Loving Time

the warmth that might convince someone as sensitive to manipulation as Jason. His parents had been chilly masters of guilt and control when he was a child. Emma told him he could be pretty good at it himself. She didn’t mean it as a compliment.

“You’ve come a long way in a short period of time, Jason,” Clara said, studying him intently. She didn’t answer his question. “I’ve heard you speak, of course. I’ve read your papers. You get the highest marks as a teacher, both from the residents and medical students.” She smiled. “It’s apparent you’re our best teacher. And of course as a supervisor, you’re very sought-after. No one feels his training here is complete without working with you.”

Jason shrugged modestly. “Well, that’s very flattering,” he murmured.

“It’s more than flattering; it’s the truth. I’ve decided we can’t let you get away.”

“Oh?” Jason laughed. “Where exactly was I going?”

“You’re going places, there’s no question about that. A person of your gifts, your teaching abilities, your integrity …” Clara smiled again.

It wasn’t clear to Jason what was in the air, so he crossed his legs and smiled back.

“It’s people like you and me, Jason, who are going to be the leaders of our field in the new century. Yes, it’s true. I want you there with me, at the top of this institution, in Washington—wherever I go.”

Jason was taken aback. He was no follower. “I—”

“No, don’t thank me,” Clara interrupted smoothly. “Every gifted person needs a mentor and promotor. I’m going to be yours, that’s all there is to it.” The smile faded from Clara’s face as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Her voice took on a musing tone. “I’m going to tell you a little story, Jason. My first analysand was a young man named Raymond Cowles. My supervisor was Harold Dickey. At the time, Harold was the head of the genetics department, was on the executive committee, president of associations. A really big cheese.” Another faint smile. “He was the best, and so was I.”

No response from Jason. He was the best, too.

“I don’t suppose you ever forget your first patient in analysis. Raymond was a student in his early twenties when he came into Student Services and was worked up by Intake. He was considered for disposition as an appropriate patient for psychoanalysis and accepted by the Centre, all in the usual way. He was offered to me, and I accepted him with a good deal of excitement.

“Ray was everything a young analyst could hope for. He was highly motivated, highly intelligent. He had the capacity to maintain an observing ego, the capacity to free-associate. He even dreamed. He was handsome, well educated, knew literature and music, liked good food. His problem was persistent, recurrent homosexual fantasies that had resisted his efforts to suppress them by concentration and willpower. His was a clear case of homosexual fantasies as a defense against unconscious anxieties over heterosexual impulses. I thought it would be an interesting and profitable case. And it was.”

Jason said nothing.

“Last Sunday Raymond Cowles died under mysterious circumstances. The police are looking into it. They suspect he committed suicide.” She shook her head, disagreeing. “I presented the case at meetings. It was a classic case. A successful case. I doubt Ray committed suicide.”

Clara checked her watch. “I have a meeting soon.”

Jason shifted in his chair. He had to leave soon, too, and now it was clear to him what was coming.

“I want you to review Ray’s case,” Clara said suddenly.

“Why me?” Jason asked.

“You’re an assistant professor without any administration duties, is that correct?”

Jason nodded. Yes, he was an attending physician there, not on staff.

“You are a supervisor?”

Again Jason nodded.

“Long hours, a lot of responsibility. No pay for any of it, correct?”

Jason watched her face. So?

“Well, you’d like that to change, wouldn’t you? A full professorship, a big job at the Centre, more time to do your own work?”

“I wasn’t aware there were any openings.” Jason scratched his beard.

“Well, something’s coming up, but I’m not really at liberty to discuss it at this time.… I have copies of the intake notes, my notes, Harold’s notes. The paper I presented on the case.”

“Ah …” That sounded like a lot. Why so much documentation on such an old case? Jason hesitated.

“I believe you know the police.” Clara glanced at her watch, impatient now.

Her statement startled Jason. “What if it was a suicide?” he asked Clara, keeping his voice impassive.

“Ben Hartley called me at home last night. He’s counsel for the hospital, as you know. Ben got a call yesterday from the lawyer of the insurance company that employed and insured Raymond. He was most upset about it. The bottom line is that if Ray Cowles was murdered, the insurance company has to pay a million dollars to his widow. There’s no out for them. If Ray was a suicide, they still pay, but they see a window of opportunity for getting their money back and more. Hartley told me the company and the widow intend to sue the Centre for malpractice. And I’m named in the suit, too.” A tic in Clara’s cheek that Jason hadn’t noticed before began to jump around when she said the doctor’s nightmare word: malpractice.

“But certainly many years have passed since the patient’s analysis and termination with you. How could it possibly have any bearing on his suicide now?” Jason was puzzled.

“I put the file together for you. I want you to take it.”

“Clara, what exactly am I looking for?”

“I started treatment with him eighteen years ago. I handled the case correctly. Hal was my supervisor throughout. I did nothing without his approval. We did everything by the book. You have no conflict of interest here, no axe to grind. You’re respected. I have confidence in you.” She spread her hands out palms-up on the desk, as if she had answered his question.

“What is there for the insurance company to hang their case on? I can’t help you unless I know what the issue is,” Jason insisted.

Clara turned her hands over and studied her manicure. “All I want is for you to review the original file. It’s not a hard one, Jason. I want you to sit in on the meetings with the lawyers as my consultant, take Dickey’s place as Quality Assurance in this matter, be my liaison with the police. If it all works out well, as I expect it will, you’ll be in an excellent position for—well, we’ll talk about that later.”

“I’ll review your old file and examine the case.…” Jason said slowly.

“And talk to the police?” Clara asked. “My office has put in several calls, but they haven’t been returned.” Clara’s eyes were on him, bright with her conviction that he could straighten out this mess.

“I will call the police,” he heard himself promising.

“I’m counting on you, Jason. I know you’re good.”

Jason’s empty stomach heaved. There had to be more to this than Clara told him. Maybe the gossip that Clara had been sleeping with Cowles was true. Jason’s instincts told him to avoid the whole thing. He longed for escape from another police investigation and direct involvement in a messy hospital scandal. All he wanted was to do things New Yorkers never do. He wanted to meet his wife at the airport, make love to her, have a normal life.

Clara pushed her chair back and pulled open her desk drawer. Eyes still on Jason, she reached inside. Then she screamed and snatched her hand back.

“Oh, my God!” She held her hand out, staring in shock at the deep cut in the fleshy part of her palm. Blood dripped all over her green blotter.

Jason lurched to his feet. “What—?”

“I’ve been stabbed. Get me some water,” Clara commanded, pointing at a door. She kept her bleeding hand extended.

Behind the door, Jason found a small kitchen and filled a glass for her. He grabbed some paper towels. When he returned to her office, there was blood all over Clara’s desk and she was raging at the device that had cut her.

“Look at this. Will you look at this!” she hissed. The file she’d been looking for was on her desk now. On top of it was a scalpel plunged from below through a condom so the deadly blade faced