“What kind of problems?”
“I believe he struggled with various addictions. Alcohol, drugs, or sex. Or, maybe even all three. I’m not sure. But he definitely needed help.”
Mary paused and thought about what Ann Budchuk was telling her.
“I get the feeling,” Mary said. “That you know something and that’s why you stopped by today. You wanted to check me out, see if I was legitimate, and maybe you would share with me what you know. And maybe you won’t. Are you at that point?”
Budchuk leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Just a good guess,” Mary said.
The woman nodded. “Yes, I do have something to share.”
She leaned forward and spread her hands on her knees.
“I think Craig was murdered by another one of Dr. Fallon’s patients.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“His name is Derek Pitts.”
Mary started taking notes.
“He was…is…a total psycho,” Budchuk said with a small smile. “I know that’s not politically correct. I’m sure the medical term is bipolar or sociopathic or something. But the man is nuts.”
“How do you know all of this about him?”
“Well, his appointment was usually before mine, and I saw him in the waiting room. But then something went horribly wrong with his treatment and he supposedly broke into Fallon’s office, got all of our patient information, and made threats that he was going to kill every one of Fallon’s patients,” Budchuk said. Her hands shook as she talked. “Fallon’s office had to contact us and let us know about the situation once the police couldn’t find him.”
“When you say us, who do you mean?”
“All of us patients. A few of us ladies were friends and that’s how I found all this out. One of the other women knew Dr. Frank better than the rest of us, and apparently he told her some of this.”
“What did they say when they contacted you?” Mary asked.
“Just to take extra precautions for our safety.”
“And when did all of this happen?”
“About a month ago.”
Mary smiled to herself. Funny how Dr. Fallon had completely failed to mention that a former patient had made threats against his other patients. Apparently business came first for Dr. Fallon.
“What do you know about Pitts?” Mary asked.
“Virtually nothing other than what I just told you.”
“Did they tell you it was Pitts who had threatened your safety?”
“No, I just put two and two together. Plus, they gave a description and it fit him perfectly. I knew it was him. I could tell he was deeply troubled, in a bad way.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s short. Dark-skinned. Dark hair. Swarthy. Tons of tattoos. Looked like a weight lifter.”
Mary jotted something down.
“What do you mean he was troubled in a bad way?”
“Some people, you can just tell they wouldn’t mind hurting people. Like, if I imagined violence with this man, he wouldn’t be troubled by it.”
Mary looked at the woman.
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re seeing Dr. Fallon for?”
The woman seemed caught off-guard.
“Why does that matter?”
“It might not, but when someone provides what could be some very important information, I like to know as much as possible about the source.”
“So you’re trying to figure out if I’m a nutso, is that it?”
“I can tell you’re not a ‘nutso’ as you put it. Look, you don’t have to answer the question. But I felt I had to at least ask.”
“Fine. I’m seeing him for depression. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life.”
Mary nodded.
“Are you going to try to find Pitts?” Budchuk asked.
“Yes.”
“Good luck. And be careful.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mary put in a call to Jake regarding Derek Pitts, then hustled to her car and drove to Robin Dipple’s house. Traffic was light for the first time in the history of Los Angeles, and she made the drive in less than twenty minutes.
The Dipple house was a French colonial with a custom tile inserted under every window. While the brick exterior was tan, the tiles were a powder blue and seemed to shout from the otherwise bland setting.
The woman who answered the door had a pretty but severe face, with skin stretched very tightly and eyebrows that slanted back with razor precision.
She showed Mary in to a formal living room where a sitting area anchored by two French wingback chairs faced a fireplace.
“Thank you for so readily agreeing to see me,” Mary said.
“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” the woman said. She smiled and Mary thought she could actually hear the woman’s face creak under the exertion.
“So as I understand it, you filed a complaint against Dr. Fallon,” Mary said.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No.”
Mary looked at her. “What do you mean? You invited me over to talk.”
“What I mean is I signed a non-disclosure agreement after we settled out of court. So I can’t talk about specifics of my case, but I can give you opinions. I read the contract very carefully before I settled.”
“That’s good.”
“So I can tell you, in general terms, that Dr. Frank Fallon is a piece of dogshit. A steaming pile of poo.”
“I’m surprised those phrases weren’t included in the legal document,” Mary said.
“Nope, they sure weren’t. In fact, I can give my opinion on all kinds of things, as long as I don’t talk about the specifics of my case.”
“And why do you associate Fallon so strongly with dog feces?”
“Because he will pursue a woman for sex long past the point of reason. Again, in my opinion, he will resort to whatever means necessary to get his way. Do you understand what I mean?”
Mary thought about it. By any means necessary could mean all kinds of things.
She considered asking for clarification, but knew the woman was bound by legalities.
“How long ago was your incident?”
“I can’t say. What I can say is that my favorite number is 2.”
Two years.
“I see.”
“And did you want to talk to me because you feel that some people never change their ways? That they continue to repeat behavior they shouldn’t?”
The woman nodded her head vigorously.
Mary was at a brief loss in terms of the best way to continue. She opted for the big picture.
“Do you have any general opinions you’d like to share with me?”
“Why yes,” the woman said. “Yes I do.”
She folded her hands across her lap.
“Again, this is my opinion, but when a celebrity of any sort, say a lawyer or a doctor or an actor becomes too big for their sexual britches they begin to feel above the law.”
Sexual britches? Mary would have to remember that one.
“In that case, a celebrity doctor might need money to cover up their discretions. Lots and lots of money. And in order to get their hands on the kind of cash they would need to cover up their problems, they would do all kinds of things.”
“What kind of things would they do, in your opinion?” Mary said.
“I actually don’t have a firm opinion on that one. But I have an opinion based on something I overheard.”