Faye Kellerman - Bone Box

“Which was?”

“Hormonal therapy.” A moment later, Donnie came in with the file and then left. Marshall began to skim through it.

“Yes, I put him on a low dose of the appropriate hormones needed to override the androgens. That’s when the problems started. He didn’t like how it made him feel. He said … this is what I wrote down … it made him feel on edge and moody.”

“PMS,” McAdams said.

“Yes, it does mimic some symptoms in some people. But with time, most transgender people adjust to it. Lawrence not only disliked how it made him feel, he also didn’t like the changes in his body.”

“Meaning?”

“He liked losing his body hair, but he didn’t like having actual breasts although he had been dressing with prosthetics for two years. He loved the way he looked in women’s clothing. But he didn’t like looking at his naked body.” Marshall looked at the chart. “He said he didn’t feel beautiful as a man or a women, just some kind of weird chimera. Now, adjustment can take months. But he didn’t seem to want to adjust. So we began to talk about alternatives.”

“Which are?”

“His problem was not that unusual. There are many men who feel as he did. They consider themselves women in men’s bodies. They are attracted to men. But they don’t want to do the last, fateful step because they can’t adjust to their bodies as women.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “I talked to a few of Pettigrew’s friends. Karen Osterfeld and her current partner, Jordeen Crayton. I believe that Pettigrew intended to marry Karen Osterfeld, who was Karl Osterfeld back then.”

Marshall said nothing.

“Do you know anything about that?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t say. Karen Osterfeld is still very much alive.”

“And she’s your patient?”

“You know I can’t say anything.”

“How about if she gave you permission to talk to me?”

Marshall said, “Has she?”

“I haven’t asked her.”

“So then there’s nothing to talk about.” Marshall stood up. “I hope I’ve been helpful. I have examination rooms filled with patients. I really must get on with them.”

Decker said. “I have one more question. Since Lawrence didn’t adjust to his womanly body, I assume that sex reassignment surgery was off the table.”

“Yes, of course. It was not appropriate for him. He kept on with hormones but at an even lower dose. And he wanted to continue with cosmetic dermabrasion and laser hair removal. I didn’t have a problem with that.”

“Did he do those procedures here?”

“Yes.”

“And he was still your patient up until he disappeared?”

“Yes. As I recall, we found out about his disappearance because he didn’t show to one of his appointments. Pettigrew was usually reliable.”

“His disappearance must have come as a shock to you.”

“It was disturbing, yes. But your news is not just disturbing, it’s awful.” Marshall was silent for a moment. “My patients are often not socially acceptable to their families. The rejection causes them to seek other means of support—a community that understands them in the best of all worlds. But sometimes they seek solace in bad habits—crazy partying, alcohol, drugs, and promiscuous sex. That kind of edgy lifestyle often gets them into deep trouble.”

Getting a caffeine fix in the city was as easy as walking down the block. Small cafés, stores, and take-out markets abounded. The detectives had a little over an hour before their appointment with Harold Cantrell, Pettigrew’s manager at McGregor in Midtown near the UN Plaza.

McAdams sipped iced tea. “We’ve got two Pettigrews: the conventional Lorraine and the in-your-face Lawrence.”

“But both of them were very smart.”

“I’m not denying the intelligence. I’m thinking maybe the conventional Lorraine went up to Morse McKinley to have one last fling as Lawrence. He certainly wasn’t forthcoming to Karen about what he was doing up there.”

“True.”

“If the murder happened up there, shouldn’t we be concentrating on his last days in Greenbury?”

“We’re down here now. We might as well get whatever background we can before we go back up. It’s not like the usual case where time matters. We can be deliberate.”

McAdams said, “What do you think of Pettigrew’s rejection of sex reassignment surgery?”

“In terms of what?”

“Karen, who was Karl back then, thought she was marrying a woman. Maybe she was angry that Pettigrew refused to go through with the surgery?”

“But she herself didn’t go through with the surgery. They obviously came to some kind of understanding. They were having a baby together.” Decker finished his iced coffee. “I mean, what are you thinking? That Karen and Pettigrew got into an altercation and she killed him, dragging his body back up to Greenbury?”

“Maybe she tailed him to Greenbury and caught him in a compromising position. The coroner thinks that Pettigrew was hit from behind by someone shorter than him. Karen is definitely shorter than Pettigrew.”

“I don’t see a pregnant woman lugging around a six-foot-plus body and burying it deep in the woods.”

“Maybe she had help. Maybe Jordeen isn’t as innocent as she makes herself out to be. Isn’t it you who told me to look at the spouse first?”

Decker didn’t answer right away. “Sure. It could be Karen. Maybe they did fight. Accidents happen.”

“Especially if Pettigrew was living a double life.”

“Sure, why not?”

“I hate when you’re noncommittal.”

“Tyler, I’m not being deliberately vague. I just don’t know what’s going on. But keep the hypotheses coming. It gets my senile brain working.” Decker checked his watch. It was half past noon and their appointment was at one-fifteen. He put a twenty on the table. “If we leave now, we can walk it easily. Let’s go.”

“Want to Uber? It’s like ninety degrees outside.”

“I’m the one in the suit.”

“All the more reason why we shouldn’t walk. You’re going to sweat and then go into an air-conditioned office and you’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ll take my jacket off when I walk. That way, when I put my jacket back on, I’ll be comfortable in an air-conditioned building. C’mon. I need some exercise.”

“Don’t blame me if you collapse from heat prostration.”

“I won’t. Besides, you know CPR.” When McAdams didn’t answer, Decker said, “You did finally take the course, right?”

“I signed up.”

Decker exhaled and walked out of the café. McAdams had to hotfoot it to keep up with him. “Honest Abe, I really meant to do it. The time got away from me.”

“What’s the matter with you, McAdams? I understand taking shortcuts but not when lives depend on it.”

“Mea culpa. I am truly humbled. I promise I’ll take a course once I get settled in school.”

“Not good enough. There’s a life-size doll at the firehouse in Greenbury. As soon as we get back, I’m giving you a few lessons. It won’t be official. You’ll still have to be certified. But it’ll give you a jump start.”

“Are you kidding me?” McAdams protested. “Do you know how many germs have settled in that orifice? C’mon!”

“No excuses, McAdams. End of discussion.”

“Fine.” McAdams rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“That’s sir to you.”

“Anything else, sir ?”

“Yes, there is, McAdams. Because you were derelict in your duties as a sworn officer of the law, you can carry my jacket.”

UN Plaza was a gleaming skyscraper set in blocks of open space. It was fronted with hedges and concrete barrels and poles with flapping banners depicting its member countries. From Harold Cantrell’s office at the McGregor Fund, Decker could see people gathering in orderly queues, waiting for a tour.