“Because you’d been drinking.”
“That night we’d both been drinking– me even more, Paul says. He barely remembers all the details. Mainly he says Iscreamed ‘I’ve had it!’ and ran out. I have no memory of going down in theelevator or running through the lobby, and I can’t believe I had any intention ofgetting run over - or even being in the street. Maybe I’d just thought ofstorming down the sidewalk or something.”
Liddy stopped for breath, watching Mintonwrite again.
What was he writing? He had it already - they’d both been blotto and fought and neither couldremember that night because they’d fried their brains. Minton had it already!
And the fifty minutes were almost up. Mintonglanced surreptitiously at his watch. Now, went the script, he would quicklyask the other stuff.
Her painting, was she able to work andconcentrate?
“Yes.”
“Is the move causing increased pressure? Perhapsthat’s why you’ve been having these…experiences.”
“I don’t mind if you call themhallucinations. But they started, remember, before we saw the loft. The face inthe shower stall.”
“That was the day you were to go looking.”
“True, but the nightmares started waybefore that, which is why I came to you in the first place. As for the move andpressure, there’s some – but after the disruption I can’t wait to get back to paintingfull time.”
“You’re bursting to push your brush around,mix your beautiful colors?” He was looking down, reading something she’d said wordfor word. “It’s still therapy?” he read. “The only time you really forget yourproblems? Each painting or watercolor is like entering another world?”
Liddy stared at him.
To her surprise, Minton looked at heralmost sadly. “I envy you,” he said, smiling. “Very few people have that escapevalve.”
Nice to say, but that’s it? His commentwas kind but something any pal could have said – and they’d just spent fifty wholeprecious minutes accomplishing nothing. Liddy felt more than annoyed - then realizedthat annoyed is good; annoyed is wonderful; it banishes anxiety for a fewminutes.
She rose, thanked, gave a polite good-byemore stiffly than she had on previous occasions, then stopped for a moment withher hand on the doorknob.
“One insight?” she said. He’d gotten up tosee her out. “Someone suggested that the visions in the shower stall and on theloft glass and my dreams all involve water. She asked if I did watersports, and I told her yes, a lot of my life has been swimming and boating.”
Minton looked almost hurt. “Oh gosh, you’vebeen seeing another psychiatrist.”
No, a cop who’s better than you, Liddy thought, stifling the urge to snark; reassuring him instead.
She actually walked the ten blocks home,realizing that shrinks were as lost as anyone else, you had to struggleyourself out of your own pits. The leg felt okay, and what surprised Liddy morewas the fact that she felt okay - not great…but several notches better, andthat was something to celebrate, wasn’t it? The sun was warm, had dropped toits five-thirty softness coloring everything old-fashioned amber. Central ParkWest looked bathed in amber; ditto the passersby enjoying being out and thetraffic moving slowly at its late Friday pace and the dog walkers gettingpulled behind their happy, yipping charges. Squint: a nostalgic old postcard.Oh, it did feel good to be out. Nightmares and such were forgotten.
At Eighty-Sixth Street, standing on thecorner, Liddy saw a FedEx truck pull up to the light. For a second SashaPerry’s face appeared on the truck’s sun-glowing windshield, but the traffic lightchanged, the truck moved, and Sasha was gone.
For an instant but why would the redteddy bear be wet? came back to her, but she pushed it down; wanted to stayfeeling good.
Imagination anyway, Liddy thought, walkingon. That’s all it is.
Has to be…
19
August was the worst,the absolute worst for trying to find anybody in Manhattan. Too many of them werejust someplace else or off to the country or the shore – those who could affordit – and in the case of Ben Allen, he was half out the door and looked annoyed.
“You’re late and I’m late for the ferry.Can we do this another time?”
Kerri apologized, the traffic was terrible.“Would you have preferred I use my siren?” she asked sweetly. “I could have beenhere in minutes with my siren blaring.”
No, that wouldn’t have looked good, a policeofficer screeching to the curb of the pretty West Village brownstone where thisdoctor had his office. She’d gotten him at a good time, too. Peering past himinto his first floor doorway, she saw that his reception room and long receptioncounter were empty. Assistants and nurses had left for their weekends. Good.
A bit more finagling – she’d be quick, justa wee follow up - got him back into his inner office and looking tense behindhis desk. He was tall, early forties with darting pale eyes, dark hair, andlong fingers suddenly busy in his cell phone. He’d been interviewed before bythe police, this doctor who’d made out Sasha Perry’s uppers prescription whichshe’d written over, changed the dose. That had been uncomfortable for him,especially since other students had done the same. Was it his fault if theyaltered his prescriptions – or that one of the kids said he was thego-to doc for that? Prove he knew what they did! Harassment to put him on somedamned watch list!
The police had been unable to proveanything, of course. And Kerri had never actually seen him since others haddone his interview. Ah, but she had seen his picture in the cop logs; it justhadn’t registered. It had taken a surprise six hours of sleep and then wakingand re-thinking last night’s researching…
…and it hit.
He was the third man in that Facebookpicture with Paul Barron and Carl Finn before Barron’s boat.
Now Kerri sat, simultaneously taking in theroom with its diplomas and photos and re-thinking what she wanted to ask him – whatsuddenly needed updating.
“Sasha Perry,” she said, leaning forward.
He nodded as if he’d expected the question,looked up from his cell phone, looked away. “I saw you on the news,” he told apotted plant in the corner.
