Shocking Pink (23 page)

A
ndie had been working with David Sadler for a couple of weeks, and she found him to be a complex and disturbing man. He had a voracious sexual appetite and described women as a tasty smorgasbord to be consumed and forgotten. At times in his life, she had learned, it hadn’t been unusual for him to have sex three or four times a day, with different partners. By his own account, those had been some of the darkest days of his life.

At their last session, he had hinted at something new, another aspect of his relationship with women—a need to control them. Psychologically and physically. He had touched on some sexual experiences involving domination, submission and bondage.

Also disturbing to Andie was her sense that David Sadler was toying with her somehow. That he was enjoying their sessions in a prurient sense, studying her reactions to the tales of his exploits. As if he was being sexually stimulated by their time together.

Sometimes she caught him watching her—while she took a call, as she spoke to her receptionist, or in some other unguarded moment. When she did, something about his expression made her feel naked.

During his sessions, David either paced, energy and tension emanating from him in near palpable waves, or he sat absolutely still, so contained Andie wondered how he could even be the same man from the moment before.

He also had the disconcerting habit of looking Andie directly in the eyes, intently and for uncomfortably long periods. When he stared at her that way, Andie sometimes found herself perched on the edge of her seat, fighting the urge to look away. The directness of his gaze challenged somehow; it was male, territorial and aggressive. He made her feel exposed, totally vulnerable.

She’d never had a patient who made her feel that way before. That in itself was unsettling. She had decided her own reactions to the man would help her understand and help him. He was a sexual predator. She was certain his behavior in therapy, the movement and stillness, the unnecessarily long, intimate gazes were all part of how he acted out his addiction.

Now he was pacing.

She watched him a moment, noticing the way he flexed his fingers with each step, the way he every so often paused to cock his head or roll his shoulders. “Is anything wrong, David?” she asked quietly. “You seem agitated today.”

He stopped and turned to her. “Not upset. Excited. Something wonderful’s happened.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“I met someone. Someone special.”

“A woman?”

“Yes.” He began pacing again. “One of the special ones.”

She made a note of his language, then laid down her pen. “Go on.”

“When I see a woman, I get these feelings.” He stopped and looked at her. “You know what I’m saying, right?”

“No, David,” Andie said. “I don’t know. Tell me.”

He swept his gaze over her, seeming to linger a moment on her breasts. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Are you sure you can take it? You seem kind of uptight.”

“If I can’t, then I shouldn’t be your therapist. And we’ll both know. Go on.”

“Okay.” Still he didn’t look away. “I think about fucking her.”

Andie made another note. She met his eyes again. “All women, David? Every woman you see?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled and swept his gaze over her again, and she realized that to this man she was another item on that sexual smorgasbord. “But some women are special. That’s what I’m saying.”

Andie arched an eyebrow. “Explain this to me. Special in what way?”

He crossed to the couch and sat down. For long moments, he said nothing, just stared at her. She wondered if he somehow got off knowing he was making her wait for him to speak. She jotted down her question.

“Some women,” he began softly, “I don’t know, I sense something about them. They have something special…something that excites me.”

“Can you define it? Are they more overtly sexual? Prettier? Smarter?”

“Nothing like that.” He crossed his legs. “They’re more open to me.”

“Open? But not sexually?”

He shook his head. “There’s something childlike…needy…” His lips curved up. “They’re…vulnerable.”

Something about his small smile and the way he said the words made her skin crawl. She cleared her throat. “And that attracts you?”

“Yes.”

He stood again and crossed to the bookcase. He ran a finger along the spines. Andie found something almost cloying about the gesture. “Why, David? Why does that attract you?”

He didn’t turn. “Because I know I can own them.”

Own them.
She was grateful his back was turned and he didn’t see her grimace. She noted his response, underlining it. “I don’t think I know what you mean by ‘own,’ David.”

“Sure you do.” He turned. “Some women are selfish. They won’t give you anything. They won’t share anything but their pussies.”

“And that’s not enough?”

“What do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, David. This is about you.”

“No, it’s not enough.”

“So, when you’re making love with these wome—”

“Fucking,” he corrected. “I don’t make love with those women.”

“The ones who aren’t special?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you ever make love? With any of your women?”

“As opposed to just screwing?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes. With the special ones. The most special ones.”

“The vulnerable ones,” she murmured, her mouth dry, her heart fast. “The ones you can own.”

“Yes.” He sat back down. “You’re starting to understand me, Dr. Bennett. That’s good.”

Was it? she wondered. It didn’t feel good. It felt slimy, like the underside of a rock. “But there’s something I don’t understand, David. How do you own someone?”

“They give you everything. Their hearts and souls.” His extraordinary blue gaze met hers. “Their very lives.”

A chill slid up her spine. She fought the shudder that followed.

He smiled. The curving of his lips was almost reptilian. “I’m upsetting you.”

“Of course not,” she lied, checking her watch. “We’re almost out of time.”

“What would it take to upset you, Dr. Bennett?” He folded his hands in his lap. “What would it take to make you blow that unflappable cool of yours?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you want, David? To upset me?”

“Fear’s an aphrodisiac, Dr. Bennett. So is helplessness. You should try them.”

She ignored that. “And is control, David? An aphrodisiac?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I would prefer to try that, then.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“No? How does it work?”

He didn’t answer, instead he stood and circled behind her, to the window, forcing her to shift to an awkward angle to see him. Forcing her to squint against the light. “If I told you I like to tie women up, that I like them to be completely helpless when I make love to them, would you think me sick? Or just perverted?”

“I don’t call my patients names, David. And I don’t label them, except in the clinical sense.”

“The clinical sense,” he said. “Of course. Terms like dysfunction.”

“That’s right.” She made several notes. “Let’s talk about your family, David. What was your mother like?”

He looked at her and laughed, then shifted his attention to the window and the bright day beyond. “That was awfully obvious, Doc. Couldn’t you come up with something a little trickier?”

“We’re not playing a game here. I’m not trying to trick you.” She tilted her head slightly. Watching him carefully. “Why don’t you want to talk about your mother?”

“I didn’t say that. But no, I don’t want to talk about her. Or my father.”

“Why not, David?”

“I want to talk about sex. It’s a lot more interesting.”

“You don’t think the two are related?” she asked. “At all?”

“I didn’t fuck my mother, if that’s what you’re asking. Despite what Freud or Jung or any of those other bullshitters say about people like me, I didn’t want to, either. Nothing oedipal here.”

“You came to me to seek help with your sexual appetite, that indicates to me that you believe your behavior is abnormal. That you believe you have a problem. I’m trying to help you learn where the problem came from. Family and childhood is our most likely place to start.”

“Not for me.”

He was angry, she noted. Furious enough that a muscle jumped in his jaw. She waited to see where he would go next.

“When I make a woman come, I want them to know that I gave them that. A gift. A gift I could choose not to give them next time. They should thank me.” His lips lifted. “They do.”

“And you get—” Her voice sounded choked, and she cleared her throat. “—pleasure from this?”

“Of course. It’s pleasurable to know that what I give them, I can take away. I can make them come or make them suffer.”

“Suffer?”

“Wait. Deny them release.” He changed the subject. “You didn’t ask me an important question, Dr. Bennett. You didn’t ask me who my special new someone is.”

“That’s none of my business, and I really don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely?” he teased. “Last chance. You’d think she’s special, too.”

Suddenly, an image from her past filled Andie’s head. The image of Mrs. X, naked and blindfolded, hands bound in front of her and waiting.

Waiting for a man with dark hair, a man she had put her trust in.

Mrs. X had given that man everything.

Everything.

Andie’s breath caught. She stood, so suddenly her notepad and pen dropped to the floor. “Our session’s over, David.” Her hands were shaking. She slipped them into her jacket pockets and forced a stiff smile.

He bent and retrieved the notebook and pen. As he straightened, she thought she felt his breath stir against her legs. She took a step backward, gooseflesh slithering up her spine.

He handed her her things. “Are you all right, Dr. Bennett?”

“Fine.” She hugged the pad to her chest, wanting him out of her office and away from her. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Who knows,” he murmured, smiling, “maybe even before?”

M
artha Pierpont had hired a local defense attorney named Robert Fulton to be her counsel. Although born and bred in Thistledown, he was well-known throughout the Midwest and had handled a number of high-profile murder cases. Andie had gone to school with him, but as he was a few years older, she had only a vague recollection of him.

Insisting she had nothing to hide, Martha had authorized Andie to work with the attorney. Despite her misgivings Andie had agreed to meet with him at her office after hours to talk about Martha’s case.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Andie asked him. He was sitting on her therapy couch and looking a bit uncomfortable. She smiled. “Some of my patients prefer the chair.”

He returned her smile. “Funny, all of my clients try to avoid it. The chair, I mean.”

She laughed, liking the mild-mannered attorney—everything from his round, wire-rimmed spectacles to his casual business attire. She could almost hear Raven mocking her, teasing her about going for the ones who would be so grateful for a date they would never break her heart.

She pushed the thought away, irritated that her best friend knew her so well. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks. Shrinks always tell me that.”

She laughed again and crossed to the wet bar. “Very funny, actually.”

She poured two glasses of cabernet, brought him his, then took her seat. “So, tell me. What’s going on?”

He took a sip of wine, murmured his appreciation, and set it aside. “You know we entered a plea of not guilty?” Andie nodded and he went on. “I’m going to argue she acted in self-defense. Edward’s habitual abuse, leading up to the events of that night, will be the cornerstone of our defense. We have to prove she feared for her life. Your testimony will be absolutely essential. You, more than anyone, know the abuse she lived with, about his bouts of violence and rage. You and Patti.”

“If it’s what Martha wants me to do and you as her counsel believe it’s best for her, of course, I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

“But you’re not comfortable with it?”

“I’m fine with testifying, no problem. It’s this whole thing I’m not comfortable with.” Andie made a sound of frustration and set her wineglass on the coffee table. “Let me tell you about Martha Pierpont. She’s a gentle woman, timid really. A textbook example of a victim of long-term spousal abuse. She has all the characteristics. Denial of the true nature of her relationship with her husband. Low self-esteem. Guilt, as if, somehow, the abuse was her fault. Her real feelings frightened her, and she kept them carefully controlled. The times they escaped, she would be immediately apologetic.”

“Hardly the profile of a woman who shoots her husband five times at point-blank range.”

“Exactly.”

“She could have snapped?” he offered. “Taken one too many blows or insults?”

“I think she snapped, no doubt about it. It’s what caused her to snap that has me guessing.” Andie drew her eyebrows together. “What Martha told me of that night, that fight, was awful, but no different than dozens of others she’d told me about.”

She met Robert’s gaze. “Most abusers aren’t killers. The newspapers bring the ones who are to our attention, they sensationalize them. But the truth is, the great majority of abusers out there, and there are a lot of them, last stat I saw was about six million in the U.S., don’t want to kill their spouses or lovers. They want to control and punish them.”

“I’m aware of the statistics,” Robert murmured, “and so will the prosecution be. But that doesn’t matter, what we have to prove is that in her mind, at that moment, she feared for her life. That she believed he was going to kill her.”

“I wonder if there’s something she’s not telling us.”

She had his full attention now. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Andie shook her head. “But something’s niggling at the back of my mind. Like a mosquito bite I can’t quite reach to scratch.” She shook her head again. “It could be that I’m still reeling from this having happened. That I haven’t been able to deal with it yet, on an intellectual level. Or it could be something more.”

She looked him dead in the eyes. “I wonder if Patti could be involved somehow.”

Robert didn’t miss a beat. “You think Edward might have turned his abuse on Patti?”

“Maybe. Martha loves her daughter fiercely, and I believe she would go to any length to protect her. It could have been the final trauma, the proverbial last straw. When he started in on Martha that last time, the walls she had built to protect herself began to fall.”

“It could help our case.” Excitement edged into his tone. “A mother protecting her child, that’s powerful stuff to present to a jury. But we’d need proof. We’d need Patti’s testimony.”

“Don’t get excited yet, I could be all wet.” Andie told him then about Martha’s outburst, her saying she wanted to kill her husband, then her immediate regret and apology after. “The weird thing was, at our next session, she had no recall of it ever happening. In fact, she denied it vehemently. Became highly agitated. It was as if she had totally blocked it out.”

“And you believed her?”

“Yes.” Andie drew her eyebrows together in thought. “It was as if she was stretched to the breaking point already.”

“Which works with your theory. Had you talked about Patti that day?”

“A great deal.”

He was silent a moment. “We’d have to be very careful. If the prosecution gets a hold of that outburst…” He shook his head. “They’ll sell it as premeditation. And the jury could buy it. That’s a whole new ball game, Andie. And the only way to keep that out, is to keep you off the stand. And right now, without you, we don’t have a hell of a lot. No 911 calls, no hospital reports. I’m still digging, though.”

Her phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, standing and crossing to the phone. “It could be a patient.” She picked up the receiver and brought it to her ear. “Dr. Andie Bennett.”

Complete silence greeted her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “Hello,” she said. “Is anyone there?”

“Is this the Dr. Andie Bennett from the newspaper?”

She didn’t recognize the raspy, slightly slurred voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, it is,” she said coolly, her guard going up. “Can I help you?”

“You like watching, don’t you, you little cunt?” The man cleared his throat. “You know everything, but you lie.”

Andie froze, stunned. Her eyes went to Robert Fulton.

“What is it, Andie?” The lawyer stood and took a step toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nosy little bitch,” the caller continued, all but spitting the words at her. “I’m going to take care of you. Just wait, you’ll get yours, you little whor—”

“Who is this?” she managed to say, her voice a croak. “Why are you—”

“Maybe you’d like a noose around your neck. Just like—”

Andie slammed down the phone, then brought her trembling hands to her mouth.
Leah Robertson.
That’s what he had been about to say. Maybe she’d like a noose around her neck, just like Leah Robertson.

The caller had been Mr. X.

Dear God. The other calls she had tried to ignore must have been from him, too.

“Andie?” Robert touched her arm, and she jumped. “Are you all right? Who was that?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but found she couldn’t speak. She shook her head, crossed to her chair and sat down.

She brought her head to her hands and, breathing deeply through her nose, struggled to regain a modicum of control. When she had, she looked at the attorney.

“Who was that?” he asked again, taking the seat across from her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’ve heard from one,” she murmured. “It wasn’t his first call, either, though the other times he didn’t say anything.”

“Then, how can you be—”

“Certain it’s the same person? The breathing. He clears his throat often. Like he has sinus problems.” She turned her gaze to the phone, shivering. “I don’t think he’s even aware of it.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was going to get me. He said that maybe I’d like a…a noose around my neck.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“It gets worse.” She drew in a deep breath. “I want to show you something.” She went around to her desk, opened the top drawer and took out the fifteen-year-old clipping she had received in the mail.

He glanced at it, then back up at her. “I remember this, though I wasn’t that much older than you at the time. A few years.” He handed it back. “What about it?”

“I received that in the mail three weeks ago. Anonymously. So did my friends Raven Johnson and Julie Cooper. They’re the other girls who were involved in that whole Leah Robertson debacle.”

“Small towns don’t forget.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Until today. He said I ‘liked watching.’ He asked if I was the Dr. Bennett from the paper.” She hugged herself, feeling chilled to the bone. “Then he said that thing about the noose.”

“Who do you think he is?”

“Mr. X.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. It could be a prank. It’s probably one of Ed Pierpont’s fans. The
Herald
reported this morning that you’d be testifying for the defense. That could have ticked somebody off. I’ve actually gotten threatening calls on several occasions.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully, feeling immeasurably better. In her book, an irate kook was better than a sadistic murderer, any day of the week.

“Oh, yeah. One guy promised he was going to tear out my liver.” He grinned and patted his midsection. “Still here, all in one piece.”

“There you go, being funny again.”

“Besides, Andie, why after fifteen years would this Mr. X surface and start harassing you and your friends? That doesn’t make any sense.” Robert shook his head. “The book’s never closed on a murder case, and I’ll bet your Mr. X knows that. Stirring up trouble only opens him to discovery.”

“Thank you.” She let out a long breath and brought a hand to her chest. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Of course you weren’t. You were frightened.” He re-capped his pen and slipped it and his legal pad into his briefcase. “Have you mentioned the calls or clipping to the police?”

“To the police?” she repeated. “No, I…” She shook her head. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Consider it, Andie. Even though this is probably nothing, you need to talk to the police. This way, you’re protected. If you need them, they’re up to speed.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He collected his briefcase and stood. She followed him to his feet and walked him to the door. “I’ll keep you informed about what’s going on.”

“Thanks. I’ll make myself available to you.”

“Good.” He started through the door, then hesitated, meeting her eyes once more. “Would you like to have dinner?”

“Dinner?” she repeated.

“Yes. Tonight.”

She opened her mouth to say yes, but found herself making an excuse instead. “I’m really tired tonight, Robert. Rain check?”

“Sure. Another time.” He started through the door, then stopped again. “Call me after you speak with Martha, if what you suspect about Patti is true, it could really help us. This case isn’t going to be easy to win, Andie. We need all the help we can get.”