Mackie… for those who like sequins graveside. I doubt any of them even listened to what was being said. What do the cops think have they got a killer?“
“All the usual suspects. I understand the LAPD is at the house this afternoon, looking for clues, papers, diaries, whatever. I’ll know more tomorrow. Did you find anything else out about her shrink?”
“Just that she’s had about four different ones the past few years. I don’t know names, but the police will find them on the pill bottles in her bathroom. The rest of the world had problems, according to Iz. She was fine but used these guys for pills. Ups, downs, whatever the latest fad.
As soon as one of the psychiatrists got wise to her, she’d switch to a new one and start the prescriptions over.“
“Did I tell you that she wasn’t alone for the last couple of nights she stayed at my place on the Vineyard?”
“You’re kidding! Don’t hold out on me who’s the masochist?”
“We have no idea. I was hoping maybe she told you.”
“Nope. She talked about some guy she ran into on a plane about a month ago. She had taken the Concorde back from London said he referred to it as ”the rocket.“
“Yeah. That’s investment banker lingo.”
“Said the guy was fascinating because he wasn’t in show biz and was still powerful and important her words, darling. You know how it always impressed her that people who weren’t in People could still be worth talking to occasionally, and could even get a table at Le Cirque.”
“Well, did she date him or come on to him? I’m dying to know who he is so I can ask whether he enjoyed my hospitality.”
“I’ll check around. To me it just sounded like her perpetual search for Mr. Right.”
We chatted for another ten minutes before hanging up.
The talk of psychiatrists reminded me of my neighbor.
I dialed David Mitchell’s number as soon as I hung up with Nina. It was our Sunday evening tradition to watch ‘60 Minutes’ together at seven o’clock, and if neither of us had a date, to order dinner in while we watched.
“Are we on?” I asked when David picked up the phone.
“Sure. Zac and I will be over a few minutes before seven.
Any other company?“
“No, Jed had to leave this morning.”
“Why don’t I order in from Pig Heaven?”
“Ummm. Chinese – great idea. I’m just warning you, I’m switching channels if one of the segments is about some other guy on death row who admits killing twenty-seven people but didn’t do the one he’s been convicted of. I’m only watching if they profile a scientist who discovered that red meat, french fries, ice cream, and Doritos are good for your health, or some other upbeat story. See you later.”
David and Zac appeared just as the local news signed off.“
I liked David a great deal, but I never felt that I knew him well at all. He had that wonderful trait of a good counselor that encouraged you to tell him everything you thought and believed, but revealed nothing of his personal feelings in the process. Like my own, his professional life was all-consuming, and while I had seen him with a number of his dates from time to time, I had no idea who they were or what his social life revolved around.
Prozac, on the other hand, was the ideal neighbor. A sleek taupe dog, nicknamed Zac, she was always eager to greet me when I came home after a difficult day in the office. When our paths crossed, she would bound down the hallway and cover me with friendly licks, anxious to be petted and stroked. Occasionally, when David had out- of-town meetings to attend, I’d keep Zac with me for the weekend, taking her for long walks in the park and jogging with her at my side.
Davis did a gentle cross-examination to make sure I was really okay, while Zac assumed her usual position at my feet and rolled over on her back so I could scratch her belly till she almost purred like a feline. The food delivery arrived before the end of the hour, and we devoured our ribs, scallion pancakes, and hot, spicy chicken while I enlisted David’s help for later in the week, when I was promised more information about Isabella’s psychiatric history and correspondence.
When they left, I put on my Private Dancer disc and luxuriated in the bathtub for almost an hour. I worried about whether David was too interested in Isabella’s case or simply being a good friend. He denied having met her, but I was certain I had introduced them to each other when she picked me up in our lobby one evening, more than a year ago. I told myself to stop being so paranoid and went back to planning the week ahead, actually looking forward to getting back to my desk and the office routine tomorrow.
I was so glad to see the sunshine again Monday morning that I was out of bed early, dressed and ready to go before eight, with my evening clothes packed so that I could shower and change in the ladies’ room and be at the Plaza to meet Jed in time for the dinner honoring his boss, the CEO of CommPlex.
The same two policewomen were waiting in the radio car in my driveway. I greeted and thanked them, knowing they were as relieved as I was that this boring assignment would be over after the twenty-minute ride downtown.
They dropped me in front of the entrance to the District Attorney’s Office and I swiped my photo ID over the security scanner to let myself in and get up to my office to check Friday’s mail and memos.
I turned on the computer and entered my password and user code. Once I got into the e-mail system I got caught in the unwanted personal messages that the administrative assistant had been directing the legal staff to cut out apparently in vain. An assistant in Bureau 30 had four tickets to Phantom that her Aunt Lucy couldn’t use for Wednesday’s matinee; a colleague in Frauds had a Himalayan long-hair that was expecting kittens and she was looking for a good parent (“J-D- Degree preferred‘); and a paralegal in Special Projects was desperately seeking tickets for Knicks games, not located in the end zones and no higher than twenty rows off the court.
Once those were erased, I skimmed through the in-house equivalent of help-wanted ads. Has anyone ever used a ballistics expert who can tell the effect of weather conditions on the sound of gunshots? Has anyone seen the case jacket that was inadvertently left in the courthouse coffee shop (and which, by the way, contains all of the witness interview notes that the defense shouldn’t get to see till the middle of the trial)? Does anyone want to piggyback on a telephone dump that we’re preparing for a rackets investigation?
Has anyone ever qualified an Albanian interpreter (Gheg dialect, not Tosk) in the Grand Jury and can he or she get here on short notice? It’s faster to send an urgent message through to a co-worker by Pony Express than by an e-mail system over clogged with the individual requests of six hundred lawyers and thousands of support staff users.
I moved on to messages addressed only to me. Lots of notes from friends in various bureaus offering consolation, advice, support, and free drinks (that last being a typical law enforcement solution for most traumatic events) because of Isabella’s death and my connection to it. A notice that Rod was calling a bureau chiefs’ meeting for Tuesday afternoon at four, so I put that in my book. Updates from Sarah on the new matters that had come in over the past few days and suggestions about witnesses who needed to be interviewed. Reminders from Laura about appointments she had scheduled for me and penciled in my calendar for the week. A note from Battaglia’s assistant, Rose Malone, suggesting that I stick my head in later today to see the boss.
I got to work knocking out some correspondence on the word processor that Laura could clean up and print out for my signature when she got in. Two were disposition letters, informing victims of the pleas I had taken in both cases, resulting in lengthy prison terms and sparing the women the need to confront their rapists at trial. One was a letter confirming a request to present a lecture about date rape to the freshman class at Yale at the beginning of the next semester, and another accepted a meeting to bring Sarah with me to Mount Sinai Hospital to lecture to the staff on the protocol for the examination of sexual assault victims at Grand Rounds in early January. I did as much as I could before the doors opened to the general public around 9AM and all of my colleagues went into high gear.
Laura was the first one to check in with me when she arrived. We caught up on what I had missed the previous Friday and she went over the day’s appointments with me. I usually liked to leave some open time on Monday morning because weekends often generated a disproportionate number of cases that needed emergency triage at the beginning of the week.
“I had you set for a ten o’clock with a woman whose ex-boyfriend came back to the apartment to pick up some clothes, then smacked her around and raped her,” Laura began.
