they had gone undercover. Paid lip service to the idea of justice. And the shock of that,Nina said, was what did him in. And now she mistrusted the police as much as her husband ever had.
“What I want to know is how the hell did anyone get in here? Was your door locked?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I never lock my door.”
“When was the last time you were in here?”
“Yesterday, around five.”
“There were half-a-dozen groups here last night. That’s more than fifty people between 6:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. Someone could have slipped in without the receptionist noticing.”
“Belinda would have noticed,” I said.
“She wasn’t here last night. We had a temp on the front desk. Serena something. I don’t remember her last name.”
Nina walked over to the windows and tried first the one on the left and then the right. Only one of them was locked. My office was on the second floor. At night, in the dark, during the few hours when New York City’s residential neighborhoods really do go to sleep, it might have been possible for someone to climb up the stone wall and steal into the building.
“Do you lock the windows and the balcony door at night?”
I was searching, sifting through the papers, but I wasn’t focused. Was this the act of an angry ex-patient? Had someone broken into my office looking for valuable information that would allow them to destroy one of my patients?
“Yes, of course,” I said. But had I forgotten to?
“Do you have any idea which one of your patients might be at risk for blackmail?” Nina asked.
“Which one? It’s more like which
ones
. I have one patient who has finally decided to ask her husband for a separation. He’s been sexually abusing her and has even been here with her several times. I guess he might be angry enough to do something like this. He’d know the layout of the office. Andhe might have gotten in. Anyone might have gotten in with a temp at the front desk.”
“Who else?”
“There are dozens. I don’t even know where to start.” I felt overwhelmed by the mess and confusion everywhere I looked.
“I’m going to talk to the temp and look through the appointment books. There has to be a way to make sense of this.”
A half hour later, she was back in my office.
“Have you noticed anything missing?” she asked as she began picking up the books off the floor and putting them back on my shelves.
“No. But who knows? It could be one single sheet of paper with my notes on it. Did you find out anything?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Too many options. We had sixtyfive people in here last night between single appointments and groups. Five first-timers. We also had someone from the phone company working here. And about five messengers delivered packages. Any one of them could have stayed behind in a bathroom. We’re going to have to keep track of all the new patients who came in yesterday but don’t come back.”
“That will only work if the person used his or her own name. If not, we might never be able to figure out who it was. Or what they wanted.” I smoothed the end pages of a book on Freud’s whore-madonna complex before I returned it to the shelf.
16
T he stone spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral reached up only 330 feet, but despite being dwarfed by boxes of glass and steel, it exuded an importance those taller buildings didn’t have. From the minute its doors opened in the morning to when they shut each night, more than seven thousand people walked up the steps and through the doors to behold this magnificent Gothic house of worship. And no day was more crowded than a Saturday in the summer when people were visiting the city from all over the world.
That was why he had chosen that morning at 11:00 a.m.
It simply was the safest place for him to hide in all of New York. He could spend as long as he needed in the sanctuary, thinking out what he needed to do next without anyone paying attention to him. He never sat in
“What I want to know is how the hell did anyone get in here? Was your door locked?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I never lock my door.”
“When was the last time you were in here?”
“Yesterday, around five.”
“There were half-a-dozen groups here last night. That’s more than fifty people between 6:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. Someone could have slipped in without the receptionist noticing.”
“Belinda would have noticed,” I said.
“She wasn’t here last night. We had a temp on the front desk. Serena something. I don’t remember her last name.”
Nina walked over to the windows and tried first the one on the left and then the right. Only one of them was locked. My office was on the second floor. At night, in the dark, during the few hours when New York City’s residential neighborhoods really do go to sleep, it might have been possible for someone to climb up the stone wall and steal into the building.
“Do you lock the windows and the balcony door at night?”
I was searching, sifting through the papers, but I wasn’t focused. Was this the act of an angry ex-patient? Had someone broken into my office looking for valuable information that would allow them to destroy one of my patients?
“Yes, of course,” I said. But had I forgotten to?
“Do you have any idea which one of your patients might be at risk for blackmail?” Nina asked.
“Which one? It’s more like which
ones
. I have one patient who has finally decided to ask her husband for a separation. He’s been sexually abusing her and has even been here with her several times. I guess he might be angry enough to do something like this. He’d know the layout of the office. Andhe might have gotten in. Anyone might have gotten in with a temp at the front desk.”
“Who else?”
“There are dozens. I don’t even know where to start.” I felt overwhelmed by the mess and confusion everywhere I looked.
“I’m going to talk to the temp and look through the appointment books. There has to be a way to make sense of this.”
A half hour later, she was back in my office.
“Have you noticed anything missing?” she asked as she began picking up the books off the floor and putting them back on my shelves.
“No. But who knows? It could be one single sheet of paper with my notes on it. Did you find out anything?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Too many options. We had sixtyfive people in here last night between single appointments and groups. Five first-timers. We also had someone from the phone company working here. And about five messengers delivered packages. Any one of them could have stayed behind in a bathroom. We’re going to have to keep track of all the new patients who came in yesterday but don’t come back.”
“That will only work if the person used his or her own name. If not, we might never be able to figure out who it was. Or what they wanted.” I smoothed the end pages of a book on Freud’s whore-madonna complex before I returned it to the shelf.
16
T he stone spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral reached up only 330 feet, but despite being dwarfed by boxes of glass and steel, it exuded an importance those taller buildings didn’t have. From the minute its doors opened in the morning to when they shut each night, more than seven thousand people walked up the steps and through the doors to behold this magnificent Gothic house of worship. And no day was more crowded than a Saturday in the summer when people were visiting the city from all over the world.
That was why he had chosen that morning at 11:00 a.m.
It simply was the safest place for him to hide in all of New York. He could spend as long as he needed in the sanctuary, thinking out what he needed to do next without anyone paying attention to him. He never sat in
Similar Books
