Marcie's Murder (31 page)

“He’s a cute little sonofabitch.”

“Glad to hear it.” He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Actually, the FBI categorizes us as an NRM, a new religious movement. Ironically, it’s our Christian cousins who refer to us on a regular basis as a cult.
A
‘
dangerous, heretical cult,’ to be precise.
”

“You sound like you’ve had contact with the FBI
before
.”

“I’ve met several times with Special Agent Lucas Peppers. He’s an instructor at Quantico. He was doing research on NRMs and came down to see us a couple of times, maybe two years ago. We still exchange e
-
mails on a regular basis.”

“Don’t know him,” Karen said. “Sandy probably does. Anyway, you didn’t really answer my question about what you guys are, besides odd ducks.”

Brother Charles preceded her up the front steps of the clinic and through the automatic sliding glass doors. “It would take quite a few minutes to explain
,
and you’re probably not interested.”

He
walked up to the reception desk and
asked
them
to
page Dr. Orlov. Orlov telephoned the receptionist
back
within thirty seconds
to say
that he was in his office on the third floor. Brother Charles led the way down the corridor to an elevator.

“In addition to the walk-in clinic,”
he
explained, “we
also
schedule
appointments
with patients. Dr. Orlov’s likely between
consultations
; otherwise it would have taken him a little longer to answer the page.”

They left the elevator and passed
a lone receptionist on their way down the corridor to Dr. Orlov’s office. The door was open. Brother Charles peeked inside.

“Are we disturbing you?”

“No, not at all, come on in.”

Brother Charles led the way into a
smallish
office
that contained a
desk, two visitor’s chairs,
a
filing cabinet, and a
small
bookshelf that held
a
collection of
medical and pharmaceutical
reference manuals
. The man sitting
at
the desk was about forty. He was stocky with wavy black hair, a trimmed black beard, thick black eyebrows
,
and surprisingly pale blue eyes. On second glance, Karen
realized
that he was s
it
ting in a wheelchair.

“Dennis,” Brother Charles said, “this is Detective Karen Stainer, from out of town. She’s been assisting the Harmony police in the investigation of Mrs. Askew’s murder. Detective, this is Dr.
 
Dennis Orlov.”

Karen shook hands with him and sat down. “Appreciate the time,” she said. “This won’t take long.”

“Not a problem.” Orlov folded his hands across his
stomach
and smiled at her. “
From o
ut of town?
”

“Out of state, actually. Maryland.”

“That’s hardly a Maryland accent.”

“No sir, it
’s not
. I’m Texas born and bred.”

“Thought so.” Orlov glanced at Brother Charles. “Was there anyone waiting out in the reception area?”

Brother Charles shook his head. “No one but the receptionist. I don’t think I’ve met her yet. I didn’t recognize her.”

“It’s her second week. Was she eating anything?”

“No.” Brother Charles looked puzzled.

“Volunteers,” Orlov said to Karen. “Some are more professional
than others. Cynthia has a bad habit of eating junk food when it gets quiet. There were all these grease stains on the forms she was typing for me. I had to say something.” He glanced from Karen to Brother Charles. “I
hate
saying anything to volunteers, since they’re good enough to donate their time and skills in the first place, but forms tend to get rejected if they’re smeared and hard to read.”

“I could have a word with David,” Brother Charles offered. “He’s our volunteers coordinator,” he explained to Karen.

“No, don’t bother. It’s been okay so far this week.”

“So are you another monk?” Karen asked.

Orlov shook his head. “No, actually I’m a volunteer as well.
My story’s boring, though. I won’t waste your time.”

“Dennis is one of the best diagnosticians in Virginia,” Brother C
harles said. “He made a pile of money at the top hospital in Richmond, published a ton of papers, one book
. . .
?”

Orlov winced. “Two. Sorry.”

“Two books, I stand corrected, then was sideswiped by a speeding
police
car while driving home from work one nigh
t. Suffered an irreversible spinal injury.”

“Oh oh,” Karen said.

“It was very late,” Orlov said. “The officers were chasing a hit and run suspect. The guy passed me at over a hundred miles an hour and the police car followed, but they hit a very large puddle of water in their lane just as they were about to pull away from me.
T
ouched my front fender
just
enough to send me into a spin. I went into the ditch and rolled so many times that
my
car looked like it had been shredded by the time it stopped. I was wearing my seat belt but got hurt anyway.
It was unavoidable.
”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a cop hater. An elderly woman died at the scene of the hit and run. Never had a chance. The guy was stinking
drunk and didn’t even know that the cruiser was already behind him when he ran the red light and hit the poor
dear
. I was very angry at the time, of course. No one wants to end up like this. But I didn’t let it make me bitter. And the police department bent over backwards. My lawyer was very surprised. So when everyone had settled on the right numbers
,
I was able to retire and do whatever I wanted with the rest of my life. I’d already met Ben and knew about the work he was doing here. Suffice it to say that he talked me into giving it a try. So I volunteer about thirty hours a week and spend the rest of my time working on my next book.”

“How’s it coming
, by the way
?” Brother Charles asked.

“Not bad, thanks for asking.” Orlov looked at Karen. “I’m writing a book on the psychology of bird watching.
Charlie here
was my immediate inspiration, although I must admit I’ve gone off in a different direction
now
.
” H
e
looked at
Brother Charles
again
.
“
I think you’ll still find it very interesting
.”

“You got bored by the spiritual insight.”

“Let’s just say I got
fatally
distracted by the physics of birdsong.”

“This is over my head, fellas,” Karen said. “Let me just ask my questions
,
and I’ll get the hell out of your hair.”

Orlov chuckled. “
Feel free
.”

“You treated Marcie Askew on a couple of occasions, as I understand it.”

“That’s right,” Orlov nodded. “I read through her file again this morning, since we were making
a
copy for the
s
heriff. I thought the investigation was in their hands
now
.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been consulting on it and just need to tie up a loose end.” Karen leaned back and stared at him. “Did she tell you who it was that was beating on her?”

“No,” Orlov said gravely. “Understand, Detective. The first time it was a broken wrist, and her story was
thin but plausible
.
”

“She fell down
the
stairs and put her hand out to stop herself.”

“Correct. The second time, with the separated shoulder, the story was less
believable
.”

“Right. She dislocated it while walking somebody’s dog.”

“Yes. A shaggy dog story. She went on and on about this dog, trying to make a joke of it.
Again it was Dr. Long, but this time he was becoming concerned.
”

“Made
him
suspicious?”

“Yes.
He
questioned her closely
,
but she stuck to the dog
story
.”

“That was three months ago.”

“Correct. Then a month later she was back with a cracked jaw, loose teeth
,
and
a
black eye
.
Before seeing her
,
I read through Dr.
 
Long’s notations in the file
,
and
as soon as
I saw
her
I
knew we had a problem.”

“You called in Brother Charles.”

“That’s correct. And Dr. Long. While the x-rays were being processed
,
we discussed it and decided to call Dr. Huntley.”

“The psychologist in Bluefield.”

“Yes. As I understand it, she met with
Mrs. Askew
once or twice
after that
. I think
Mrs. Askew
talked
to you
about it, didn’t she, Charlie?”

Brother Charles nodded. “Yes, she did.” He looked at Karen. “We asked her to make a full disclosure
of the abuse
, to go to the police
and file a report
, but she refused.”

“Did you ask her if it was her husband?”

“I did,” Dr. Orlov said. “I asked her if that was why she didn’t want to go to the police. She denied that it was him.”

“She did.”

“Yes. She said he’d never laid a finger on her in his life.
She was pretty emphatic about it.
”

“Well who in the flaming bejesus was
hitting her if it wasn’t him?”

“We wanted to know just as badly as you do,” Brother Charles said, “particularly whe
n
she told me the last time we spoke that she was pregnant. I asked her how her husband felt about it. She admitted that she hadn’t told him, and that he wasn’t the father.”

“She told
you
that
?”

Brother Charles shifted uncomfortably. “It’s the robe. It makes people think we’re priests. They want to confess, get absolution
, move on
. You’d be surprised what people have told me, right out of the blue. We don’t do
confessions, though
.
We leave that to the Catholics.”

“So she didn’t tell either of you who the father was?”

Both men shook their head.

“Or who was abusing her?”

They shook their head again.

Dr. Orlov’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” he said, and picked it up. “Yes?”

He
listened,
hung up
,
and looked at Karen. “It’s my next appointment.”

She stood up. “That’s all right, I’m done.” She gave him a card. “Call my cell number if you think of anything else.”

O
utside, Karen shoved her hands into her pockets
as
she and Brother Charles
walked back across the campus
. “I worked several years in family-related crime,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, abusing women and children is the lowest, filthi
est
,
and most despicable crime there is. Worse than murder. At least when you kill someone, that’s it, it’s
done
, lights out, game over. But when you abuse someone
,
they suffer from the after-effects for the rest of their li
ves
. An entire life, when it’s kids. A never-ending torture
that warps their minds
. Eventually I had to get
out
.
I was getting too intense.”
She made a face. “Actually
, they threw me out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Not that I want to confess my failures or anything,
P
adre.”

He chuckled.

After a moment’s silence, Karen cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something?”