Chapter Sixteen

Rebecca pulled into the hospital parking lot just before 11 A.M. and took the now familiar route to the psychiatry wing. She needed information from Catherine, and she was trying unsuccessfully to segregate her personal feelings from her professional obligations. She couldn’t deny the quickening of her heart beat, or the slight inner excitement that stirred just from the anticipation of seeing Catherine. Even though she was bone tired and still reeling from the shock of Jeff’s death, the memory of Catherine’s body beside hers charged the very air around her. She stepped off the elevator into the hushed hall of the inpatient ward and tried to assume a professional demeanor.

A woman was bent over a stack of metal folding charts behind the white counter of the nurses station, busily cross-checking medication cards. She looked up and smiled when she heard Rebecca approach.

"I’m sorry," she said, "visiting hours aren’t until one o’clock."

Rebecca pulled the slim black leather folder from her pocket and displayed her identification.

"I’m looking for Dr. Rawlings," she explained. "Is she around?"

The attractive dark-haired woman, whose name tag identified her as Ruth Murdock, R.N., checked her watch and replied, "She should be finishing with the residents in a few minutes. There’s a conference room just down the hall. Do you want to wait for her there?"

Rebecca nodded. "That’s fine. Ill find it," she added, motioning the nurse to stay seated.

There was little of interest in the conference room, and Rebecca let her mind wander back over the events of the last week, hoping to turn up some detail that might provide direction to her investigation. There was something that kept nagging at her -- something she had seen or heard which might be significant, and she couldn’t quite bring it into focus. That feeling was not unfamiliar. She had an idea that all good investigators experienced it -- the swirling impressions which finally consolidated into an image, bringing the greater picture into sudden relief.

The tantalizing "clue" which was often the key to a puzzle whose separate pieces quickly fell into place. She was familiar enough with the process to know that it couldn’t be rushed. Eventually, her unconscious mind would work that tiny fragment free and allow it to float to the surface. Then, she hoped, she would begin to close the gap between herself and the man she sought.

The door opened and Catherine walked in. "You don’t look like a woman who’s been up half the night," Catherine said as she seated herself at the small conference table. The warmth in her smile and the intimacy in her eyes reached out to Rebecca like a caress.

Rebecca felt her cheeks flush despite her resolve to remain detached, and she looked away for a moment.

"It isn’t about last night," Rebecca began, her tone stiffer than she had intended.

Catherine studied her intently, replying quietly. "An official visit, then?"

"I need to know about the reporter you spoke with."

"The reporter?" Catherine said blankly.

"Have you seen the paper?"

"No."

"There was an article today revealing the fact that we had a witness to the rape," Rebecca said, unable to hide the anger in her voice.

"Oh, god," Catherine said. "Of course! There was a young man here yesterday, asking questions" She stopped and looked at Rebecca, her eyes filled with concern. "You think I told him?"

"Did you?"

"No, but he seemed to know that the police were involved with Janet’s case. I assure you, Rebecca, I told him nothing."

Rebecca quickly reached for Catherine’s hand and squeezed it briefly. "I believe you. Can you think of anyone who might have talked to him?"

Catherine’s face revealed her frustration. "A dozen people. A hospital is the least private place in the world. Everyone is eager for a story, and every bit of human drama is meal for the gossip mill. It could have been anyone!"

Rebecca nodded. "I was afraid of that. There’s not much we can do about it now, but, it makes it even more important that we learn what Janet saw. Can you help me with this?"

Catherine was quiet for a moment, sorting through her thoughts. The sight of Rebecca’s drawn and tired face was wrenching. She wanted so much to be able to offer some relief. But she had a deeper obligation, in this case even greater than her growing affection for the woman before her.

"Rebecca, Ill do all I can. I’m seeing Janet and Barbara tonight. If I learn anything at all, Ill tell you immediately."

"I may need to have Janet interviewed by the police psychiatrist, Catherine," Rebecca said quietly. She saw Catherine’s body tense, and she feared she had offended her. She didn’t want that -- professionally or personally. "He may be able to recognize something you don’t."

"Of course," Catherine responded formally. "I’m not a forensic psychiatrist."

Rebecca shook her head impatiently, "I’m not suggesting you’re not competent, Catherine! But, he is trained in criminal investigation."

"May I be present at the interview?" Catherine asked.

Rebecca thought quickly. "I don’t see why not -- it might make it easier for Janet."

"I don’t like it, Rebecca, but I can see that you have to do this."

"Thank you," Rebecca said softly, realizing in that moment how frightened she had been. She couldn’t tolerate the thought of Catherine angry at her. "There’s something else I need from you," she continued.

Catherine couldn’t suppress a chuckle. The woman was certainly relentless! "There’s more?"

"What do you know about serial rapists? This doesn’t seem to fit with what I’m used to seeing."

Catherine nodded. "This type of patterned, serial rapist is unusual. Most rapes occur between acquaintances, or in particular settings -- groups, or gang rapes, in bars or at parties. And, of course, the repeat rape of young children by adult sexual abusers, generally family members. The type of rape were dealing with here is a sociopathic activity, a crime perpetrated out of some deep-rooted psychopathology."

"Such as?"

"Oh, any number of things. Low self-esteem, attributed, often incorrectly, to powerful female figures -- a domineering mother, a failed relationship with a woman -- anger at feelings of impotence or lack of control -- inability to direct events around him. The rapist often feels like a victim of social or personal injustices and translates that into anger against women. It is rarely purely sexually motivated, but, of course, sex is equated with power, especially in our culture. So, the rapes represent an attempt to control events, to gain superiority over the perceived persecutor."

"What can I expect in terms of the pattern of these attacks?" Rebecca asked, making notes as she listened.

"Its hard to say. There isn’t anything particularly ritualized about them. As far as I’m aware, the only similarities are the site, and the fact that all of the victims are runners."

"There is something else," Rebecca said. "All of the victims were sodomized -- there was no vaginal penetration."

Catherine raised an eyebrow as she considered this new information. "Well, I could theorize, of course, but I doubt that it would help you much."

"Go ahead. You never know what may help."

"It could be that the rapist is potent only that way -- fear of vaginal intercourse, of `losing ones penis, is not that uncommon with sexually maladjusted men. There is also the possibility that he is acting out a fantasy in which the victims femaleness is a detractor."

Rebecca stopped writing and looked up. "You mean a homosexual fantasy?"

"Possibly."

"Terrific," Rebecca said disgustedly. "That would definitely help public opinion of gays."

"Its not likely that he is consciously gay, Rebecca. It would be much more likely that he is suppressing homosexual ideation -- and, as I said, I’m only theorizing."

Rebecca snapped her notebook shut and rubbed her face in frustration.

"I cant do anything but wait for his next move -- and that means waiting for him to attack another woman."

"What about staking out the area?"

"We try," Rebecca snorted, "but its pretty difficult with only a few people to cover twenty miles of river front."

"I wish I could help you more."

"You can. You can help me find out what Janet Ryan saw that night."

Catherine remained silent, torn between conflicting emotions. At length, she stood up, not wanting to leave but knowing she must.

"I want to see you again, Rebecca," she said at last. "Not here, and not about police business. I want to be somewhere with you where we can talk and rest. I want to be able to touch you."

Rebecca turned quickly towards Catherine, pulling her close against her, kissing her firmly on the mouth. Her hands traveled the length of Catherine’s back, caressing each curve with trembling hands. When she stepped back, her heart was racing.

"And I’ve been wanting to do that since you walked in the room," Rebecca said breathlessly. She touched Catherine’s cheek softly and then slipped quickly from the room.

Catherine was aware that Rebecca had again successfully avoided her suggestion of any intimacy between them. And she was also aware of how good Rebecca’s hands felt on her.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16