Hanging Time

watch.” Milicia’s agitation became extreme as she described it.

“Look, Milicia,” Jason said gently. “I can understand that all of this is disturbing. But murder is going a very long way. The two, uh, murders you’ve told me about happen to coincide with your own anxiety about your sister. It’s an unfortunate coincidence. In any case, all the studies have shown that most murders are committed by men. Only a tiny percentage of murders are committed by women, and they’re almost never stranger murders. Look, I’m not a detective, but I haven’t heard any compelling evidence—”

“But I know—”

“What do you know?”

“I know Camille. You don’t. Sometimes you just know things.” Milicia thrust out her chin. The twitch had moved up to her temple.

He watched it jump. It was true that he didn’t know Camille, and his not knowing Camille made it even more important that he be extremely careful with this. Milicia had her own agenda. He decided to try something else. He’d float an interpretation. If he was right, she’d calm down. If he was wrong, she’d dismiss it out of hand. Then he’d know what to do.

“You’ve told me Camille is angry,” he said gently. “What she does is experience her emotions as murderous and dangerous. But that is very far from acting on those impulses. You’ve also told me that Camille’s angry feelings incapacitate her. She’s overwhelmed and becomes immobile. People like that are not capable of any action at all, much less very complicated and stressful acts of violence. Having murderous feelings is kind of like having fantasies—watching movies of oneself killing someone, smashing a car, setting a building on fire. They’re wishes about committing violent acts. Wishes are not reality.”

Yet as he spoke, Milicia shook her head. “You’re wrong about this. You’re talking theory. You’re telling me what you’ve read in studies. I’ve seen you do this before. You push yourself away from what you don’t want to hear. The bottom line, Doctor Frank, is if my sister is killing people, and if you don’t do something about it, you’re responsible for murder.”

The woman was very smart. A door in Jason’s mind closed, and another one opened. He’d made his judgment. He would no longer try to manage the patient. He’d manage the situation. Abruptly his manner altered. His warmth was gone.

“I think we can change the subject just a bit, Milicia. You’ve been trying to persuade me that your sister has actually committed murder. Let’s presume that what you say is true. In that case, I must notify the police immediately.”

“If I wanted to go to the police, I would have gone to the police in the first place,” Milicia retorted, but the tension in her face began to ease. Her color slowly returned.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” she murmured. “Is there no other way?”

“In a matter like this it’s not a judgment call,” Jason said firmly. He wasn’t going to negotiate. “I’m not questioning whether we should go to the police. You want me to accept your suspicions. All right, I do. Where life is at stake, I have absolutely no choice but to go to the authorities.”

“You mean it, don’t you?” Milicia’s cheeks were red now.

“Yes, I do.”

“Well then, it’s out of my hands.” She sat back, soothed in an instant.

Jason could feel something like a sigh of relief escape her, and suddenly her abstract design came into crisp focus for him.

“I don’t want Camille to suffer,” Milicia was saying, completely in control again. “I had hoped we could just take care of her quietly. But now …” She made a gesture of helplessness. “You say we have no choice. Calling the police is the only thing to do.”

Jason thought of April Woo and said nothing. He had every confidence the police would get to the bottom of this, and a whole lot faster than he could. He couldn’t talk to Milicia’s sister unless she came in to see him. The police had instant access to anyone. He watched Milicia’s face. Now he got it. This was what Milicia had wanted all along.

Milicia had wanted police involvement, but she couldn’t get it on her own. She felt she needed an authority figure behind her. But what was the pathology? Was Milicia a variation on the kind of people who confess to crimes they didn’t commit out of guilt for unrelated acts of their own? And because they crave attention. Did she crave attention? Was the twist here that she wanted to turn her sister in to the police for something the sister most likely did not do in order to punish the sister? Or did Milicia figure this kind of stunt was the route she needed to take to draw attention to the illness of a sibling she couldn’t control?

Jason’s brow furrowed deeply. He was well aware that he had been manipulated by Milicia in a very big way. But there was always the possibility, remote as it seemed to him at the moment, that the sister had committed the crimes.

As Jason’s eyes bored into Milicia, her blush deepened.

“When do you want to do it?” she said, her voice throaty.

He continued to study her, looking for an answer. “Right now,” he said coldly. “Immediately. I know a detective. Do you want to call her, or do you want me to call her?”

“A woman?” Milicia laughed.

“Yes, and very good at her job.”

Jason hadn’t spoken to April Woo since May, in the debriefing after Emma’s rescue. But he thought about her often. He felt no hesitation about calling her now, in a situation like this.

“You do it.” Milicia’s voice sank to a whisper. Once again she covered her face with her fingers. “I couldn’t. I’d be incoherent. I’d break down. Poor Camille. I hate to think what will happen to her.”

“Fine.” Jason reached for his address book and looked up the number. Even months later he realized he still knew it by heart. He glanced at the skeleton clock. It was five-thirty. Sometimes Detective Woo was there after four o’clock, and sometimes she wasn’t.

42

It took four hours to process the Rachel Stark crime scene and get the body removed by the Medical Examiner. By the time April and Sanchez had finished their own notes and interviewed Ari Vittleman, the stench of death hung over them both, eclipsing even Mike’s powerful aftershave. If they didn’t do something about it, the reek would sit there in the sinuses and in the hollows of the hair shafts for a long, long time. Braun wanted to leave an hour before, but Mike and April weren’t finished then. Braun wouldn’t go if they didn’t. Now they were ready.

“Let’s go,” April said, turning toward her car.

“Salsa?” Mike suggested, falling into step beside her.

She shook her head, frowning. “No way. Szechuan is much better.”

“Nah, you have to eat too much of it,” Mike argued. “Salsa’s better. One shot goes right in there and blows the shit away. Chase that with a few peppermints—you know, the red and white striped kind—hey, and everything’s cool.”

They came to where Mike had parked the gray unmarked car. Braun was leaning against it, waiting for them.

“What?” The Lieutenant was staring at them suspiciously, his beaky face all pinched in annoyance at how long they had taken.

“Just a small debate over the best method for clearing the sinuses,” Mike said, rattling his car keys.

“Horseradish, no question. You folks got a change of clothes at the shop?”

“Yessir.”

“Then clean up. We got some people to talk to.” Braun didn’t get in the gray car with Mike. An unmarked black car, like the kind the FBI favored, was waiting for him. At the crook of his finger it pulled up to within an inch of where he was standing. “Say an hour,” Braun said, getting in and slamming the door.

“So what did he hang around for if it wasn’t the ride?” April asked.

“Nice guy,” Mike remarked. “Doesn’t look like he trusts us.”

“Does he return in another blue jacket?” April muttered.

Mike shrugged, then cocked his head down the block, where an unsuspecting female beat officer was getting