The Blue Journal (34 page)

Randi nodded. “Do you know anything about Elizabeth and other men in your group?”

“I don't, but I wouldn't be surprised. She thought she was completely irresistible, she made that pretty clear.” He shook his head. “She was good-looking, I'll give her that, but even a fool could see she was poison.”

“Yes,” Randi agreed in a quiet voice, “she was.”

“Look, the woman struck out with me. Who the hell else she scored with is none of my business. I wasn't about to bring it up in group because I had no reason to humiliate Stanley.”

“You're right,” Randi said.

“Well at least we agree about something. So, if you want to keep playing Sherlock Holmes, why not put your mind to something useful, like finding my family and helping me get them back.”

CHAPTER 41

Later, after Avery was gone, Randi received a call from Walker.

“You with a patient?” he asked.

“Just finished with one.”

“Have a minute?”

“Sure.”

“You don't sound good. Rough session?”

“You could say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“What do you think?”

“Can't blame me for trying.”

She didn't say whether she wanted to blame him or not.

“I met with Bob Stratford last night. He wants to help with my investigation. Unfortunately, he's not the person who can give the help I need.”

“And I am.”

“You've never told me, did you finish reading Mrs. Knoebel's journal?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Randi hesitated. “I'm not sure what to say.”

“You can say whether or not you're ready to identify her murderer.”

“I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“What I mean is, I don't have an answer for you, even if I could give it.”

“Let me help you, then. We have a pretty good idea of who some of the people were that Mrs. Knoebel was writing about. My guess is that you also recognized some of them as your patients.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“One of the chapters talks about a woman we believe to be Nettie Sisson.”

Randi waited.

“I've already told you, we know all about her background.”

“That doesn't prove she had anything to do with Elizabeth's death.”

“I didn't say it does. What it does do, however, is point to a tendency toward violence and an unbalanced mind.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh no. As you saw in her diary, Mrs. Knoebel claims she and Mrs. Sisson had much more than a homeowner-housekeeper relationship.”

“But you don't really think she had anything to do with Elizabeth's death . . .”

“Actually I don't, for what that's worth. But it's something I have to consider. Then there are the various men Mrs. Knoebel bedded. We think we can prove one of them was at her home the afternoon she was murdered.”

“Is that true?”

“It is. It's also possible that he was the one who shot Mrs. Knoebel, although I have cause to doubt it.”

Randi said nothing.

“Whoever broke into your office Monday night, what do you think they were looking for?”

“I don't know.”

“My guess is that they were looking for the journal.”

“But I thought no one knew about her diary.”

“Secrets are tough to keep in a small town. Who knows that better than you? Where was it?”

“I had it with me,” she told him. “At home.”

“That was fortunate, at least so far.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning it was lucky they didn't come after you for it.”

Randi wanted to say something, but remained silent.

“You've had some time to look through your files. Anything missing?”

“Not that I've found so far.”

“Uh huh.”

“If you're trying to scare me, you are.”

“I consider that progress.”

“Very funny.”

“Not meant to be.”

“Anthony, even if you put aside the problem of my professional ethics, you're glossing over a critical factor here. I don't actually know who murdered Elizabeth Knoebel.”

“Maybe not, but there are people who might believe you do. Word of the diary is starting to leak, and I'm afraid it won't be long before the media gets hold of it. Gossip is a bitch.”

“So you think people will be looking to me if her diary becomes public knowledge.”

“Yes, I do.”

“One of those people being her murderer.”

“Precisely. So do us both a favor and help me with something that's become even more important to me than solving this case.”

“What?” she asked.

“Protecting you,” he said.

After the call, Walker returned to Elizabeth's diary. He picked up the section under SHAKE.DOC, called “Notes for Chapter Six.” Like the Nettie Sisson episode, it involved a woman rather than a man. Here, however, Elizabeth did not use an initial, she used a name.

Celia.

Was that a real name or another code?

Walker had another look at those pages.

Sex with a woman is a completely different experience for me. No matter how gentle a male lover intends to be, there is always some intrinsic violence in the act, an explosion, a sense of finality.

Women have different orgasms, especially together, as well as the ability to continue to enjoy multiple climaxes. There is none of the dynamic arc that exists with a man—the sex act as a parody of creation, life and death. Women can go on and on pleasuring each other, which sets up a myriad of unique opportunities.

Celia was special to me, in her way, not least because I was her first. She was a virgin in this sort of sexual liaison. That is far more appealing to me than a committed lesbian, who brings with her preconceived notions about roles and responsibilities. Celia was nervous, guilt-ridden, and filled with anxiety about my seduction of her. But she was also curious, intrigued, and incredibly needy.

The first time we were together there was so little physical expression the connection between us was almost chaste. The second time, however, we shared a bottle of champagne, and I provided a setting that was entirely private and secure.

After our first long kiss I insisted that we disrobe. I convinced her that the embarrassment and restraint she felt would be alleviated if we could simply see each other, fully naked, and she complied.

We were face-to-face on the bed, our bodies touching for the first time. She felt the softness of our breasts pressing together, and it seemed a revelation to her. As we kissed I moved two fingers ever so carefully around the entry to her wet pussy, and she shuddered at the sensation.

Only a woman can really understand how to manipulate the clitoris, careful to ensure it is lubricated, then pressing and squeezing, but not too hard, with just enough movement to send shivers up the spine.

I took my time, sure that she reached her first climax before I went at her with my tongue. In no time, we were a moist tangle of legs and breasts and lips, and she finally came with such force that she broke down and cried.

Walker felt very much a voyeur reading various sections of Elizabeth's diary, and this chapter was giving him that same queasy feeling. He skipped past the rest of their sensual encounter and got to the end.

It was a shame that I would have to break Celia's heart, but I knew the time for that would fast approach. As we continued to meet, I felt she also suspected that was coming, although her hunger for my body and how I made her feel seemed to increase in reverse proportion to the time we had left together. Even her ability to please me increased.

Unfortunately, it was not a relationship that could survive.

Well
, Walker told himself after he placed the pages back into his drawer,
it didn't matter to Elizabeth Knoebel whether she was doing a man or a woman, she played no favorites.

She meant to hurt them all in the end.

So who the hell was Celia?

CHAPTER 42

Kovacevic strode into the detectives' squad room and dropped himself into the chair beside Walker's desk.

“How was your trip to the big city?” Walker asked him.

“It was interesting.” He pulled out his notebook and copies of the hospital records he brought from New York. “Are you ready for this one?”

“I'm ready.”

“Jake knows his stuff,” the young officer said as he thumbed through the papers. “The day in question, when Dr. Knoebel was scheduled with a full slate of surgery, things might not have been everything they seemed when you were down there.”

“I'm listening.”

“It's like Jake said. The actual operating-room records show which doctors and nurses were present during the procedures, who did what, all that stuff. The afternoon of Elizabeth Knoebel's death, the chief resident actually performed the surgery. Knoebel was there, got him started, then the other guy did the job.”

“The other guy did the job?” Walker smiled. “Is that some new sort of technical medical jargon?”

“Sorry. The other surgeon performed the procedure.”

“Meaning what? That Knoebel could have walked out of the operating room, jumped in his car, and made a quick run up to Connecticut.”

“It's possible.”

Walker grabbed the main file and sifted through his papers until he found a white sheet with his own notations. “What time could he have left the OR?”

“According to these reports,” which Kovacevic held up for effect, “he could have split sometime around two.”

“And my notes say that the next time he made a confirmed appearance in the hospital was just after four o'clock, during his afternoon rounds.”

“That's what I came up with.

“So now we've given him a little more than two hours to make his round-trip.”

“Seems so,” Kovacevic said. “He could have done a turnaround in that time. I got up here in under fifty minutes just now, without heavy rush-hour traffic, same as he could've done.”

“Understood. How sure are we of these OR procedures? If Knoebel turned the surgery over to the resident, wouldn't he be there to complete the procedure, close it up or whatever they call it? Just to be sure there were no screwups?”

“The way I get the story, that's customary, but not always done. The big cheese gets to go off and make money somewhere else. A lot of the time the patient never knows who did what while he's under the knife. Point is, there's no notation in the records that Knoebel did anything after the surgery was started.”

“So maybe he was there, and maybe he wasn't.”

“Right. The woman I spoke with said these doctors and nurses are involved in so many operations, it's impossible for them to remember if or when a staff surgeon goes in and out of the room. I get the feeling nurses don't love surgeons and Knoebel's one of their least favorite, if you get what I'm saying.”

“I've seen him in action.”

“Bottom line, he may have had a window of opportunity that afternoon.”

Walker slowly drew a deep breath, then let it out all at once. “How about that?”

CHAPTER 43

Paul Gorman arrived early for group that evening.

Gorman was a handsome young man with sandy-colored hair, an athletic build and the self-conscious look of a midlevel executive nervously reaching for the next rung of the corporate ladder. He was the youngest member of Randi's Husbands Group, as his wife Lisa was in hers. He thought himself a good patient, not because he ever shared anything truly personal, but because he never missed a session. The other men viewed him as a neophyte in the battle between the sexes, and Wentworth seized every opportunity to make him feel a fool. Randi found it fascinating that they all seemed to begrudge Paul his youth far more than the women in the Wives Group did Lisa.

“I'm sorry to bust in on you this way, but I have something I need to say. Privately.”

“All right. Have a seat.”

Gorman glanced at the file folders that were now neatly piled in the corner of the room, but decided not to ask. He sat in one of the squat leather chairs that faced Randi across the desk. “I wanted to talk to you about leaving the group. I thought I should mention it to you before I bring it up tonight.”

“All right.”

Gorman shifted nervously in his seat. “No offense, but I'm not getting a lot out of these sessions. Lisa feels pretty much the same about hers. Don't get me wrong,” he added quickly, “we like seeing you when it's just the two of us. We know we've got things to work on and you've helped us, you really have. Lisa and I are communicating much better than we did before.”

“Good,” Randi said, feeling as if he was looking for a pat on the head.

“But the groups, they just don't seem to be doing anything for us. For me, well, these other guys are not really a good fit. I think you understand.”