I did not get up to leave. I pulled the silent thing on him. I looked him in the eye.
I knew that if I was right about him, he’d be drawn in. A guiltless conscience would just say, ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve made some progress.’ Would get up, put out his hand. Whatever. Indicate the audience was over.
Well, he said, I’m glad we’ve made some progress.
He got up. Put out his hand.
Damn. The guy was good.
There’s something else I want to talk about, I said.
Oh, he said with a broad smile. Of course. I didn’t mean to be rude.
He sat back down.
That’s okay, I said. I understand. You’re a busy man.
Well, I guess I am, he said expansively, with a touch of pride. But I can always spare some time for an old friend.
An old friend? Too big a stretch.
The first crack in the facade.
I wanted to ask you about something I came across, I said.
Yes? he said, his head cocked to the side in a simulacrum of interest.
Jane Doe.
Jane Doe?
Yes. Jane Doe.
I’m afraid I’m at a loss.
Jane Doe, I repeated once again. It’s a name the courts use to mean ‘anonymous.’ When there’s a confidentiality order. When to make the name public would cause so much harm that the public’s right to know is secondary.
Silence.
Do you follow me? I asked.
Yes, he said. His smile had stiffened.
You’ve got a Jane Doe case, don’t you?
I do?
You do.
Ah.
I was waiting for him to call Security. Have me thrown out. I could see him calculating the consequences. If Jane Doe were nothing, that’s exactly what he’d do. Call my bluff. Throw me out. But if there was something there, throwing me out would only delay the inevitable. He’d go for damage control.
I had a big edge. He didn’t know what I had in my hand.
I didn’t know what he had either. But he didn’t know that.
And his next move was going to tell me.
And what is it you’d like to know? he asked, as affably as he could manage.
The fish was on the hook.
I dropped the pretense. I put on my poker face. Impassive. Unreadable. I looked unblinking into his eyes.
What’s the big secret? I asked.
He paused. He considered his options.
I’m not at liberty to say, he said.
How’s that? I asked evenly.
As you said, there’s a confidentiality order. I’d be in contempt of court.
I see. But otherwise, you’d be happy to share it with me, of course?
That re-raise he hadn’t expected. He paused again. Looked at his cards. He didn’t have the nuts, that was sure. Did he have something he could call with? Re-re-raise? Did he have enough to beat a bluff?
No, he said, I don’t think I would.
Why not?
Because I have an obligation to my patients. To keep their affairs private.
Even those who sue you? I asked, ignoring, for the moment, the interesting choice of noun: affairs.
Even those.
He sat up straighter. He thought he was getting the upper hand. He was reading me for a bluff.
He was good. He was very good. If I was going to get anything out of him on this cold damp afternoon, I had to take it all the way. I had to tell him what he was holding.
If I was wrong, the game was over.
But it wasn’t really a bluff. It was a semi-bluff. Terry would get me something. I’d win this one in the end.
But I didn’t want to wait. I wanted Steiglitz right then. I wanted to watch his tan go white. I wanted to watch him squirm. I wanted to make it hurt.
Hell, what did I have to lose?
I re-re-raised.
Even those who sue you for sexual misconduct? I asked.
It was only a moment. But it was the decisive moment. The microscopic, instant straining at the corners of his eyes.
I’d got him. I’d figured his cards.
I think this conversation’s gone far enough, he said.
Okay, I said with a friendly smile. I understand. Patient confidentiality. I wouldn’t want to make you breach your patient’s trust.
Just two professionals understanding each other, we were.
He didn’t move. He didn’t say a thing.
There’s just one other thing, I said.
Yes? he said, with a distracted air.
He was deflated. I saw it in his shoulders. He was resigned to it.
It was going to be worse than he thought.
I wondered, I said, if you might not mind giving a DNA sample.
Pardon me?
A DNA sample.
Whatever for?
Well, I said. I think it’s time for me to lay my cards on the table.
He stared at me. His jaw was clenched.
There was an autopsy. Of course, you know that.
An autopsy?
Of Melissa.
The muscles in his jaw let loose. His mouth hung open, just a bit, as though about to speak. But he didn’t.
And there was a curious result.
He gathered himself. He got up from his chair. He went to the window. His back was to me. He looked out at the rain.
Semen, I said. There was semen.
He said nothing.
It wasn’t mine, I said to his silent back.
And it’s been remarked, I continued, that you were the last man she was seen with. Other than myself. Before her death, that is.
He slowly turned around. His eyes were full of tears.
A most peculiar sight.
He walked slowly back to his chair. Sat down. Looked straight at me.
All right, he said. You know.
