Keith Ablow - Compulsion

"Why is that?"

"The few times I've broached the idea of a separation, he's made it clear he wouldn't let it happen."

"What choice would he have?"

Julia smiled for an instant, as if she was about to explain something about the world to a child. Then her face fell again. "Being Darwin Bishop expands the range of possibilities," she said. "There could be a whole legal team filing endless motions for custody of our children, a media campaign to ruin my reputation and influence judges, months of travel with Garret and Tess to any one of a dozen countries Darwin does business in. He could probably pay Claire enough to convince her to go with him. He might even decide that they should never return."

"And Claire would stay with him?" I asked, wanting to see whether Julia would volunteer any suspicions about the affair.

"Everyone has a price, Frank," she said. "Claire isn't from money. She's very impressed by it."

Julia certainly didn't seem naive about her nanny. But her response didn't tell me exactly how much she knew about Claire's behavior. I didn't want to press her. "The bottom line," I said, "is that Darwin would go to great lengths to keep you from divorcing him."

"Or I suppose I could just disappear."

"You're saying he'd…"

"I'm saying I'm not brave enough to find out, Frank," Julia said. "At least I haven't been in the past. I've never had the courage to walk away."

"Maybe it's time."

"Maybe. Maybe that's one reason I called you. You make me feel like I could do it," she said.

The idea of rescuing a woman was a potent drug for me. "Only because you can," I said. "As soon as you believe it."

She nodded to herself, then focused on me with a new intensity. "Do you really think Tess could be in danger? You believe Darwin is capable of killing our daughter? His own flesh and blood?"

I hadn't had the question put to me so directly before. I thought about it for several seconds. I thought about Julia's belief that Bishop craved control, that he couldn't tolerate intimacy. I thought about the parts of his own soul he had snuffed out. "Yes," I said. "I think he is."

She kept staring at me. She seemed on the verge of agreeing to get Tess to a safer place. But then her gaze fell-maybe under the weight of so many years bending her will to Darwin Bishop's. "I have to think about this," she said.

"I hope you'll think about it sooner rather than later," I said. Later as in too late, I thought to myself.

She looked back at me, hopefully. "Will you be at Brooke's…" she said, then stopped, choked up. She waited a bit, took another deep breath. "Will you be at Brooke's funeral tomorrow? It's on the island. St. Mary's on Federal Street. Five p.m." She had to pause again. " Darwin wants the sun to be setting as the mass ends."

Another possible reason why Bishop would prefer an evening funeral mass occurred to me: the stock market closes at 4:30 p.m. "I'd like to be there," I said. "I'm not sure Darwin would be comfortable with my attending, given the ongoing investigation."

"I want you there," she said. "I need you there, whether Win has a problem with it or not."

"Then I will be."

"Thank you," she said softly.

I told Julia I would walk her to her car. I was on my way out of Bomboa, with Julia a few steps in front of me, when K.C. Hidalgo caught my arm. I stopped.

"She's terrific," K.C. said. "You look great together." He winked at Julia, who had stopped near the door.

"It would be mixing business with pleasure," I said, half to remind myself. "Probably a recipe for disaster."

"What a pleasure, though," he said.

K.C. was living with the night manager of his joint, a stunner named Yvette. "I'll take that from where it comes," I said. "Say hello to Yvette for me."

"You got it." He paused. "Hey, one other thing, champ," he said. He leaned toward me. "When you ordered that Sambuca? I had already told Stevie at the bar not to serve you any booze. Try sneaking another drink at my place, I'll lock you in the fucking basement and throw away the key until you're good and dry."

I forced a smile.

"I mean it," he said.

"You're a good guy, K.C."

"Get a hold of yourself, will you?"

"Sure," I said. "I will. Trust me on this."

"Right," K.C. said. His tone made it clear he wasn't buying my bullshit. "I'm here if you need me."

I caught up with Julia. We walked outside.

"My car is in the Dartmouth Street garage," she said. We started down Stanhope, headed toward Dartmouth. But within several steps, Julia stopped. "I'm okay alone," she said.

"I don't mind the walk," I said.

She glanced across the street. "It's not a good idea."

I followed her eyes and saw a white Range Rover with smoked windows. I assumed it was one of Darwin Bishop's. I felt a rush of adrenaline. "He's having you followed?" I said.

"Unlikely," she said. "He's probably having you followed." She held out her hand. "Shake," she said. "All very businesslike, right?"

I took her hand, but just held it. She looked into my eyes with what I read as a combination of tenderness and fear. "I'll see you tomorrow night," I said. I let go of her hand.

She nodded tentatively, turned around, and headed toward the Dartmouth Street garage.

I crossed the street and walked up to the Range Rover. I couldn't see through the driver's-side window, so I knocked on the glass. The window came down. A man who looked to be in his mid-thirties was in the driver's seat. His neck was weight-lifter thick, his face half-shaven. He was wearing a blousy silk shirt, but it covered an obviously large frame.

"Can I help you with something?" he said, without any emotion.

"I want to get a message to your employer," I said.

He didn't respond, but he didn't close the window.

"Tell Mr. Bishop I don't mind if he has me followed. I don't mind if he visits me, either. I live at Thirty-nine Winnisimmet Street in Chelsea. Top floor. Unit Five B. I'm there a fair amount, almost always in the late part of the evening."

"I'll be sure to do that," the man said.

I started to leave, but turned back. "One more thing: Since I'm not a kid and I'm not female, tell him he can expect to have a tougher time with me than his usual targets. He might want to bring someone like you along to give him a hand."

The telephone was ringing when I walked into my loft, but I got to it too late. I glanced at the answering machine. It had registered thirty-one calls, but used up less than a minute of talk time. That meant lots of hangups. I was about to scroll through them for caller IDs when the phone started ringing again. I grabbed it. "Clevenger," I said.

"How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?"

I recognized Billy Bishop's voice. "Where are you?" I asked.

"C'rnon," he said. "How many?"

"Three," I guessed, to appease him.

"Just one," he said, "but the light bulb has to want to change."

"Okay," I said. "Pretty funny. Now, where are you?"

"I'm not locked up in that loony bin," he said.

I glanced at the caller ID. It read, "Unknown Caller." I figured Billy was probably at a pay phone. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, if you forget the part about my father trying to throw me in jail for life. It would take an awful lot of therapy to get my mind off something like that, don't you think?"

I smiled, despite the gravity of the situation. "I guess you're right." I paused. "Tell me where you are," I said. "I'll meet you."

"No. And I can't stay on the line long," he said. "I need you to loan me a little money. I'll pay you back. I promise. I'm good for it."

I wanted to slow things down and coax Billy back into the hospital, even though he would certainly be arrested. As risky as navigating the judicial system might be for him, it was a lot safer than the streets. And Billy wasn't the only person in peril; I hadn't forgotten that his history of violence meant he might strike out in unpredictable, very destructive ways. "I think you made a mistake leaving Payne Whitney," I said. "I think you're better off going back and getting a lawyer to fight for you."