The 3rd Victim

by Sydney Bauer

  What to do, what to do? She didn't want to stuff up because, let's face it, despite the odd hiccup, this job was like heaven. But she also didn't like taking instructions from the old bird with a plum in her mouth.

  In the end she did what she always did when it came to making a decision. She settled on getting rid of the problem as quickly as was humanly possible. She figured that, if she did what Wallace asked her to do, she would not only get Wallace off her back, not only prevent any patients from freaking at the news of their personal shortcomings getting ‘out there’, but also have someone else to blame if her actions came back to bite her. If worse comes to worse I can just blame Wallace, she told herself, trying desperately to banish the feeling that she should probably be thanking the woman for offering to help her out.

  And so she swivelled in her chair and pulled up her Outlook and typed in the email address Esther Wallace had given her. And then she logged on to Dr Davenport's system and typed in the password that Wallace had provided. And then she attached the document Wallace had asked for and waited for it to appear as an ominous little paperclip that sat at the top of the screen. And then she placed her long pointed fingernail (painted with Kinky in Helsinki) on the left-hand side of the mouse and closed her eyes before she clicked.

  And then the email was gone and Madonna breathed a sigh of relief, just as the doctor came out to usher the pair – a new couple who hadn't made an appointment – into his rooms, enabling Madonna to race to the restrooms and spray her musk-scented deodorant carefully up the sleeve of her faux silk blouse.

  47

  Roger Katz considered the psychological expert before him. The man was a caricature. He looked more like an antiques salesman than a leading British psychiatrist. He wore a monocle, for Christ's sakes. He had a fob watch hanging from a buttonhole on his waistcoat, his moustache was shaped like a handlebar and his cheeks were networked with capillaries stressed by the years of downing matured double malts. Worse still, he obviously thought that everything that came out of his mouth was interesting and superior. He was full of psychobabble – stuff Katz would have to water down to something more comprehensible before he introduced this man to the court.

  The man's name was St John but you pronounced it Sinjin – the fuck knows why. He was some fancy psychologist whose specialty was psychopathic personalities and genetics. Katz would have much preferred going with one of his regular, prosecutorial slanting psych experts – in fact one of them, a pushover named Shoebridge, had interviewed the defendant with the aim at creating a psychological profile some months ago – but Professor Horace Sinjin was special, given he had a direct link to Sienna Walker's ancestors, or more specifically, her crazy genius grandfather who Sinjin had once examined after an altercation between the artist and his then long-suffering wife.

  It had been Davenport who had given him the idea. Davenport admitted that there had been times when he treated Sienna Walker – most notably after she had successfully conceived her daughter – that he had found her to be devoid of any sense of empathy. He said that, during appointments when her doting husband was not present, Sienna was not only nonchalant about the impending birth of her child, but at times resentful. He said he sensed the woman was angry at her career having been forcibly ‘put on hold’, that she even admitted that the birth would slow down her progress, that playing mom was a waste of the gifts her genetics had bestowed upon her.

  And that was when Katz had put two and two together. He remembered that article Rigotti had written about Walker's crazy-as-all-hell artist grandfather, and he decided he could team this intel with the stuff he got from Davenport – which led to his locating the fat pompous ass now sitting in front of him, even paying for his airfare from London where Sinjin played shrink to members of the inbred aristocracy. And he made a bucket-load of money doing so, from what Katz could tell.

  ‘Alistair Granby was an interesting subject,’ said Sinjin. ‘He was quite brilliant, of course – one of the smartest subjects I have ever examined. But intelligence often goes hand in hand with psychopathy, Mr Katz.’

  Katz nodded. ‘You classified Mr Granby as psychopathic?’

  The Professor nodded. ‘He assaulted his wife while under the influence of alcohol, sir. I was hired by the courts to assess him.’

  ‘A lot of men are violent while drunk, Professor Sinjin, but not many of them are diagnosed as psychopaths.’ Katz was concerned about the Brit's generalisations. ‘Was it in the court's interest to have Mr Granby incarcerated?’

  Sinjin smiled. ‘The Crown Prosecutor concerned was an up and comer – much like yourself, Mr Katz – and yes, I dare say his winning such a case against a man who had garnered quite a reputation in his chosen field would have done his career no damage.’

  Katz returned the smile – he knew how this worked. ‘But the Crown Prosecutor lost the case.’

  ‘Yes, but my testimony was very convincing, Mr Katz. I dare say Granby's fortune had something to do with the dismissal of the charges.’

  Katz nodded, deciding that while this man's testimony might be a jewel in his own prosecutorial crown, he would have to be coached with vigilance.

  ‘What else did you learn about Mr Granby during your examination, Professor Sinjin?’

  ‘That he was frustrated, corralled by a family situation he had no desire to be in. That he was a loner, as many psychopaths are, that he resented the constraints put upon him by his wife and daughter, that he was determined to break free.’

  Sinjin smiled and Katz knew he understood what was being asked of him – perhaps this witness would not be such a problem after all. ‘Would it surprise you if I told you we have evidence that Sienna Walker also felt a similar resentment?’

  ‘Not at all. She is her grandfather's granddaughter after all, Mr Katz. There is an inherited association with psychopathy to do with what is referred to as a serotonin transporter gene. Extensive studies have shown that those born with longer alleles for the transporter gene score much higher on psychopathic traits. These children exhibit less empathy, are more prone to arrogance, deceitfulness and high levels of violence.’

  This was getting better by the minute.

  ‘And, Mr Granby, did he have one of those longer serotonin transporters genes which …’

  ‘It is the alleles that are longer and yes, indeed he did, Mr Katz. It was myself that recommended the Crown Prosecutor test Granby's DNA for the gene and sure enough they found it.’

  ‘He has the gene of a psychopath?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And from what I read from your notes, Professor Sinjin, this gene sits on the X chromosome.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it can be transferred from father to daughter.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then granddaughter after that.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Katz, unable to help himself falling blissfully into the Professor's vernacular.

  ‘The interesting thing is,’ a self-satisfied Sinjin continued, ‘that this gene is also linked to high intelligence, to creative genius. The longer alleles increase serotonin production in the brain and serotonin is associated with the ability to learn, apply, excel.’

  Katz nodded, delighted with what he was hearing. ‘There is one problem, Mr Sinjin. I would prefer it if your examination of the defendant took place … shall we say, remotely. Some months ago I engaged another psychological professional by the name of Neil Shoebridge, who examined Mrs Walker at length. Dr Shoebridge is – how might I put it? – adequate, but I feel your expertise would certainly add to the testimony of another expert on my witness list – an FBI profiler whose findings sync well with your own.’

  Sinjin smiled at the association. ‘I gather you want me to make a psychological analysis of the patient via a second-hand examination?’ asked Sinjin. ‘You're asking me to view Mr Shoebridge's interview and conduct my analysis from there?’

  Katz was concerned this could be a deal-breaker. ‘Wel
l, yes. To be completely frank, Mr Sinjin, at this stage I would prefer not to alert the defence to –’

  ‘Of course!’ interrupted the large man before him. ‘I completely understand, Mr Katz. Further to that I must tell you that despite your discretionary concerns, I would almost recommend I assess the defendant remotely. People like Mrs Walker – well, let's just say they know their intellectual equal when they meet them, and they rise to the challenge, Mr Katz, I can tell you. Therefore, it might be better if I view her through the eyes of your Mr Shoebridge who, no offence, might not have the skills garnered by the years of study and experience I have accumulated.’

  Dear god, the man's ego is almost as big as his waistline, thought Katz. More luck to me.

  ‘Of course I understand, Mr Sinjin. One genius to another and all that.’

  ‘I am here to help, Mr Katz,’ smiled Sinjin. ‘Of course, before we proceed there is a small matter of my scheduled fee. I do hope my assistant forwarded you the details of my …’

  ‘I have them, Professor Sinjin,’ said Katz.

  ‘And there will be some additional costs – living expenses and so forth while I am in your fair city?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Katz. The man was an opportunist of the highest order but Katz couldn't have given a fuck. Sinjin's payment wasn't coming out of his own pocket, for Christ's sakes. No, the lucky taxpayer would be footing the bill for this man's indulgences – which was fair enough, given Katz worked his butt off to represent the ‘People’ after all.

  ‘Just one more thing, Professor. I believe this Alistair Granby was some form of British gentry.’

  ‘Yes, sir, technically he was an earl.’

  ‘And would that make the defendant, as his granddaughter, some sort of …?’

  ‘Oh yes indeed. Mrs Walker is a Lady.’

  Katz smiled. ‘That's a matter of opinion, Professor. Still, it might not hurt if you referred to her as Lady Walker in court.’

  ‘Productive use of an oxymoron,’ smiled Sinjin.

  ‘I can see we are men cut from the same cloth, Professor Sinjin.’ Katz got to his feet, having decided that he had more than he had wanted for the time being and now it was time to move on. ‘I'll send the discs of Mr Shoebridge's examination of the defendant over to …?’

  ‘The Four Seasons,’ said Sinjin. ‘I took the liberty of booking myself a suite.’

  Of course you did, thought Katz, given it was the only five-star hotel in the city.

  ‘While I am here, Mr Katz,’ Sinjin went on, ‘I plan to take in some of the local colour, starting with that Shakespearean festival playing at the Plaza.’

  To Katz's horror Sinjin lifted his arms theatrically.

  ‘Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it,’ said the fat Brit. ‘Lady Macbeth,’ he added.

  ‘Or Sienna Walker,’ replied Katz.

  ‘Quite,’ replied Sinjin. ‘Quite.’

  48

  Joe Mannix had been sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair for a total of seven minutes and thirty-six seconds before she was brought into the room. He had counted the cinder blocks, run his eyes across the ceiling, taken off his jacket and slowed his breathing in anticipation of what he was about to do.

  He had told David that he needed to meet with Sienna Walker alone, but not for the reasons David had suspected. David thought this get-together was about Joe's need to keep his role in this whole mess under the radar. But this wasn't about discretion, it was about confronting the woman anyone in their right mind would have written off as being guilty as sin weeks ago. It was about hitting her with what they knew and gauging her reaction and, most of all, it was about protecting his friend, who Joe suspected may have allowed his hatred for Daniel Hunt to influence his perspective on his client's culpability.

  She was smaller than he remembered, beyond thin – skin and bones. Her hair was pulled back in a band that made her look more like a teenager than a woman in her late twenties, and her cheekbones sat high and chiselled over slightly sunken cheeks.

  ‘Deputy Superintendent,’ she said. She did not offer her hand, merely pulled out the chair and sat straight backed in front of him. She placed her hands on the table. ‘David said you would come.’

  Joe said nothing.

  ‘This is unusual,’ she said, ‘a member of the Boston Police Department visiting me for a purpose other than interrogation. Or is this an interrogation after all?’

  ‘You've been charged with murdering your daughter, Mrs Walker. The District Attorney has his indictment, which means the grand jury has decided that he has more than enough evidence to take your case to trial. So strictly speaking, my work is done. Your case is in the hands of the Commonwealth now, Mrs Walker, in theirs, and in the hands of your attorneys.’

  ‘But still you are here, which means you believe there are still questions to be asked.’

  ‘Let's just say I am a stickler for detail.’

  ‘And a loyal friend,’ she suggested.

  But once again Joe said nothing.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she offered after several seconds' silence. ‘I don't mean to be combative, but these past months have seen my ability to take people's motives at face value diminish somewhat. I suppose I should be thanking you, but I fear your visit is not just for David's benefit, or mine. I believe you need to see me for yourself – as I am now, not sedated or bloodied but perhaps beaten somewhat by the passage of time. Perhaps you need to observe me after my months of incarceration. Perhaps you need to see if I regret what I did or didn't do and how I've played it since the death of my daughter.’ She swallowed. ‘It's easy to forget, isn't it? That I was her mother and that she is dead. I sometimes feel the brutal truth of it is shamefully lost in the process. Not by me, of course,’ she swallowed once again, ‘but by those set on deciding the matter so that I can be convicted and the entire mess can be neatly put to bed.’

  Joe stared at her. For the first time in a very long time he had no idea what to say. He had interviewed hundreds of suspected killers over the past twenty-five years and none of them had ever come close to responding to an interview as she was. Her face was flushed with a controlled desperation, her breathing slow.

  ‘As it stands, you're going to be convicted,’ he said, knowing it was true. She blinked.

  ‘David Cavanaugh is probably the best criminal defence attorney in this state – probably Top 10 in the country, and even he won't be able to save you.’

  She blinked again. ‘Is my cause that hopeless?’

  ‘You were the only one with the victim when she died. Forensics reports indicate your daughter was cradled while she bled to death. Your nightshirt indicates it was you who was holding her. Your blood is all over the crime scene. There's the wire screen and the light switch and the fact that your daughter's body was shoved up a gutter pipe in your own backyard.’

  She flinched, just a little.

  ‘And that's just the stuff that's solid – then there's the other stuff that's a little shakier but can easily be manipulated by the savvy DA. There's the death of your husband, the fact that your doctor will testify that it was your husband who wanted the baby, that you wanted a career, that you didn't suffer from depression, and finally the possibility that your doctor will testify that you sedated yourself, with the intention to commit suicide, given you were racked with guilt about the affair you indulged in, the one that led to your husband's death.’

  Sienna lowered her chin and began to shake her head before raising it once again. ‘You are a smart man, Deputy Superintendent. You are experienced, practical. You are also a good friend of David's and I have always believed that you can judge a man by the company he keeps, so … I am going to take a leap here and assume you are a man to be trusted.’

  ‘This isn't about me, Mrs Walker.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but my guess is you wouldn't be here unless you wanted to hear what I had to say.’

  Joe did not disagree.

  Walker took another breath before openin
g her mouth to go on. ‘The list you just gave me, it is flawed.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Yes. It all fits together bar the last point, the one about my sedating myself, trying to end my own life. The other points,’ she continued, when he did not contradict her, ‘culminating in my hiding my daughter's body, they all point to a woman who is in control, organised, focused. Dick and Daniel – they are painting the picture of an ambitious woman who needed to rid herself of the inconvenience of motherhood. But the last point, the one that suggests that my intentions were murder-suicide does not fit. If I wanted a life beyond my daughter, then why would I kill myself? One minute they want me to be the self-centred perpetrator of the perfect crime and the next they want me to be suicidal. They cannot have it both ways, you see? I am either one or the other or neither of the two.’

  Joe was impressed. She was right.

  ‘Secondly, if Eliza was just the first part of my murderous plan, why did I hide her body? I was about to kill myself, remember, so why bother to dispose of her remains if I wouldn't be around to face the consequences in any case.’

  And once again she was right.

  ‘It's a mistake,’ she went on when Joe remained silent, ‘on their part, I mean. They are trying to fire at me from all directions but logic says an assassin can only be positioned at a single vantage point at any given time. Either I am mad or I am not. Either I am manipulative or depressed. My guess is it plays better when I'm of sound mind but perhaps they know that and have no intention of going down the murder-suicide route in any case.’