“What?”
“The first incident two years ago, the one I told you about on the way to his place? I worked it.”
“Really? The case with his wife?”
He nodded. “Not a case. Just a report, as the charges were eventually dropped.” He paused, then said, “A real number was done on her. She was damn near paralyzed from her injuries.”
Kevin Hughes looked at Leonard, grin thin and suddenly wet. “Len, you think this might all be about…rough sex?”
The idea had crossed
Moldofsky’s
mind back when questioning Richard following Samantha’s charges, but it’d ended up as an improbable consideration --an unlikely scenario. For one, Richard had called the paramedics himself, and then the police. In most cases of spousal abuse, the aggressive husband would
never
turn himself in, much less show the genuine compassion he displayed following the episode. As well, there’d been too much blood present for it to be simple case of roughing it between the sheets. You didn’t ascend to this level unless you were into the ultra-kinky stuff: razors, whips, chains, and there’d been no evidence of such devices. It had become all too clear: Samantha’s broken bones and lacerations had showed full intent to harm.
Over the years Leonard had encountered a few situations where the victimized woman had stepped forward to press charges against the husband or boyfriend for assault stemming from consensually rough sex. The results of their injuries amounted to mere bruising at the neck and chest along with a scattering of tell-tale scratches acquired in an attempt to end the session (Leonard could never understand the mystique of harmonizing orgasm with partial asphyxiation and pain). So,
Moldofsky
had become convinced that there hadn’t been
consensual
rough sex going on behind Richard
Sparke’s
closed doors, as there would not have been ample amounts of blood, and broken bones.
The facts were apparent: the man had beat Samantha senseless, and had probably tried the same with Pam.
“With both situations, it could’ve started out as sex,” Leonard answered, exploring all possibilities. “But then he might’ve sprung the aggressive part on them during lovemaking, catching them by surprise. The women might’ve freaked out and responded in self-defense, fending off his overly heated advances, and in turn totally pissed him off, making him even more rambunctious. I’d imagine things would get real ugly at that point, you know? His adrenaline surges, and he loses all rational thought, like an animal fending off a kill from hungry opponents.”
Kevin rubbed his chin. Leonard made a left onto Foster Avenue, heading towards downtown Fairview. “So you think he’s really into beating his women for pleasure? He doesn’t strike me as the type, Len. No offense. Too wishy-washy.”
Moldofsky
shook his head. “Don’t let appearances fool you.” He turned right onto New Street. Parked cars packed the curbs, shoppers taking the sidewalks and store entrances with enthusiastic strides. Ahead Main Street was alive with its usual throng of daily activity. “But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s no whacko sex offender. I can’t remember him having any scratches on him after the incident with his wife.”
“He had a nasty welt on his lip today.”
“Yeah, no doubt he took a punch. But the blood was in the kitchen.”
“Hmm…we didn’t check the bedroom.”
“I peeked into the hallway. There was no trail of blood. Whatever happened occurred right there in the kitchen.” He paused, then added, “I think there’s more to this story than meets the eye,
Kev
. And I want to find out what it is.” Leonard turned left onto Main and pulled the sedan into a vacant spot behind a Toyota SUV. “Lucky. A perfect spot.”
Hughes raised an inquisitive brow. “I thought we were gonna check out the hospital.”
“Now why would I park here when the hospital is a mile away?”
Kevin shifted in his seat, undid his seat belt. “Lunch?”
“A good cop eats with his eyes, not with his stomach.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Look.” Leonard pointed. Kevin followed his cue. The Main Street bus pulled up next to a row of buildings, depositing three passengers. One of them was Richard
Sparke
. He paced the length of three storefronts, hesitated as he read a sign on a slate-colored professional facility, then went inside through a pair of glass doors.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a gun. Didn’t you tell him to stay home where we could reach him?” Hughes’s sarcasm was obvious, the grin on his face wide.
“Told you he wouldn’t--that’s why I had the guard cue us when he left. I just wanted to make sure he got on the Main Street bus before we came down here.”
“All right, fess up. What clued you in?” Smiling, the young cop was clearly impressed with his senior’s intuition.
“He had one of those little magic marker note pads on the fridge. Said ‘Dr Delaney, Thursday, 1:00’. That’s today. He wasn’t going to miss his appointment. Guarantee you that.”
Moldofsky’s
eyes were glued to the inactive doorway of the slate facility. “He’s been seeing Delaney--a shrink by the way--for a long time. Started right after the incident with his wife--mentioned it to me during an interview with him. He was having a lot of anxiety related B.S. that kept him from a good night’s sleep.”
“So he’s still seeing the guy after two years?”
“And I’ll bet you it’s not just for insomnia or night terrors.”
Hughes smiled. “Not bad, partner. I’m impressed.”
“You should be. So how about some lunch?”
“I thought good cops eat with their eyes?”
“Who said we’re good cops?”
Kevin laughed. “Good. I’m starving.” The young cop launched himself from the passenger seat. He came around
Moldofsky’s
side and stood there waiting before asking, “You coming?”
“Kevin,” he said, eyebrows raised, “I have to watch out for
Sparke
.”
“I guess I’m buying then.”
Leonard laughed. “They ought to promote you to detective.”
Dr Marcus Delaney’s office sat in the middle of downtown Fairview, a quaint village that started out in the 1930’s as five stores lining Main Street, ultimately becoming a thriving college-like setting with over fifty businesses, including restaurants, bars, and a selective array of retail outlets.
The practice was located in a three-story office building on Main Street , sandwiched between an educational toy store and a delicatessen that nourished many of the lunchtime employees from the area’s shops. For Richard it had been easily accessible, the downtown bus stopping at three points along the half mile stretch of establishments. The slate-front motif of the newer building seemed out of place amidst the old-fashioned shops connected to it. Lately, with Fairview growing and more and more businesses settling in, the town had become a melting pot of enterprises run by a new generation of residents looking to upgrade the community they grew up in.
The building housed only professional offices, two medical doctors, an ophthalmologist, an obstetrician, and Delaney himself. Richard had a compulsive habit of reading the gold-colored engravings of all the specialist’s names etched into the brown plaque secured to the wall at the right of the entrance, just to make sure that Delaney hadn’t decided to move his practice without alerting him. He imagined himself as being one of his more troublesome patients; he hadn’t missed an appointment in two years, regardless of Delaney’s suggestion that a simple dose of medication would more than likely cure his ailments. It seemed irrational to think Delaney would move on without him, but then again, Richard’s mind didn’t drum up the most viable explanations to his fantastic problems.
Inside, he took the elevator to the second floor and approached the main reception area where the
clerksmiled
, then nodded and pointed down the hall, giving Richard the thumbs up: Delaney had finished with his client and was now waiting for him. He paced to the first door on the right and entered the doctor’s office. Delaney was sitting at his desk, scribbling some notes in a legal pad.
“
Hiya
, Doctor. Sorry I’m late.”
“Richard, how are you feeling today?” He
pinched
his brow, eyes pointed to Richard’s wounds.
Richard licked his swollen lip. “I’ve had better days.”
“Looks it. Come.”
As usual, Delaney’s office was spotless, the workings of an anal mind: the desk, not a piece of paper escaping the confines of the blotter, a computer monitor the only object resting upon the fine mahogany surface. Two walls bragged floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, hundreds of colorful texts validating the doctor’s educational credentials framed and displayed on the opposing wall.
Delaney’s fixation with neatness carried over into his appearance. Short yet trim, perhaps fifty, facial features squared, hazel eyes clear and piercing. Although balding, what remained on his head was neat and trim, not a hair out of place. Pale, thin arms jutted from the crisply pressed sleeves of the plaid woven shirt he wore. Tightly honed creases ran the length of his brown pants with tailored accuracy, shiny from their last visit to the dry-cleaners.
With the mini-blinds drawn on the room’s two windows, a small lamp on the coffee table centering the room provided the only illumination, a soft halo spread smoothly upon the leather couch that Richard had lain upon so many times in the past.
“Is it something you want to talk about?”
The throbbing in Richard’s jaw coerced his reply. “I suppose I should.”
Like a cat nuzzling its owner’s leg, Richard nestled himself onto the couch. He located the small grease stain on the ceiling, a focal safe-point so many times serving as a security blanket in the otherwise sterile environment. Marcus Delaney took a seat in the small chair opposite the couch. He clipped a small reading light to a composition notepad, then pressed the ‘record’ button on the micro-cassette recorder sitting on the table between them.
“Before we start Richard, can I offer you something to drink?” He stood up and walked to the cooler against the wall by his desk, pulled a paper cup and filled it.
“No, no thank you.”
Delaney gulped the water and sat back down. “There’s lots to discuss today, Richard. I hope you have the time. I’ve reserved two hours for us.”
Thoughts of Officer
Moldofsky
crossed his mind, his conscience reminding him of what he’d said:
You remember, don’t you? Let me refresh your memory. I’d appreciate if you could make yourself available for most of the day, in case we need to speak with you again.
I’ll be home tonight
, he answered in thought.
If they need me then they can speak to me later. I’m not on any kind of curfew.
“Richard? Is two hours okay?”
Richard shook away the internal dialogue. “No problem, I’ve got all the time you need.”
Delaney smiled. “Very well then. Let’s get started.”
“I must admit that last week’s session was quite a success. Did you find some time to ponder our discussion?”
Richard nodded. “Of course. Debra’s death...it hurts real bad just thinking about it. I mean, I’m still devastated. But I’m also starting to realize that I have much more life ahead of me. With or without her, I still exist, and I can’t let one mournful experience ruin my life, however painful it may be.”
“That’s very smart thinking, Richard. And positive thinking is what recovery is all about. Enjoying life despite tragedy. I’m glad you’re starting to see through your adversity.”
“The anxiety is still flourishing. It’s getting worse.”
“What makes you say that?”
Richard hesitated, then said, “The dreams...” He knew exactly the thoughts that would go through Delaney’s mind upon mentioning the dreams, and his suspicions proved correct judging by the gamesome smirk appearing on the doctor’s face. The issue sailed past the normal course of therapy for Delaney, Richard knew, the level of effort necessary increasing tenfold. Deep exploration needed to be performed in order to appease Richard’s frequent fears and obsessions, much less find answers to them, and Richard was thankful for the good doctor’s enthusiasm.
“You must understand that the recurring dreams, along with the sleepwalking, have resulted from the anxiety associated with your daughter’s death. And the separation from Samantha. Perhaps your mother’s death plays a part in this as well. The adrenaline in your body has chosen to alert the fear-response center in your brain in such a way, albeit a very unique way, that affects your sleep mechanizations to a point where sensitization is so intense, hallucinations appear. In many cases, extreme anxiety sufferers exhibit commonplace symptoms equally as distressing, such as vertigo, the inability to swallow, or chronic hyperventilation. But remember, as we’ve discussed in the past, regardless of the symptoms, they’re all effected through different levels of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Richard continued to stare at the grease stain in the ceiling. He sighed. He didn’t doubt the doctor’s theory--perhaps it held some truth. But he believed and worked damn hard to make the doctor realize that his physical ills were generated by something above and beyond a simple influx of adrenaline and sensitized nerves. In recent weeks, however, the doctor began recording their sessions, and was asking more and more about the dreams, the sleepwalking, the blue light, the man in black, plus the flow of other visitors haunting Richard’s dreams. Perhaps Delaney had been genuinely interested, maybe he was starting to
believe
. Regardless, Richard liked the fact that Delaney might be seeking other forms of therapy. All Richard had to do was say the magic words, and they could move on.