visited. Listened to her brothers justify behavior that had gotten two of them shot and another beaten so badly he was in a wheel-chair for life. Listened to the lines of her uncle and the neighborhood creeps who tried to get into her pants from the time she was thirteen. And she’d watched her mother taken in by her father. Watched one of her sisters marry at sixteen, then turn to drugs and hang herself in a neighboring vacant apartment. It all made Jeri want to learn why people behaved that way.
And she had learned.
Arthur Harris, my ass.
But it wasn’t unusual for new patients to be coy about their identity. At least Harris hadn’t told her he was there because “a friend” had a problem. Dr. Janess decided to play along with the lie for a while. Eventually she’d find out everything she needed to know about Arthur Harris, what was bedeviling him and why, and perhaps how she could help him.
“How would you describe this tension and restlessness you mentioned?” she asked.
“It’s like something expanding under my skin, squeezing me in at the same time it’s pressuring me so I might explode.”
“Like a secret that needs to get out?”
He stared at her. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, like a secret, buzzing inside me. And if I confessed it, I’d relieve all the pressure. The tension would go away. Only I don’t know the secret myself!”
Obviously, you’ve read Freud. “Perhaps we can find it out together. When you have more confidence in yourself and in me.”
He put on a shy act, lowering his gaze. “Maybe someday I will have that confidence, Dr. Janess.”
“You and I both need to work on it, and it will happen.”
“I believe you.”
I don’t believe you. Not yet. “Would this problem be about women, Arthur?” she asked with sudden directness. An ambush.
The shyness lifted from his features. “If you’re a man, everything’s about women. So the answer’s yes and no.”
“That’s how most men feel about women,” Dr. Janess said, smiling to let him know she was joking and their appointment time was up.
It wasn’t until several hours after Harris had left that she remembered where she might have heard the name. In a college history class years ago, or more recently watching a documentary on television.
She sat at her computer and went online to Google “Arthur Harris” and make sure.
Her memory was correct. Arthur “Bomber” Harris, sometimes referred to as “Butcher” by his countrymen, was the British vice air marshal who’d enthusiastically overseen the RAF’s carpet bombing of German cities and the deaths of thousands of civilians during World War II.
Of course it was a common enough name, and it could be coincidental that her new patient had it.
But she doubted it. Considering his behavior and obvious prevarication, she was sure he’d simply recalled the name as she had and borrowed it.
The first piece of the puzzle. Now she was determined to learn more about her Arthur Harris, and about this pressure he described. And she had something to work with. Maybe she’d ask him if he was aware he had a historical name, see how he’d react.
Dr. Janess signed off her Internet service, sat back, and smiled.
Arthur Harris, you and I are going to get to know one another sooner than you think, and better than you think.
Quinn called Harley Renz from his apartment at eight the next morning, using the kitchen phone so he wouldn’t wake Pearl. When he’d left her in the cool breeze from the air conditioner, she’d been sleeping soundly, something not to be prodded.
“Has Egan talked to you?” Quinn asked when Renz answered his cell phone.
“No.” Renz seemed puzzled. “Was he supposed to?”
Quinn told him about Egan coming to the hospital after Fedderman was shot.
“I haven’t heard anything about you being yanked off the case,” Renz said. “That’s supposed to be up to me. And if Egan mentioned it to the chief or commissioner at the Citizens Award Banquet, I’d know about it by now. Probably would’ve learned about it before the banquet was over.”
“What do you think stirred him up so that he came by the hospital and made that kind of threat?”
“Like all predators, he sensed weakness and saw opportunity. A cop was shot and civilian lives were threatened. It looked like your lack of progress was starting to endanger people. And you know what, it looks that way to me, too.”
“But I’m all you’ve got, Harley, and we both know I’m getting closer. Old cops like us can feel it when a case is coming to a head. The Night Prowler can feel it, too. That’s why he shot at the car.”
“Shot at you, you mean.”
“Probably. Are you warning me to be more careful?”
“I’m remembering what you said about being all I’ve got.”
“I still don’t see why Egan would spout off to me at the hospital, then go to the banquet and stay mum.” Quinn had decided not to mention to Renz that Pearl whispered something in Egan’s ear that almost made him launch like a rocket.
“Obviously, he changed his mind. But he might not keep it changed for long. Here’s another piece of information for you, one Egan doesn’t have and won’t for another two or three hours. I had my contact in ballistics run another quick comparison for me. The bullet that was dug out of Fedderman’s arm isn’t from the gun that was used to take a shot at you outside the florist shop on First Avenue.”
“So Lunt watches cop shows on TV and knows about ballistics tests, so he ditched the First Avenue gun. He’s not stupid.”
“He’s not that.”
Quinn watched a small cockroach wander into a patch of morning sunlight on the kitchen floor near the window and stagger toward the wooden molding. It reminded him of Egan. It reminded him of his life the last few years-trying to escape the light.
“You still there, Quinn?”
“Yeah.” The roach flattened itself and disappeared in the shadowed space between molding and floor. With the rehabbing and so many vacant apartments in the building, it was impossible to get rid of all the roaches, no matter how much insecticide was sprayed around.
“Quinn?”
“Fedderman’s okay, by the way. I tell you because I’m sure you were going to ask.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Renz said. “I already called the hospital this morning and they let me talk to Fedderman. He’s gonna be released this afternoon with his arm in a cast. And he wants to keep working the case.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“That’s what Alice says.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said, sure he could work the case, no matter what his wife says. Let the two of ’em fight it out.”
Quinn started to tell Renz what a jerk-off he was, but he realized Renz had hung up.
Quinn did the same, and looked over and saw Pearl standing in the kitchen doorway. Her eyes were puffy, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing only Quinn’s oversize T-shirt that she’d slept in. He thought she looked beautiful in the morning sun that illuminated her half of the kitchen. He forgot about the cockroach and how bad life had seemed a few minutes ago.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked.
“The hospital. Fedderman’s being released this afternoon.”
“Great! He can go home and sit on his ass and eat chicken soup for a while.”
“He’s gonna keep working the case, unless Alice wraps him in duct tape to stop him.”
“Duct tape. We haven’t tried that.”
“Pearl, get dressed.”
“Like you are?”
Quinn realized he was sitting at the kitchen table in nothing but his Jockey shorts.
