“I did. Cover to cover. Didn’t get all the fine points, I admit, but the generalities sank in very nicely, thank you. Do you think I could come in?”
He stepped back from the door. “Suit yourself.”
I suited myself and shut the door behind me. Jerome retreated to the couch. He did not offer me a drink this time. Maybe something in my eyes told him not to.
“Has Lila come back?” he said.
“I think I’ve found her.”
“Really?” Jerome drummed his fingers on the back of the couch. “Delightful. I’m very glad to hear it. Please ask her to telephone sometime and tell me all about where she has been.”
I shook my head. “Why bother? I told you you’re a terrible liar.”
“What am I lying about?”
“What are you lying about? Mister, if you told me your name, I’d want to see a birth certificate to confirm it.”
Jerome extended a finger toward the door. “On second thought, no, you can’t come in. Get out of my house.”
“What, and skip my lecture?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Case study: Jerome D.,” I said. “Here we have a respected doctor from a more than respectable family. He didn’t marry into money the way one sister did, but he went to a prestigious medical school and he has plenty to keep himself fed and clothed.”
“Get out of my house.”
“Jerome and his two sisters received the best of everything and, what’s more, they had identical upbringings. So how could it have happened that while two of the siblings turned out as might have been predicted one went so horribly wrong?”
“If you don’t get out this second, I’m calling the police.” He grabbed the phone.
“Put the phone down,” I said. His face went pale. I raised my gun to chest level. “I have six bullets in here, and I only need one. I’d go to jail, but so what? I’ve been there before.”
Jerome’s hand, suddenly a bloodless white, was still clenched around the receiver. We could both hear the dial tone’s purr.
“Put the phone down. Or do you want to bet on whether I could miss six times at this range?”
He put the phone down.
“Now sit down.”
He sat down.
“Case study: Lila D.,” I continued. “A thankless little renegade from adolescence on. Ran away on pappa’s charge card while Jerome and Rachel were behaving the way proper young adults should. Ran away to New York City and almost got herself raped. Took up with a Mafia thug. Lost her blueblood virginity to a man almost twice her age whose profession is making people beg for him to stop. Had the temerity to fall in love with this man and to be suckered by his sly impersonation of a normal human being. Wouldn’t be talked out of it for love or money — and you probably tried both. What could account for this? How could one third of the same seed that bred you turn out so... so... dare I say, crazy?”
Sweat was pooling around the collar to Jerome’s robe. His hands were at his sides. His eyes were riveted on my gun.
“I know what happened, Jerome. It isn’t that hard to figure out.
“You tried to reason with her. You suggested she seek help. You tried to make her aware of the obvious insanity of her plan. How could a sane woman dream of marrying Leon Culhane? But she wouldn’t budge. She insisted that she loved him.
“So you invited her down here for the weekend, and when she arrived, you did what any good psychiatrist would do, if only — how did you put it?” I opened the book and found the page I was looking for. “ ‘If only proven therapeutic methods had never to answer to the sobbing, pitiful wail we call conscience, then psychiatry would no longer be a hobbled science. It is as though we asked a surgeon, prior to his making the initial incision, to pause to consider whether he would want himself similarly cut open. Steps must be taken; the ill must be cured; nothing should stand in the way.’ ”
I closed the book.
“Where is she? Where have you locked up your sister, doctor?”
“You are wrong.” He spoke in a whisper.
“Don’t make me search this place, or you won’t recognize it when I’m—”
“She is not here,” he whispered. “Search if you like.”
“Then where? Did you stick her in one of the hospitals you consult with?” I aimed the gun at his legs. “I’m no Leon Culhane, but I think I can figure out how he gets people to tell him things before they die. I might make a mistake, and hurt you more than I’d like to, but what can I say? I’m not an expert. Talk. You’ve got three seconds.”
He didn’t even wait for me to count to two. His head dropped, and I thought I saw tears well up in his eyes. I know I heard them in his voice.
“Your analysis was admirable,” he said. “You would make a good psychiatrist. But I am afraid your conclusion is incorrect. Yes, it was quite clear that Lila was afflicted. Unfortunately, in this case her madness threatened not only herself, but her sister and myself as well. It threatened the good name of my family. It threatened my professional reputation. Can you imagine what effect it would have on my standing in the community to have it known that my younger sister is insane? Even if I were treating her for it?” His voice was a ragged wail. “Never mind insanity — can you imagine what it would have meant for a Dubois to marry a gangster?”
Jerome rose slowly from the couch and extended his arms toward me, as though he expected me to slap a pair of handcuffs on him. “I didn’t abduct her. She came of her own free will. But she wouldn’t listen to reason. There was no other choice. I couldn’t risk incarcerating her. So I killed her.”
“Oh, please don’t say that.” Now I was the one whispering.
“I did,” Jerome said. “I forced myself to overcome my internalized inhibitions. I had to.”
“You poor man,” I whispered.
I closed the door behind me this time.
Leon Culhane arrived at my office a little after eleven. I had my radio on. When he came in, I turned it down low. I didn’t turn it off. Somehow I didn’t want mine to be the only voice in the room.
I hauled out the foil-wrapped finger and showed him the printout Scott had given me. The finger belonged to Liana Hanover, daughter of Anthony and Sheila. According to police records, the Hanovers had reported their daughter missing two weeks earlier. According to the newspaper articles I’d found in the library, the parents had had no contact from the kidnappers.
Except that they had — the kidnappers had just left their grisly package on the wrong doorstep by mistake. And had they left a note with it, one that blew away in the morning wind? Who knows?
I told Leon that I would be sending the finger to Arthur Chase and that I would leave his name out of it.
Leon listened to this impassively. It was not Lila’s finger; this was good. But maybe in my voice he could hear that this was the last of the good news, because he showed no relief.
I told him.
I told him the whole story, I showed him Jerome’s book, I explained what had been going through Jerome’s head. Culhane stared me in the eyes through every word of it, showing no sign of anger, grief, or pain.
After a while I ran out of things to say.
“Job well done, Mr. Mickity,” he said. “You earned your money.” He turned to leave.
I stopped him at the door with a hand at the small of his back. I felt him recoil at my touch. “Please,” I said, looking up into his enormous eyes, “don’t hurt him too much.”
“I couldn’t possibly hurt him too much,” he said.
Marcel Sieurac’s Murder
by Erich Obermayr
The opening at Galerie Lefevre was a listless affair. The artist, Marcel Sieurac, was an unknown, and his work was very ordinary. With only one exception, the luminaries of the Paris art world were unanimously absent, and the small crowd that was there was more interested in consuming the free refreshments than in viewing the paintings.