Murder One (35 page)

“ ’Fraid not.” He shoved his hands deep inside his coat. “I do have some leftover cheese puffs, though.”

Jones almost smiled. “Then I guess that’ll have to do.”

K
IRK HAD BARELY TEN
seconds to wait after he knocked on the faded, warped-wood door of apartment 12.

She smiled. “I knew you’d be back.”

Kirk entered the room. He did not make eye contact, but chose instead to walk right past her, sullen and silent.

“And you couldn’ta chosen a better time. I was thinkin’ ’bout going back out. I called my girlfriend, but she said, ‘Girlfriend, whatchoo wanna go out there now for? There’s no one out this time of night. No one you wanna see, leastwise.’ ”

Kirk jabbed his hand into his tight jeans pocket and withdrew what seemed like a huge wad of cash. He tossed it down on the end table beside her sofa. “That’s for you.”

The expression on Chantelle’s face, which had been lively from the start, became positively animated. “Why, you generous boy.” She untied the scarf from her neck and wrapped it around the back of his head, tugging him closer. “For that kind of money, my little man, you can do anything you want. Anything at all.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kirk grunted. A second later, he was on top of her. There was nothing subtle about this approach. His mouth was on hers, pressing hard. His arms were flailing all over her, probing, groping, half fighting against hers. Their teeth actually scraped, then Chantelle opened her mouth wider. Kirk’s tongue plunged inside, exploring with an urgency that almost gagged her.

“Whoa, slow down, boy,” she said, as soon as she was able, but Kirk did not comply. She had told him he could do anything he wanted, and he meant to do it. There was nothing tender about what they were doing, in his mind. There was no pretense that this was lovemaking. This was brutal, animal, and he wanted it to show. He wanted to feel what was happening to them. He wanted it to hurt.

He slung Chantelle backward, missing the sofa by inches. She fell onto the floor, which fortunately for her was carpeted. He pounced on top of her again. He was breathing hard and audibly now; they could feel one another’s breath.

“My, my, you are in a hurry, sugah.” Despite her position, she did not seem in great distress. She had seen it all before, Kirk supposed. A small smile creased her face and she nuzzled into the crook of his neck and waited to see what would come next.

Kirk bit her. Hard.

Chantelle screamed. It was perhaps a scream more of surprise than pain, but at any rate, it sent her into action. Her hips rocked; her legs locked around his.

“Now don’t you be damaging the goods,” Chantelle said, rubbing the place on her neck where he’d bitten her. “Don’t want you gettin’ in trouble with my main man.”

“You said I could do anything I wanted,” Kirk growled. He pushed himself up with one strong arm and, bringing the other around faster than she could follow, slapped her hard on the side of the face.

She screamed again, and this time she meant it.

Kirk began ripping off her clothes, her dress, her panties, her bra. When he couldn’t figure out the clasp, he tore it apart. I’ve paid for this several times over, he told himself. This belongs to me. He clawed at her relentlessly, never resting until she was totally naked. Using one hand to undress, while the other kept her firmly pinned in place, he soon had his clothes off as well.

She raised an arm against him, but he knocked it away effortlessly. She followed up with a raised knee, but he stopped that with another sharp blow to the side of her face. He was stronger than her, plus he had a fury inside him that she couldn’t hope to match. She was powerless against him.

He came at her like a hurricane, wrapping himself around her, enveloping her. She eventually realized she could not fight him, so she clutched him and held on tight, just trying to minimize the damage. He pounded and pounded her, sex as violence, pummeling her with his raw passion. At last, he entered her, hips locking, and he began thrusting and thrusting, beating at her, bruising her, coming at her with all the finesse of a drunken teenager. He continued ramming himself against her, over and over again, and to his surprise, Chantelle’s resistance evaporated. Her eyes became wide and interested; her back arched against his stomach. Soon she was rocking with him, back and forth, back and forth. The intensity magnified until all at once, she let out a brief shuddering cry, part sob, part ecstasy. Kirk thumped away, finishing, shouting out his release in her ear.

And then, all at once, the frenzied motion was over. They lay beside one another on the floor, chests heaving, struggling for breath. They were both wet with sweat, naked bodies glistening under the subdued light.

A few moments later, Kirk was surprised to feel Chantelle’s fingers tickling the back of his neck, then the spider’s touch of her lips pressed against his cheek.

“Je-suss,” she whispered into his ear. “I ain’t felt nothin’ like that in ages.” He heard a small chuckle in the back of her throat. “But next time, give a girl some warnin’, okay? We’ll get out the handcuffs and ropes and do this thing proper.”

“Don’t talk dirty,” Kirk gasped, between breaths.

“Course not.” She snuggled closer to him. “You just keep comin’ to see me, sugah. I’ll make you forget all about … whoever it was.”

“Don’t,” Kirk said. His heavy breathing intensified. “Don’t.”

“Just relax,” Chantelle said, licking his shoulder. “I’ll take her place. I’ll be whatever she was to you.”

“
No!
” Kirk jumped to his feet, screaming. He gathered his clothes as quickly as possible and ran out the door. As he tumbled down the stairs, he felt an aching in his gut, intense and unavoidable. It was back again, back with a vengeance, back with such intensity that he knew in his heart he could never be free of it. He had forgotten it for a moment. He had managed to put it out of his mind. But it was back—back to stay. No matter what he tried. No matter what he did to whom. No matter what.

He raced all the way to his delapidated apartment building, ran up the stairs, raced inside, and slammed the door shut. He pressed himself against the inside of the door, as if blocking the path to the demons he knew lurked beyond.

It didn’t work.

“You can run, Kirk, but you can never hide.”

Kirk’s eyes exploded. “Who is that?”

“Aren’t you tired of this game, Kirk? The running, the hiding. Punishing yourself. As if that could ever make a difference.”

“Who is that?” He paused, then felt the most horrible clutching at his heart. “
You!
”

“Yes, me. The realization of your worst fears.”

“But, you—I—are you—are you real?”

“Well, that’s a problem for your sick little brain to work out, isn’t it?”

Kirk pressed harder against the door, clinging to the woodwork. “Wh-Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to see what the hell is taking you so long.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I thought you’d be dead long before now. How long are you going to go on with this foolishness? Punishing yourself. Punishing others. Pretending that it might somehow make you feel better. When you know damn well that nothing is ever going to make you feel better.”

“That isn’t so!”

“It is. There’s only one thing that will ever give you any relief. And you know what it is. So why don’t you get on with it?”

“No! I—I don’t have that—that guilt anymore. I—I got rid of it. I—”

“Rid of it?” the voice said incredulously. “Kirk, have you been doing something naughty tonight?”

“No! I—I—”

“Kirk, tell me the truth.”

Kirk covered his face with his hands.

“And you thought that would make things better? All you’ve done is make it worse. All you’ve done is prove you can never compensate for what you’ve done.” The voice took on a tone of harsh finality. “It’s over, Kirk. End it.”

“Noooo!” Kirk flung open the door and ran, ran like the devil was chasing him. He tumbled down the stairs, taking them three at a time. The crotchety landlord emerged from his room, shouting something about the noise, but Kirk didn’t stop for him or anyone else. He ran and ran into the night, never stopping.

But where could he go? There was nowhere left to run, he knew that now. Nothing left to try. It was over, just as the voice in the dark had told him. It was done.

There was nothing else left for him, no alternative. It was time to end it. Once and for all.

K
ERI SEEMED CALMER THIS
morning, although Ben sensed it was only a temporary respite, like a wounded sparrow clinging tenuously to a slippery eave. The pressure bearing down on all of them was more intense than ever. Ben could literally feel the burning gaze of the jurors as they constantly scrutinized Keri’s face, checking her reactions, looking for insight on an insoluble problem. Keri might be steady, but she was not strong, and Ben knew she could break down altogether at any moment.

“This one still mine?” Christina asked, as she nestled between them at the defendant’s table.

“With my compliments,” Ben replied.

“Is that because you think I’d be particularly good at crossing her, or because you particularly don’t want to do it yourself?”

The corner of Ben’s mouth turned upward. “Am I under oath?”

“The State calls Dr. Margaret Fulbright to the stand,” LaBelle announced, as soon as Judge Cable was in the courtroom.

Immediately thereafter, a surprisingly attractive woman began the long walk to the witness stand. She was thin and delicate in appearance, with long brunette hair that fell behind her shoulders. She was dressed professionally but not unattractively and she walked with a calm, if slightly uncertain, manner.

Not exactly your stereotypical psychiatrist, Ben thought. A quick glance told him similar thoughts were running through Christina’s brain as well. This could call for a change in strategy.

After Dr. Fulbright stated her name and established her professional credentials, LaBelle drew her into the case at hand. “Are you currently practicing, Dr. Fulbright?”

“I am. I have a private clinic for psychotherapeutic analysis and consultation in the Medical Arts building near Seventy-first and Yale.”

“And do you see patients at your office?”

“I do.”

“And do you by chance know the defendant, Keri Dalcanton?”

“I do. She’s one of my patients. Or was, anyway.”

The response from the jury was subtle but nonetheless discernible. The prosecution had been suggesting all along that Keri was aberrant and disturbed. This was undoubtedly where they’d try to prove it.

“And why were you seeing Ms. Dalcanton?”

“Objection,” Christina said, even though she knew it was hopeless. “This is protected by the patient-doctor privilege.”

“We’ve already discussed this, counsel,” Judge Cable replied. “I’m letting it in. Overruled.”

“But your honor, the prejudice—”

“Overruled,” he repeated emphatically. “Sit down.”

The witness answered. “Initially, I saw Ms. Dalcanton because she was suffering from a variety of anxiety-related difficulties. What you might call nervous problems, but in reality they represent a far more complex and interrelated series of psychological disturbances.”

“How did she come to be your patient?”

“She was referred to me by a doctor at Social Services. She was picked up on a minor criminal offense—shoplifting, I believe—”

“Objection,” Christina said again. “Evidence of prior bad acts is inadmissible.”

“Inadmissible to prove a likelihood to act in conformity at a later time,” LaBelle quickly replied. “Here, it’s just being mentioned to establish a basis for the expert witness’s expert conclusions.”

Judge Cable nodded. “I’ll allow it for this limited purpose.”

Ben frowned. As if the purported purpose mattered. If the jury heard it, they heard it.

Dr. Fulbright continued. “The doctors at Social Services perceived Keri as suffering from psychological distress. She was unable to pay for professional help, so they sent her to me.” She paused, then added by way of explanation, “I try to do a certain amount of pro bono work each year.”

“I see. How much time did you spend with Ms. Dalcanton?”

“I met with her regularly—at least once a week—for approximately five months.” Her voice was calm and assured. “She was suffering from some serious problems, in my opinion.”

“Objection,” Christina said strenuously. Perhaps if she tried a different basis she would have more luck. “No foundation has been laid for that opinion.”

LaBelle gave her a patronizing look. “We will do so shortly, your honor. Unlike law school, in real life, not everything can happen in perfect order.”

Christina shot daggers at him with her eyes. “Law school or real world, you still have to follow the rules. Foundation first, conclusion second.”

Judge Cable held up his hands. “I’m sure Mr. LaBelle will go into the basis for the expert’s opinion in detail. I’m going to give him some leeway. Overruled.”

LaBelle nodded. “Dr. Fulbright, during this period when you treated Ms. Dalcanton, did you keep any notes?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have them with you today?”

She reached down toward her feet and retrieved a dark brown folder. “I do.”

“Fine. Feel free to refer to them. Could you please explain to the jury exactly what Ms. Dalcanton’s problems were? Or perhaps I should say—are.”

“Objection!” Christina said, rising to her feet. “I must say again—this violates the doctor-patient privilege. She’s not only revealing secrets but making recourse to confidential files.”

“The privilege is ended,” LaBelle replied.

“The privilege,” Christina shot back, “can only be waived by the patient—Keri Dalcanton.”

“Not so,” LaBelle rejoined. He was obviously ready for this. “According to both the canons of the AMA and the case law of this court, the privilege can be dissolved whenever there is serious threat of bodily harm to a patient or third party, or where the patient has engaged in a criminal act. In this case, both exceptions apply.”

Christina started to speak, but Judge Cable stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Don’t waste your breath, counsel. I’m going to allow it. Please continue.”