, Curt. If you try to stop me, I'll deck you.”

“Mac . . . wait!” Curt put his arm on Mac's arm. “Captain Meyers ordered you to stay here until he got back.”

“Forget Captain Meyers!” Mac got to his feet.

Curt swallowed hard. If he didn't keep Mac here, he could kiss his promotion good-bye. Captain Meyers thought Mac was crazy, but the captain didn't know Mac as well as he did. Curt made up his mind. If Mac said there was a crazy killer shrink, Curt believed him.

“I'll drive.” Curt stood up and buckled on his service revolver. “Come on, Mac. Let's go!”