'Yeah, well, take a number.'
He flipped the phone closed, then looked at his watch. That felt good – talking to Maggione like that. Seven fifty. He wouldn't even miss U2's opening number.
Chapter 59
I HAD JUST FINISHED UP with the day's final session and was looking through the old files on Maria's case again, when an unexpected hard knock came against the office door. What now?
I opened it to find Sampson standing out in the hallway.
He had a twelve-pack of Corona stuffed under one arm, and the carton of beer looked ridiculously small in relation to his body. Something was up.
'Sorry,' I said. 'I don't allow drinking during sessions.'
'All right. I hear you. I guess me and my imaginary friends will just be on our way.'
'But seeing how much you obviously need therapy, I'll make an exception this one time.'
He handed me a cold beer as I let him in. Something was definitely going on. Sampson had never been to my office before.
'Looking good around here already,' he said. 'I still owe you a hanging plant or something.'
'Don't pick out any art for me. Spare me that.'
Thirty seconds later, the Commodores were on the CD player – Sampson's choice – and Sampson was flopped down on my couch. It looked like a love seat under him.
But before I could even begin to unwind, he blindsided me. 'Do you know Kim Stafford?'
I took a swill of beer to cover my reaction. Kim had been my last patient of the day. It made sense that Sampson might have seen her leaving, but how he knew who she was, I had no idea.
'Why do you ask that?'
'Uh, I'm a police detective… I just saw her outside. The lady is kind of hard to miss. She's Jason Stemple's girlfriend.'
'Jason Stemple?' Sampson had said it like I should know who that was. And in a strange way, I did, just not by his name.
I was glad Kim had come back for more sessions, but she was firm about not identifying her fiance, even as the abuse at home seemed to have gotten worse.
'He works Sixth District,' Sampson said. 'I guess he came on the force after you left.'
'Sixth District? As in, he's a cop?'
'Yeah. I don't envy him that beat though. It's rough over there these days.'
My mind was reeling, and I felt a little sick to my stomach. Jason Stemple was a cop?
'How's the Georgetown case going?' I asked, probably to get Sampson off the track he was going down.
'Nothing new,' he said, sliding right over to the new subject. 'I've covered three out of the four known victims, and I'm still not out of the gate.'
'So no one's talking at all? After what happened to them? That's hard to believe. Don't you think so, John?'
'I do. A woman I spoke with today, army captain, she admitted the rapist made some kind of bad threat against her family. Even that was more than she wanted to say.'
We finished our beers in silence. My mind alternated between Sampson's case and Kim Stafford and her policeman fiance.
Sampson downed the last of his Corona; then he sat up and handed me another. 'So listen,' he said. 'I've got one more interview to do – lawyer who was raped. One more chance to maybe crack this thing open.'
Uh- oh, here it comes.
'Monday afternoon?'
I swiveled in my chair to look at the appointment book on my desk. Wide open. 'Damn, I'm all booked up.'
I opened my second beer. A long slat of light came in through the wooden blinds, and I traced it with my eyes back over to where Sampson sat, looking at me with that heavy glare of his. Man Mountain, that was one of the names I had for him. Two-John was another.
'What time on Monday?' I finally asked.
'Three o'clock. I'll pick you up, sugar.' He reached over and clinked his beer bottle against mine. 'You know, you just cost me seven bucks.'
'How's that?'
'The twelve-pack,' he said. 'I would have gotten a six if I'd known you'd be this easy.'
Chapter 60
MONDAY, THREE O'CLOCK. I shouldn't be here, but here I am anyway.
From what I could tell so far, the firm of Smith, Curtis and Brennan's legal specialty was old money. The expensive-looking wood-paneled reception area, with its issues of Golf Digest, Town Country, and Forbes on the side tables, seemed to speak for itself: The clients of this firm sure didn't come from my neighborhood.
Mena Sunderland was a junior partner and also our third known rape victim, chronologically. She seemed to blend in to the office, with a gray designer business suit and the kind of gracious reserve that sometimes comes from Southern breeding. She led us back to a small conference room and closed the vertical blinds on the glass wall before letting the conversation begin.
'I'm afraid this is a waste of your time,' she told us. 'I don't have anything new to say. I told that to the other detective. Several times.'
Sampson slid a piece of paper over to her. 'We were wondering if this might help.'
'What is it?'
'A draft press statement. If any information goes public, this will be it.'
She scanned the statement while he explained. 'It puts this investigation on an aggressive path and says that none of the known victims have been willing to identify the attacker or testify against him.'
'Is that actually true?' she asked, looking up from the paper.
Sampson started to respond, but a sudden gut reaction flashed through me, and I cut him off. I started to cough. It was kind of a sloppy move, but it worked fine.
'Could I trouble you for a glass of water?' I asked Mena Sunderland. 'I'm sorry.'
When she left the room, I turned to Sampson. 'I don't think she should know it's all down to her.'
'Okay. I guess I agree.' Sampson nodded and said, 'But if she asks -'
'Let me take this,' I said. 'I've got a feeling about her.' My famous 'feelings' were part of my reputation, but that didn't mean Sampson had to go along. If there had been more time for discussion, I would have worried about it, but Mena Sunderland came back a second later. She had two bottles of Fiji water and two glasses. She even braved a smile.
As I drank the water she gave me, I noticed Sampson sit back in his chair. That was my cue to take over.
'Mena,' I said, 'we'd like to try to find some kind of common ground with you. Between what you're comfortable talking about and what we need to know.'
'Meaning what?' she asked.
'Meaning, we don't necessarily need a description of this man to catch him.'
I took her silence as a green flag, however tentative.
'I'd like to ask you some questions. They're all yes or no. You can answer with one word or even just shake your head if you like. And if any question is too uncomfortable for you, it's fine to pass.'
A smile threatened the corners of her mouth. My technique was facile, and she knew it. But I wanted to keep this as non-threatening as possible.
