“I can’t. I can’t. Don’t you understand? I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Tell her, Suzanne. You must.”
The voice coming from the doorway startled both women. Ross Varda strode purposefully across the hospital room and over to the bed. “It’s for your own safety, Suzanne.”
Nat wondered how long he’d been standing there, listening. Dr. Varda maintained his focus on his patient. And her eyes were glued to his. “I. . . can’t,” she said hoarsely.
“Yes you can, Suzanne.”
Her hands were trembling as she touched them to her face. “Back when you and Lynn were at Grafton, something happened, isn’t that so, Suzanne?” he coaxed.
Suzanne nodded.
“What happened?”
“Lynn was . . . raped.”
“Yes, go on,” he said.
“Lynn was scared.” Suzanne swallowed hard. “She told me she was scared.”
Nat moved in a little closer to Suzanne. “Who was she scared of, Suzanne? Who raped her?”
She compressed her lips.
“Did he rape you, too?” Nat asked gently.
“No, no, it wasn’t. . . like that. He didn’t. . . want me. Not . . . sexually.” She shot Varda a look. As if wanting confirmation.
“Suzanne,” he said softly, “you will never fully recover if you keep this all inside. We’ve chatted about that, haven’t we?”
She' bit down so hard on her badly chapped bottom lip, it started to bleed. “He’s not a bad man. He looked out for me. It would have been so much worse without him.”
A cold chill seeped into Nat’s bones. This wouldn’t be the first time an inmate, especially a female inmate, had been brainwashed into thinking her abuser was really a good guy. There was even a name for it: Stockholm syndrome, coined from a hostage situation in the 1970s at a Stockholm bank where employees, held hostage for days, developed an intense attachment to their captors.
“You may not think he hurt you, but he did. And two days ago, he nearly killed you,” Nat said. “It was the same man, wasn’t it, Suzanne?”
Suzanne turned her head away. “Stop.”
“And what about Lynn?” Nat persisted. “He certainly hurt Lynn. She told you she was scared of him. She had good reason to be scared, Suzanne. It would break your heart to see Lynn now. Her face all cut up, her breasts, her—”
“Stop!” she screamed.
But Nat kept hammering home the reality: “When the bastard was finished mutilating her, he threw her ravaged body into a Dumpster and left her for dead.”
Suzanne looked pleadingly at Dr. Varda. “Make her stop.” “Please, Superintendent. You can see that Suzanne is overwrought. And very frightened. With good reason.”
“That’s precisely why she’s got to tell me who this bastard
is.”
Varda took hold of Suzanne’s hand. “Tell Ms. Price the man’s name, Suzanne. It’s okay. Once she knows, you’ll be safe. I promise you.”
When she finally uttered his name, she said it in such a low whisper, Nat could barely make it out.
“Joe?” Nat repeated.
Suzanne hesitated, then nodded.
“Joe who? What’s his last name?”
Suzanne squeezed her eyes shut.
“Please, Suzanne. You have to tell me. Joe who?”
The inmate mumbled a name but Nat didn’t catch ir. “Parker.” It was Ross Varda who repeated the name.
Nat gave the psychiatrist a studied look, then turned back to Suzanne, who was still crying softly. “You’ve done the right thing.”
And the psychologically healthy thing,
Nat thought. It was a first step in breaking the syndrome.
“I’m not saying he did it. Cut Lynn up and . . . jumped me,” Suzanne said anxiously. “Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe, like you said before, it was that guy Milburne. I mean, shit, I wasn’t there when Lynn was attacked. And I never saw who came at me. You don’t know it wasn’t Milburne, right? It could have been him. Just like you said. He had plenty of reason.”
Varda gave Nat a puzzled look. She was sure he was won-
dering who Milburne was and how he fit into the investigation. Nat was beginning to wonder now if he did.
“But you are sure this Joe Parker raped Lynn when she was in Grafton? She told you it was Parker.” Nat wanted confirmation from Suzanne.
Tears began falling down her cheeks. “No. She didn’t tell me.”
“He
told you? Parker told you he’d done it?”
Suzanne put both hands over her eyes.
Varda looked wearily at Nat. “He didn’t have to
tell
her.”
It took her a few moments to take in the full measure of the psychiatrist’s words: Suzanne
saw
them. Suzanne Holden witnessed Joe Parker rape Lynn Ingram.
“He’s not a bad man,” Suzanne rasped. “He . . . couldn’t help himself. He was . . . sorry afterward. He really was . . . sorry.”
Nat’s cell phone rang as she was heading out of Mercy Medical Center. It was Leo.
“You still with Suzanne?”
“How did you know . .. ?” But then Nat remembered the cop posted at Suzanne’s door. Leo must be having him report in on visitors.
“We got something. I’m at the Precinct House. Can you come over?”
“I’ll head there now.” Nat almost added that she had something, too. But her shocking news was not something to share on the phone. Nat was more than a little worried about how Leo would feel—and react—when he found out about Suzanne and Joe Parker. There was little question in Nat’s mind that Parker’d served as Suzanne’s “daddy” when she was in Grafton. He may have protected her, but Nat was sure Suzanne had paid a hefty price for that protection. Did she really think what he’d done to her
wasn’t
rape?
This ugly business was getting more personal by the minute. Nat punched in Jack Dwyer’s direct number at Horizon House. “Joe Parker,” she said abruptly. “You know him?” “Who?”
“Joe Parker. He’s a CO at Grafton.” Only now did Nat realize she hadn’t actually confirmed with Suzanne that Parker was a corrections officer. He could be one of the vocational education or shop teachers, a mental health person . . .
“Why are you asking?”
“Suzanne broke down and named him—with a little coaxing from Ross Varda. Suzanne saw this Joe Parker rape Lynn when they were at Grafton. She said Lynn was scared to death of him.” “Joe Parker?” Jack repeated slowly. There was no missing the note of disbelief in his voice.
“That’s right,” she said impatiently. “Joe Parker.”
“You got the wrong guy.” Jack’s statement was adamant. “Believe me, Nat—”
“Obviously you do know him. Is he an officer?”
Jack didn’t answer right away. “Nat, Joe Parker is a good buddy of Hutch’s. They go back a long way.”
“That makes it awkward, but it doesn’t change the fact.” “He’s a priest, Nat.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“He’s a Catholic priest. He and Hutch grew up together in Dorchester. Hutch and his family have been members of his church for years. Kerry, his oldest daughter, was married by Father Joe. I was at the wedding. Like I said, Nat, you got it wrong. ”
“A priest. Oh, Christ,” Nat muttered, wanting to kick herself. Father Joe. The priest Carrie Li told her had called to check on Lynn’s condition. Very likely the same priest Leo had spoken to on the phone. And Nat was willing to bet the bank it was also the Father Joe Parker who’d showed up at the hospital on some trumped-up excuse about visiting one of his parishioners so he could find out firsthand from the surgeon about Lynn’s condition.
“Nat? You still there.”
“Yeah.”
“You gotta be wrong about this,” Jack said.
Leo’s greeting was perfunctory. A man with a lot on his mind. Well, Nat was a woman with plenty on her mind, too. Before she could start to unload some of it, Leo jumped right in, setting a plastic evidence bag on his desk.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A scrap of cloth.”
“I can see that.”
“A scrap of cloth containing still-detectable remnants of ether, according to our lab boys.”
Nat immediately remembered Suzanne’s words.
“I felt something . . . over my mouth . . . Awful smell.
. .
Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t... So dizzy
...”
“Where did you find it?”
“One of my boys plucked it out of a trash can.” He paused. “The trash can was in the alley behind the boutique.”
Nat picked up a faint note of triumph in his voice. She’d wanted proof; here was proof.
“I’ve also doubled the watch outside Suzanne’s hospital room,” he said brusquely. Nat now remembered seeing a second officer coming down the hospital corridor when she’d left her a short time ago.
“Suzanne’s being released tomorrow morning,” he continued. “I want her put in protective custody. At Horizon House.”
Nat nodded slowly. Even though they both knew this evidence wasn’t enough to unconditionally prove Suzanne’s story, it was more than enough for Nat to put the inmate’s disciplinary hearing on hold. Nat was also in complete agreement with Leo that Suzanne should remain at Horizon House. No way, knowing what she knew now, was she sending Suzanne back to Grafton.
Nat was about to tell Leo about Father Joe when she was distracted by the gruesome drawing Leo placed on the desk. Her warning note.
“This is a photocopy,” Leo said. “You can pass it on to Varda. Tell him I’d like his analysis. I’m curious to see if he comes up with the same conclusions our man Carl Miller made. You want to read his report?”
“I’ll take a copy home with me. Give me the highlights.”
Leo placed a copy of the report beside the drawing, but he didn’t have to refer to it. “Interestingly, Miller, like you, observed that there was a childish quality to the drawing. He even went so far as to theorize that a child might well have done the sketch.”
Nat gave Leo an incredulous look.
“For all the gory details, Miller says that the way the lines are done and the way it’s been colored in are typical of a child’s style. Also, what Miller views as key is that he sees no signs of rage or panic in the way it’s drawn. He goes into a detailed explanation about how and why he reaches these conclusions.”
“This doesn’t make any sense, Leo. Lynn wasn’t attacked by a child.”
“Let’s say this was done by a child.” Leo tapped the photocopy. “There’s nothing to say this creep we’re after did the drawing himself.”
“He asked a child to do the drawing?” Her tone was openly dubious.
“It’s not so far-fetched. He knows we’re gonna analyze the shit out of this drawing, and he wants to send us off on a wild-goose chase.” There was a pause before Leo went on. “Also, Miller pointed out that the suspect may feel a need to bring someone else into his scheme. A co-conspirator.”
“A child?”
“The bastard describes to the kid what he wants drawn, gives the kid a few pointers along the way—”
“You wouldn’t ask just any kid. Does Miller think our guy’s a pedophile?” Nat’s stomach clenched. The news was full of cases being brought against Catholic priests on charges of pedophilia. As if things weren’t bad enough, was it possible Father Joe’s crimes were not only against female inmates but children as well?
“Same question I asked Miller,” Leo said somberly. This was not only a cop speaking, but the father of a little boy.
“And?”
“Miller said not necessarily. And he made another interesting observation. The way the face is drawn leads him to think it’s more likely a little girl than a little boy who did it. A kid as young as five.” He paused. Waiting for Nat to draw the same conclusion he had drawn.
But Nat’s mind was still on Father Joe.
“Harrison Bell has a little girl. Daphne. Four years old. Turns five in November.” Clearly, he’d been studying his notes on Bell. “And I’ve checked into whether Milburne or Rodney Bartlett have any young children. Milburne’s youngest is nineteen. He and Beth have no children. Bartlett is discreet about it, but he’s gay. No current lover, no kids. Jennifer and Matthew Slater were also childless. And, by the way, no luck confirming Bartlett’s absence at the funeral. The witness we were pretty sure of is now saying it wasn’t Bartlett who left; it was another guy closer to the aisle.”
“A friend of Bartlett’s?” Nat asked.
“Nope. A doc who got paged by his nurse and hightailed it to the hospital.”
“Bartlett could have paid off the witness.”
“It’s possible.” Leo didn’t sound very enthusiastic about this possibility. “Given what we’ve got at this point, we’re definitely moving Bell to the top of our list.”
“I don’t know, Leo.” Granted, Bell had been one of her prime picks as well—until that morning’s meeting with Suzanne. Now, like Daniel Milburne and Rodney Bartlett, he was quickly fading into the woodwork. Nat was thinking about Father Joe Parker. True, the priest wouldn’t have children of his own—unless he had an illegitimate child that he’d secretly fathered—but he certainly would have ample contacts with plenty of youngsters via the church. Youngsters who would look up to their priest. Who might do whatever Father asked of them . . .
“According to Bell’s clerk,” Leo went on, “Bell left the clinic at four o’clock on Saturday. More than enough time for him to have zipped over to the boutique on Newbury Street. Not to mention how easy it would have been for him to get his hands on a hypodermic needle and drugs.”
“Easy enough for anyone to get their hands on dope and works,” she muttered.
“I saved the best for last. I want you to listen to something.” He opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a small cassette player and a second evidence bag—this one containing a cassette. “I got this in the mail this morning. I want to play it for you.” He removed a pair of rubber gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them on before removing the cassette and placing it in the player.
He hit
play.
A woman’s voice came on, husky-sounding, like she had a terrible cold—
I am a patient of Dr. Harrison Bell’s. That is ... I was his patient. I ivon’t give my name because I do not want to become involved in this sordid business. But I feel it’s my duty as a citizen to come forward. On what ended up being my final visit to Dr. Bell. . . this was a couple of weeks ago
... 7
was waiting in his examining room when I heard an argument going on next door. That would be Dr. Bell’s consulting room. I recognized his voice immediately. It took a bit longer to recognize the
. . .
woman’s voice. It was Dr. Ingram. I had seen .
. .
her a few times for pain management. I have . . . well, that’s neither here nor there. The argument they were having was . . . personal. I distinctly heard Dr. Bell yelling at Dr. Ingram. He was shouting
—
“You can’t just end it. You can’t just dismiss everything we’ve had, everything we’ve been to each other.” Dr. Ingram . . . she wasn’t really screaming so much as . . . well,