Black Is Back (Quentin Black Mystery #4) (7 page)

I refused to rise. “This hit the national papers already?”

Nick shook his head. “No. And we’ve kept the details pretty tight. It wasn’t even front page here.”

I frowned. “Then how did this guy connect it to a crime in L.A.? Does he check all stories where dead bodies are tied to a pier?”

“Anything involving a sword, he tells me.”

I thought about that, but continued to frown.

“The sword was mentioned,” I said to clarify. “In the paper.” When Nick nodded, I thought about that some more then shook my head. “It’s still weird, Nick. Unless he had some reason to think a suspect was heading this way, it’s weird he found you so fast.”

Nick shrugged. “All cops have that one case. The one that keeps them up at night. From what I can tell, this is Mozar’s. But you’re right, he might not be telling me everything.”

“Mozar.” Still thinking, I nodded. “The name is familiar.”

“You’ve probably read about the case down there. They’re calling him ‘The Templar.’ Like after the Knights Templar. Some joke at the coroner’s office down there when they did the first few autopsies and determined cause of death.”

I blinked. Then my eyes widened. “Wait? The Templar? He thinks the Templar killer is here in San Francisco?”

“He thinks it’s possible, yes.”

“Why the hell would the Templar behead Jeffrey Norberg? I thought he normally went after bigger fish? Like crime lords and big-name investment bankers or whatever? Wasn’t his last big murder that Hollywood guy? The one everyone said was a pedophile?”

Nick sighed, shrugging as he wove his fingers together on the top of the table. “Mozar says he kills what his notes call ‘parasites’ or ‘vampires.’ That includes rich people. Especially ones in finance, like your pal Norberg. There’s some whole religious thing there. Bible passages. They broke into one of the rooms he was using and it was filled with pictures of angels. All kinds of religious crap. Saints. And the devil, of course...”

I frowned. “And Mozar thinks the killer’s a merc? Or used to be one?”

“He thinks he’s been trained in weapons and other martial skills to a high level,” Nick corrected. “Which
could
mean a merc. Or it could mean military, some kind of survivalist weirdo, a professional fighter who studied guns on the side... even a cop or someone else in law enforcement. It could mean a lot of things. Wherever the perp got his training, he may work there still, according to Mozar’s profiler. Or he might have gone off the reservation without anyone knowing about it... either because he snapped or for some looney-bird mission only he understands. Either way, he doesn’t leave evidence. Which isn’t easy to do nowadays.”

“This guy have any suspects he likes?” I glanced between Nick and Glenn. “From what I read they have nothing concrete on the identity of the Templar, but you keep saying ‘he.’ Is that just shorthand? Statistical probability? Or does he have a reason to think it’s a man?”

Nick shrugged again. “Circumstantial. Mozar told me most of the kills require a lot of physical strength. The one at the wharf did too. Of course, the killer could have a partner. Or it might be a woman who’s into serious weightlifting. But barring those things, it’s probably a big guy doing it. Whatever their sex, if they’re working alone, they’re unusually strong.”

“This Mozar––is he coming up here?”

“This afternoon. Him and his partner.” Nick looked down at his own note pad. “...Guy named Hawking. But this is definitely Mozar’s show. He’s their hotshot down there. Brings in all kinds of outside consultants for profiling and whatever else.”

I smiled a little, not bothering to point out the irony.

Then I glanced at Glen, catching the barest hint of a frown on his full lips. It didn’t seem to be aimed at me though, or Nick.

I wondered what he thought of this Templar thing.

I also wondered if he didn’t like the idea of these L.A. cops coming up here and honing in on his case. If the Templar killer still only had documented kills in California then it wouldn’t be federal yet most likely, but if this Mozar was right, it might be heading that way.

The story had been getting a lot of airtime in the months before I’d gone to Paris.

I hadn’t kept up with it much––for obvious reasons––but I had to assume it was still big news, not just in California, but nationally.

Americans loved a serial killer.

Especially one who pretended to be a vigilante.

Especially one into weird, occult crap involving the devil and angels.

“We need to talk about Norberg, Miri,” Nick said. “Templar crackpot or no, I’ve got to run down your connection to him. Mozar asked me about him, too. He’s profiling all of the victims to try and get a handle into this guy’s psyche.”

When I glanced up, I saw Nick watching me with that sharper scrutiny in his eyes. I knew he still thought I was acting weird. I was trying hard to pretend I didn’t notice, but it made me clamp down on my mind even harder.

“Okay.” I nodded, combing my fingers through my hair. “Fire away.”

Nick nodded, leaning forward over the table.

“This guy, Norberg... he made six calls to your cell phone in the two days leading up to his death.” He passed over a copy of the phone record. His voice carried more bite when he added, “...Of course, you probably weren’t
aware
of that, given your decision to go off-grid for the past few weeks. We got access to the messages he left and they were pretty... emotional. And accusatory. He also called your office an additional eight times in that same period. Again, I’m assuming you wouldn’t know that, either...”

Ignoring his sarcasm, I shook my head. “I didn’t know. But I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not?” Nick said.

Glen held up a hand, indicating for Nick to back down.

“Why would he be calling so much?” Glen said, turning back to me.

I looked at Glen, then exhaled, combing my fingers through my hair. “Because Jeff Norberg had serious boundary issues.”

“Meaning what?” Nick again, his voice still on the sharp side.

Exhaling in impatience that time, I gave him a flat look. “Meaning, he had trouble with ‘no.’ He got angry if I wasn’t available to him 24/7, regardless of whether I was working or not, whether I was with another client... or even whether I was in the country. He would try to use all manner of psychological blackmail to get me to comply with what he wanted.”

I leaned back in my chair; it let out a loud metallic squawk and jerked me back hard enough that I grabbed the edge of the table. I’d forgotten how old these chairs were.

“...I tried to manage it, but I couldn’t,” I added, pulling myself upright with a thunk.

“Is that why you dropped him as a client?” Nick said.

I nodded. “Yes. I eventually gave him a referral to see a peer of mine.”

“How long ago was that?” Nick said.

“Six months ago.” Frowning, it occurred to me that I’d lost some time. “...Maybe seven. It was right after I got back from Bangkok. Maybe four, five days after.”

“How did you try to manage it?” Glen said, drawing my eyes back to him. “Before you dropped him. How does a psychologist manage a situation like that with a client?”

I sighed, rebalancing my weight on the chair.
 

“I tried talking to him about it first. During that initial talk I warned him I was going to confront him more strongly from that point forward, every time he made an unreasonable demand or crossed a boundary I felt was inappropriate... or tried to manipulate me to get me to do as he wanted. I spent several weeks afterwards doing exactly what I told him I would do. I stopped him––often mid-sentence, to interrupt his narrative about why he had the right to do it. I would point out very clearly what he was doing, and I wouldn’t back down despite his denials or attempts to redirect. I explained to him that his lack of respecting other people’s boundaries was a large component of what brought him to my office in the first place...”

“Which was what? What issue did he come see you about, doc?”

I let out a humorless sound. “Stalking. He was being sued by one of the women he employed and eventually fired.”

“They put him with a woman shrink when he’d been accused of stalking women?” Nick said, his voice holding disbelief.

I nodded, glancing at him. “They do that sometimes. Sometimes it works, giving them a safe way to practice boundaries with someone trained to maintain theirs.”

Nick grunted. “But you dumped him after Bangkok?”

“Yes,” I said. “He’d left over thirty, increasingly aggressive messages at my office in the week I was abroad. He’d also called my personal line, and I’d never given that number to him, which means he’d done something inappropriate to get it.”

“What happened with the woman he stalked?” Glen said. “The other one?”

I stared down at the table, frowning as I remembered.

“She sued him, like I said––initially for harassment and wrongful termination. She also got a restraining order against him... again, for stalking, since he continued to harass her and her family even after he fired her. She alleged that the firing itself was retaliatory for her refusing to sleep with him. His company settled with her. Out of court, I believe. They made counseling a condition of Norberg keeping his seat on the board... for insurance reasons, I imagine.”

Since Jeffrey Norberg was dead, I could pretty much tell them all of it.

“Isn’t he married?” Glen said next, frowning as he glanced down at his file, as if suddenly remembering what was in it.

I gave him a flat look. “You don’t work many stalking cases, do you, Glen?” I said.

At Glen’s flinch, I sighed, taking another few swallows of coffee.

“Sorry,” I said. “...And yes. Jeff Norberg was married. It came up a lot while we talked. He used his wife as a shield constantly, and as a reason why he couldn’t possibly have done what his ex-employee accused him of doing since his wife was physically attractive. I honestly think he saw counseling as nothing more than a shield, too. A further means of vindication against the woman who accused him and the judge and the cops for believing her.” I shrugged, placing my hand on the table with a sigh. “It was a pattern with him. Obviously. He wasn’t really open to feedback on his behavior towards me, either.”

I met Glen’s gaze. “So I gave him a referral for a new doctor. On it, I strongly recommended he be put with male counselors only in future, at least until he’d begun to open up about what was really going on with him. I’d written him off, truthfully.”

“Why?” Nick said.

I gave him another flat look. “Because he didn’t want help, Nick. He didn’t seek therapy... he was forced into it. He genuinely didn’t think there was anything wrong with him.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nick said, annoyed. “I meant why didn’t you follow up? File some kind of report?”

“I handled it according to my job protocols, Nick. He hadn’t done anything illegal to me. Not yet.”

Nick’d frown deepened.

He seemed about to say something else, but Glen cut him off.

“You’re saying he was some kind of sociopath?” he said, his voice measured.

I looked at him, then shrugged. “Maybe. That word gets thrown around a lot, but I think it’s because a lot of people display aspects of it. There are other reasons a person might lack self-awareness, empathy and/or accountability. From the beginning I suspected he might suffer from narcissistic personality disorder, or NPD, which is on a spectrum with antisocial personality disorders that are often blamed for these behaviors.”

I shrugged, glancing at Nick, who continued to frown at me.

“...Either way,” I added. “He didn’t want my help. He wanted to play games. When I wouldn’t do that, I became another of those ‘bitches’ who needed to be put in her place. Any attempt to confront him or puncture the delusion that he was fine and everyone else was crazy just infuriated him. It caused him to escalate, not reassess, and he fed off the drama. The relationship became completely unworkable as a result. In the end, the only solution was no contact. I had to opt out of his game totally.”

Still thinking, I added, “I think a male counselor would have had most of the same problems, truthfully... but a male counselor would also be less likely to be putting himself at risk of physical danger as a result, since Norberg’s specific issue was with women. They also would be able to monitor him for signs that his illness might be escalating.”