Compulsion (33 page)

Anderson heard my handshake loud and clear.  "Thanks, Frank," he said.  He let a few seconds pass.  "Billy’s going to need somebody like Rossetti.  O’Donnell and the D.A. are both convinced they’ve got their man.  They’ll paint Billy as such a monster in the media that he’ll be public enemy number one by the time he steps into court."

Their
man
happens to be a boy, I thought to myself.  If they can try kids as adults, why don't they try immature fifty-year-olds as juveniles?  Another one-way street paved by the state.  "Have you talked to Fields?" I asked, switching gears.

"I did.  There are a lot of things pointing in good old Darwin’s direction — including that negative — but it’s all circumstantial.  The way the D.A.’s office is looking at this case, the break-in is the place to hang their hats.  If they can convince a jury that the timing of Tess’s cardiac arrest and Billy’s B & E is too close to be a coincidence, then they prevail.  Billy fleeing the jurisdiction doesn’t look good, either."

"No," I agreed.  "It doesn’t."

"That it?" he said.

"I talked to Julia about the letter," I said.

"What did she say?"

"She told me she wrote it to her therapist, in Manhattan.  Marion Eisenstadt."

"Can you check that out?"

"I already called her," I said.  "She wouldn’t really open up without a release from Julia, but she did tell me the two of them had only had four or five sessions together."

"And?"

"And Julia’s letter sounds like something you’d write to a therapist after four or five sessions
a week
, for a lot of weeks."

"Sounds that way," he said.  "But don’t forget who we’re dealing with here."

"Meaning?"

"Julia brings out incredibly strong feelings in people, incredibly quickly.  Maybe that kind of thing cuts both ways."

"That she’d bond that quickly in therapy herself?  Instant transference?"

"You’re the psychiatrist," Anderson said, "but it seems possible."

"Possible," I agreed.  "But, more likely, that was a love letter to another man."

"A man we’d want to talk to," he said.

"If we ever find out who he is," I said.

Anderson was silent a few seconds.  "It doesn’t make you feel very special, does it?"

"No," I said.  "I guess not."  Saying that, I didn’t quite believe it.  Remarkably, I was still holding on to the slim chance that Julia was a woman with a complicated past who had firmly settled on me for her future.  I wanted to forgive her — almost anything.

"Are you headed back to the hospital to talk with her?" he asked.  "I’d like to know what she has to say when you tell her you talked with her doctor."

I didn’t want to tell him that Julia was headed over to my place.  "I’ll get to her one way or another," I said.  That didn’t sound great, even to me.

"It’s your call," Anderson said.  "Just keep being careful.  You lucked out last time.  You could have been killed."

"I hear you," I said.  I paused, noticing that a hint of paranoia about Anderson had crept back into my mind.  From his tone of voice, I wouldn’t have been able to say whether he was warning me or threatening me. 
You lucked out last time.  You could have been killed
.  "Can you get me an interview with Billy at eight
A.M.
" I asked.

"You got it," he said.

"Let’s talk soon," I said, and hung up.  I was physically and emotionally exhausted.  On empty.  I closed my eyes again, thirsting for sleep.

*            *            *

I woke with a start, not knowing where I was for the first few seconds.  I checked my watch — 1:20
A.M.
and still no Julia.  I dialed Mass General to see if she had left the Telemetry unit.

The unit clerk answered the line.  "This is Dr. Frank Clevenger," I said.  "I’m calling to see whether Ms. Bishop might still be with her daughter Tess."

"Can you hold?"

"Of course."

Almost a minute passed.  I started getting nervous, wondering whether something had happened to Tess.  John Karlstein finally picked up the phone.  "Frank?" he said.

"Right here."  I wasn’t sure why he was still following the case outside the intensive care unit, but I knew it couldn’t be for any happy reason.

"They had a little problem down here with Tess," Karlstein said.  "I was still upstairs tying loose ends, so I came by."

I closed my eyes.  "What sort of problem?"

"Her breathing slowed.  Respiratory rate went down to eight.  We watched her blood oxygen concentration fall all the way to twenty-seven.  I didn’t want to put her on a face mask because I worried we’d suppress her respiratory drive even more.  We kind of held our breath, along with her, for twenty minutes.  Then everything drifted back toward normal.  Now she seems fine.  Her pO
₂
is back up to ninety-five."

"What happened?"

"Honestly, I don’t know," he said.  "It could be that she got a little residual neurological damage somehow affecting her respiratory rate.  It could be the Nortriptyline wasn’t the only toxin in her bloodstream when she was admitted.  Or it could be one of those things that happens out of the blue, like I warned you about.  Patients who code once tend to code again."

"Is Julia Bishop there?" I asked, tacking on her last name to make the relationship sound professional.

A new note of worry entered his voice.  "She left a while ago — just before this happened," he said.

"You’re still concerned about her and the baby, their interactions, I mean?" I said.

"I don’t know if I am or I’m not.  But I have found myself thinking once or twice about Caroline Hallissey’s assessment.  Long and short of it, I figure there’s no harm having her attending physician down here order up another twenty-four-hour sitter."  He cleared his throat.  "Chances are, this was a fluke.  It happens.  I’ve had patients look like they were about to code, then bounce back and never have another problem."

"Or it might not be a fluke," I said, half to myself.

"There are lots of medications that can suppress your breathing," Karlstein said.  "Ativan, Klonopin.  They're all commonly prescribed to people with depression."  By which he meant Julia.  "We’ll grab a toxic screen of Tess’s blood, just to be on the safe side."

"That’s the right thing to do," I said.

"I knew you’d see it that way, doc.  Check in, any time," Karlstein said.  "I’m hoping to be out of here in a few, so I’ll let the house officer know to fill you in on any changes.  You on beeper?"

"Sure am," I said.

"You’re the man," he said.

We hung up.  I didn’t like the fact that Julia had left the unit just before Tess had run into respiratory trouble.  Karlstein obviously didn’t like it, either.  But there wasn’t any clear reason — let alone evidence — to believe the two events were causally linked.  At least not yet.  The toxic screen would show any new prescription medication in Tess’s bloodstream.

Less than two minutes later, the buzzer of my front door sounded.  I walked over to the intercom.  "Hello?" I said.  I hit the
LISTEN
button.

"Sorry I’m late," Julia said.  "Still have time for me?"

"You know I do," I said.  I let her in.

When she walked into the apartment, Julia seemed more relaxed than I had ever seen her, which I took to mean she hadn’t heard about Tess and probably hadn’t heard about Billy being arrested, either.  I was anything but relaxed myself.  I didn’t linger with her at the door.  "Can I get you coffee?  A drink?" I asked, walking to the kitchen.

She strolled through the loft, stopping in front of the plate-glass windows.  The Boston skyline shone before her.

"Anything?" I asked again.

She turned slowly around.  She looked like a goddess against the night sky.  "Just take me to bed, okay?" she said, in a tired, needy way that, even under the circumstances, had me thinking about helping her out of her clothes.

I studied her for any sign of anxiety.  There was none.  Was it even remotely possible that she was fresh from trying to kill her daughter?  "We need to talk," I said.

She took a deep breath and sat down at the edge of the mattress.  "I’ve told you everything about North there is to tell," she said.  "Go ahead, ask away."

"It isn’t about North," I said.  I walked over to her and, like a reflex, like there was no question of maintaining any real distance, held out my hand.  She took it.  I nodded toward the couch.  "Let’s sit down together."

The mother in Julia must have read the part of my mind that was preoccupied with Tess’s difficulty breathing — unless she already knew about it, having caused it.  "Is something wrong at the hospital?" she said.

"Not anymore," I said.  "Everything’s fine."  I helped her up and guided her to the couch.  We sat down close to one another.

"Something’s happened," she said, her voice straining.  "What?  Tell me."

"Things are fine.  I called looking for you on the Telemetry unit.  I ended up talking to Dr. Karlstein."

"Doctor—"

"He was there because Tess had had some trouble breathing."

Her head fell into her hands.  "Is she all right?"

"She is," I said definitively.  "Her breathing is completely back to normal."

"I’m going there right now," she said.  "Will you drive me?"

"Hold on.  She’s fine.  Really."  I moved my hand to her knee and felt my own breathing quicken.  Strange.  With all the fires burning around us, the energy between us still felt the most incendiary.  "Give me a minute to finish," I said.

Julia’s panicked eyes searched my face.  "Oh, God.  You’re not telling me everything."

"It’s not about Tess," I said.  I paused.  "They found Billy.  He was at LaGuardia, waiting for a flight to Miami."

She let out a sigh of relief.  "At least he’s safe."

"They’re bringing him to the Suffolk County House of Corrections," in Boston.  I’ll see him there tomorrow morning."

She shook her head.  "He shouldn’t have to spend a single day in a place like that," she said.  "He’s innocent.  I’m sure of it now."

I took back my hand, nodding to myself.

Julia looked at me with concern.  "What else could be wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said.  A sigh that escaped me said otherwise.  "I had a chance to call Marion Eisenstadt," I said.

She stared at me a few moments.  "You’re kidding."

"You can tell me if that letter wasn’t written to her," I said.

"I can’t believe you actually bothered her with this.  Behind my back."

"She told me you’ve had four or five sessions together.  That’s all she’d say."

"She didn’t tell you about the letters?" Julia asked.

Was she bluffing?  "She wouldn’t," I said.  "Not without a written release of information from you."  I let that not-so-subtle hint hang in the air.

"You want me to sign some form to let you look at my psychiatric records, to prove I haven’t been fucking someone else?  Are you joking?"

"I just want you to be honest with me.  I want you to know that you can be."

She shook her head in frustration.  Her eyes filled up.

"If that letter was written to someone else, I have to talk to that person, as part of the investigation.  I can’t let it—"

She looked back at me, a new anger in her eyes chasing away any hint of sadness.  "That’s right.  You can’t let it go.  You can’t let go of the past and let us have a life together.  You’ll see phantom lovers of mine everywhere you turn.  Because jealousy doesn’t take any courage.  Acceptance does.  Loving someone does.  And you can’t really love anybody."

I pressed ahead, even though Julia’s diagnosis gave me pause.  "It’s still hard to understand how after four or five..."

"It’s not my job to convince you of anything," she said.  "You’ll believe what you want."  She stood up.  "This is foolishness.  We’re foolishness.  I need to be with my daughter."

I wasn’t at all sure I wanted her to leave — the apartment or me.  Because even if Julia was lying, all she was probably lying about was her complicated past with men.  And my own romantic life had been anything but simple.  Maybe she was right.  Maybe I was hesitating at the threshold of an emotion that had evaded me my whole life — the feeling of unconditional love for a woman.

She started toward the door.

"Don’t leave," I said.

She stopped, but didn’t turn back to me.  "You’re the one who left," she said.  She started walking again.

"It’s late," I said.  "At least let me drive you."

She pulled open the door and slammed it behind her.

Chapter 18

Saturday, June 29, 2002

I paced the loft for a few minutes, careful to avoid stepping closed to the liquor cabinet, deciding whether to run after Julia.  I stayed put.  Barely.  Whether she had lied to me or not, seen into my soul or not, I was finally starting to believe in my heart what North Anderson had been telling me all along.  I couldn’t see the case clearly with her dominating my line of vision.

I picked up the phone and dialed Anderson at home.  I wanted to update him on how Julia had responded.  He answered after one ring.  "Anderson."

"It’s Frank," I said.

"I’m glad you called," he said.  "Things are getting ugly all of a sudden."

"How so?" I said.

"Mayor Keene called me about an hour ago.  He wants me in his office first thing tomorrow.  I think he’s gonna let me go — or at least threaten to."

"Let you go?" I said.

"District Attorney Harrigan and Captain O’Donnell figure they’ve made their arrest," he said.  "They want everyone to line up behind them.  They know I’ll stick out like a sore thumb."

"Jesus," I said.  "Is this Keene guy just a front man for Bishop?"

"Worse than that," Anderson said.  "He’d do the same dirty work for any one of twenty of his campaign contributors.  I should have thrown him a grand myself."  He paused.  "I’m worried Bishop might have passed that photograph of Julia and me to him.  He mentioned being concerned about my ‘sense of propriety’."