Hannah Bronto - Lovers in paradise

"I-I can't answer that."

"Did it have anything to do with her being a lesbian? Answer only yes or no. I can figure out the rest by myself."

"Yes, it did."

"Tell me this: was she at all interested in men?"

"In what way?"

I glared at him. "No, not at all."

"Would Effie Spade have allowed a man – any man to fuck her? To make love to her in any way?"

"No, never. Absolutely not. It would have been literally impossible for her to do so willfully."

I considered his answer and what it implied. "What kind of a person was she?"

"She was a nice person, a kind person. She didn't have an enemy in the world. Outside of the lesbianism, Effie Spade was a very well adjusted young woman. She was liked by everyone in the group…"

"What? Hold on."

"What's wrong?"

"You said group. What group? What are you talking about?"

"The therapy group of which Effie Spade was a member. There are six – five now – in the group. Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't. I thought she was seeing you privately."

"I do see some patients privately, and others on a group basis. It just depends upon the particular case."

"Tell me about the others in the group."

"I – no, I can't." He shook his head firmly. "I cannot do that. I have a responsibility to them as much as I had to Effie. More so, because they're still alive. I cannot tell you anything at all about them."

"All right, then generalize: what kind of people are they? Psychotics? Neurotics? Just tell me what kind of problems they might have had – no names."

"I cannot do that, don't you see? And don't try and weasel it out of me, because I won't tell you."

"Tell me about the composition of the group. Was it a mixed group? Were they all women?"

He shook his head, dropping his eyes. "I cannot even tell you that."

"Jesus!" I exploded. I was frustrated beyond belief. Sitting in front of me was a man who just possibly might hold the solution right in the palm of his hand, and there was no way I could get him to answer my questions. To be this close and know I could get no close: was agonizing.

Dr. Gideon shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry," he apologized meekly.

I scratched my head. "All right, tell me this then: could one of your group members have murdered Effie Spade? Just tell me that."

"Oh, my God – you can't be serious! Of all the questions you've asked me, that is…"

"Just give me a yes or a no, for Chrissakes!" I slapped the top of his desk sharply out of frustration. "That's all – a yes or a no!"

"I will not – I will not…"

"For God's sakes," I cried. "Think of what you're doing! There's a murderer loose in this city. He's raped three women and killed one. He'll do it again, just as sure as you're sitting there so complacently, if we don't stop him. He will murder another human being… and that death, that poor dead woman, will be on your head because you wouldn't say yes or no!"

"Oh my God…"

"Look: if you say no, I'll drop it. I won't ask you another question. Nothing. And – if you say yes, then I'll find out that person's identity some other way. You won't be responsible."

"Christ…"

"Tell me!" I demanded.

"All right!" he cried sharply. Then a moment later, after a loud silence, he said it again, softer, in a whisper. "All right. I'll tell you. Yes: the answer is yes. But remember this – it's a qualified yes. Qualified in that many people could have killed Effie Spade: you, perhaps, me, some member of my group, some member of some other group somewhere, some person but there in the world who isn't a member of any group, but who is nevertheless very sick! I say yes to an infinite number of possibilities!"

Softly I said: "But you still said yes."

Something flickered in his eyes, and an imperceptible change altered the expression on Gideon's face.

"I'll be going now, Doctor," I said. I stood up and began to walk toward the door. "And thank you; despite all your efforts to the contrary, you have been a help."

I decided to take the elevator down so that I'd have some privacy. The moment the elevator doors closed, I snapped open my communicator to Commissioner Moran.

"Spens, I think I have something. Effie Spade was a lesbian. She was also a member of a psychotherapy group guided by a Dr. Gideon. And there is a good possibility that one of the group members might be our murderer."

"Mal, I don't quite know how to tell you this…" His voice was soft, almost sad. "There has been another rape and – another murder. I guess I don't have to tell you what that means."

He didn't have to tell me: I knew what it meant. It meant that my theory about Dr. Gideon's group just went right out the window.

Jocelyn was late.

Commissioner Moran was alone in his office when I walked in, studying the latest development in the case on the portable viewer that was angled toward him in the corner of his desk. He looked up when he saw me, mumbled something, then reached across the desk and snapped the viewer off.

"Have a seat, Mal," he said.

I dropped heavily into the chair. "Jesus, I'm tired," I said. I stretched until the bones in my shoulder "popped", then I yawned. "I've got to take some more energy pills. My ass is dragging."

"Why don't you try sleeping at night," Commissioner Moran suggested. "A normal good night's sleep will do you a world of good more than any chemicals you pump into your body. Energy pills – junk."

"Where's Jocelyn?"

"On her way here. She was checking something out over at Effie Spade's apartment building. She thinks she may be on to something."

I laughed. "Well, let's hope her theories prove a little more substantial than mine did."

"I'd like to talk to you about – that, Mal." He was falling into his fatherly role with me, and I realized that much of our relationship was characterized by exactly that feeling between us. Commissioner Moran was almost like my father, and he treated me very much like the son he had never had. "Perhaps its fortunate that Miss Wolfe isn't here. We can be frank about things, if you know what I mean."

I nodded. "I think I follow you."

"First let me say this, Mal – I'm very much aware of the kind of relationship you have with Miss Wolfe. I feel responsible for it in some way, and I'm sorry for the extra burdens it places on you. But they are necessary, as I'm sure by now you can well attest."

I nodded. "Yes, Jocelyn is a damn fine policewoman. A little obsessive at times, but I guess that's understandable in light of her background. But you're right: she should be saved regardless of the price. You just don't throw away that kind of raw material."

"That's very gracious of you, Mal. You truly are a professional. I realize that this case has become something personal between the two of you – mostly because of Miss Wolfe – and you had a chance just then of sabotaging her. You didn't, which says something about your character. I doubt, I sincerely doubt whether Miss Wolfe in a similar circumstance would have said the same about you."

I shrugged. "Maybe you're being too hard on her. She's had her good moments."

"Nevertheless, Mal," he continued, "what happened at Dr. Gideon's need not come out. I'm not going to give her any new ammunition with which to shoot you down. As far as I'm concerned, Dr. Gideon and your theory about his group never existed. Simply, they were leads which failed to work out. You'll continue the case as if it never happened. It's bad enough that she'll have something to say about your original theory that Effie Spade was murdered by someone she knew; I don't want to see you humiliated in front of her. I'm not about to allow her to rebuild her ego at your expense."

I was grateful, of course, and for a moment my mood perked up. It was depression, I realized in a sudden per sonal insight, and not fatigue that was working on me physically.