Unmindful of the drizzle, I slid open the door and stepped out onto the deck. Breathed in the storm-sweetened night air, the smell of wet earth and ancient oaks wafting up from the tree line just below.
At the same time, I thought about Joy Steadman. Her obvious unhappiness poorly masked behind her surly manner and sarcastic tongue. Moreover, her dismissive description of her parents’ marriage suggested the shame and insecurities of a painful childhood. One whose echoes were revealed by her willingness to stay in a blatantly unsatisfying and abusive relationship with Eddie Burke. And God knew how many men before him.
Joy was not easy to like, but it was easy to empathize with her. At least it was for me, even as I reminded myself that she wasn’t my patient. Which left me wondering what the hell her current therapist was doing to help her.
I rolled my shoulders against the rain’s chill. Although it had fallen to little more than a mist, it was still wet. And cold. Especially since I was wearing the same clothes from when I’d gone out to the street after the gunshot. My usual after-work attire. Pitt sweatshirt and jeans.
I thought again about the bullet that had narrowly missed me tonight. About an angry, heartsick Eddie Burke drunkenly shooting at the ghosts of his suspicions. And about the dossier now sitting on my rolltop desk in the front room. The message within which I’d yet to decode…
Just then, the landline phone in the kitchen rang. I quickly stepped inside, sliding the glass door shut behind me, and picked up the receiver.
“Dr. Rinaldi? Phil McCarthy here.”
It took me a moment to remember the name.
“Yes. Officer McCarthy. What can I do for you?”
“Listen, Doc, I’m callin’ to do you a solid. Give you a heads-up, if ya know what I mean.”
I pulled up one of my kitchen chairs and sat down at the table. The dull throb of a headache had just started. Great.
“Actually, Officer, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Does it concern Eddie Burke?”
“Yep. We got him down here in lockup. Guy’s a fuckin’ mess. One minute he’s mad as hell, shoutin’ and cursin’, the next he’s in tears. Slobbering on and on about his girlfriend. How she’s been cheatin’ on him. Seein’ this dude on the side.”
“Yeah, so I heard. But what does that have to do with me?”
A strange, unfriendly chuckle came from the young cop.
“That’s just it, Doc. Burke says this guy that Joy’s been sleepin’ with?…it’s you.”
Chapter Five
I stared at the phone in my hand.
“None o’ my business, of course.” McCarthy’s voice was laced with undisguised glee. “But I sure as fuck wouldn’t want this chooch mad at me.”
“But it isn’t true.” Finding my own voice at last. “I’m not having an affair with—”
“I just spoke to the watch commander and he says this changes everything. Maybe Eddie wasn’t firing at Joy and missed. Maybe he was tryin’ to shoot you, inside your house.”
“That’s pretty unlikely.”
“I was there, Doc. Your drapes were open. Lights were on. He coulda seen you through the window. Either way, now it’s not just some domestic that went sideways. It’s attempted murder. No matter who the prick wanted to kill.”
“Look,” I said, “even if Burke thought it was true about Joy and me, maybe he was only trying to scare me. He was falling-down drunk, out of his head with jealousy and rage. You saw him, McCarthy. He was barely aware of what he was doing.”
“Not my call, Doc. Yours, neither.”
“But this is crazy. I’m not sleeping with Joy Steadman. I didn’t even know her name until tonight. Ask her yourself.”
“We will. I mean, not me, personally. Case has moved up the food chain. They’re sending one of the homicide dicks over there right now to question her.”
“Who’s on the floor?”
“Sergeant Polk. Why, ya know him?”
“Only too goddam well.”
I sat back in my chair. I’d known Harry Polk since my involvement in the Wingfield case a couple years back. While he’d made detective at Robbery/Homicide, he was, by temperament and opinion, a cop of the old school. He’d never been comfortable with my being a psychologist, let alone my role as a consultant to Pittsburgh PD. Yet, due to unexpected circumstances, we’d ended up working together a few times. Maybe even developed a kind of grudging respect for each other. Emphasis on “grudging.”
McCarthy coughed insistently. “You there, Doc?”
“Yeah. Just wondering about something. Why does Eddie Burke think I’m the guy Joy’s sleeping with?”
“Why wouldn’t he? She told him it was you.”
l l l l l
It took another two minutes to get off the phone with Officer McCarthy. Apparently his partner, Henry Pratt, was catching hell for not insisting that Joy Steadman come down immediately to make her statement. And that I, too, should have been formally interviewed, either downtown or in my home.
“I’m sorry to hear that Officer Pratt’s in trouble.” And I was. I’d liked him.
“Guys like Henry…” McCarthy clucked his tongue. “They’re good cops, but sometimes they act like fuckin’ social workers. Not our job, right? I’m always tellin’ him that.”
At the moment, I wasn’t too interested in the two cops’ relationship, so I thanked McCarthy for the update on Burke and hung up. Then I went into my bedroom, changed into drier clothes, and grabbed a windbreaker from the hall closet.
I wasn’t about to wait until tomorrow to confront Joy Steadman. Whatever empathy I’d had for her earlier tonight was rapidly dwindling. I was cleanly pissed.
As I went out the front door, a nondescript sedan rolled to the curb in front of my house. I knew who it was before he climbed awkwardly out from behind the wheel.
“Hey, Harry. I heard you were coming.”
Sergeant Harry Polk, his considerable paunch exposed by his open suit jacket, gave me his customary scowl. With thinning hair and a drinker’s ruddy complexion, he had the perpetually weary countenance of a middle-aged man whose life had gotten away from him and he no longer cared. The classic example of a cop literally counting the years till retirement.
He trudged over to where I stood on the sidewalk, his hand over his eyes against the drizzle. Raindrops began spotting his wrinkled blue suit.
“I got nothin’ to say to you, Rinaldi. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’ta had to drive all the way up here in the rain.”
“Come on, Harry. You don’t really believe what Burke says. That I’m involved with his girlfriend.”
“Don’t matter what I believe. I just wanna wrap up this interview with the Steadman broad and go home.”
“Home” was the dingy apartment in Wilkinsburg where Polk had been living since his divorce a few years back. It was one of those nondescript buildings where recently widowed or separated people stayed until other, more permanent, residences could be found. Harry never left.
I took a measured step toward him. “Look, let’s both go talk to her. Find out what the hell’s going on.”
“No way. Just go back inside and let me do my goddam job.”
“Forget it, Harry. I’m going with you. Nobody wants this cleared up—and fast—more than I do.”
Polk sighed. “Let me guess. The more I say no, the more you’re gonna keep us standing out here in the fuckin’ rain.”
“That’d be my guess, too.”
He sniffed noisily. “You’re lucky I feel a cold comin’ on, and wanna get home to bed. Otherwise…”
Polk turned without another word and headed across the street toward Joy Steadman’s house. I followed at his heels.
The lights were still on inside, so I assumed Joy hadn’t gone to bed yet. In fact, she might be taking that hot bath she’d craved. Either way, given how Po
lk was leaning on the bell, she was going to have to open her front door.
It took a full five minutes, but she finally did. Her hair was turbaned in a towel, her slender body enveloped by a thick, thirsty robe. Skin still wet and bright pink. I’d been right about the bath.
“Ms. Steadman—” Polk began.
She ignored him, casting her eyes at me. Unwelcoming.
“Back so soon? What happened, you get lonely over there?”
I felt a quick stab of anger. “Lonely? Fuck, no, Joy. Not since you and I hooked up. It’s been great.”
She backstepped, blanching. Polk put a warning hand on my shoulder. Gripped hard.
“Jesus, Rinaldi—”
I shrugged him off, then got in her face. And got louder.
“Why’d you tell Eddie we were sleeping together? I mean, I don’t know what kind of bullshit game you’re playing, but leave me the hell out of it.”
“Wait a minute—”
I cut her off. “Save it. Your goddam boyfriend could’ve shot me, accidentally or not, and all because you lied about us. Why, for Christ’s sake? Why did you do that?”
Her own anger rising, Joy suddenly tried to shut the door. Polk stopped it with his foot.
She glared. “I don’t wanna talk to him.”
“So don’t,” Polk growled. “But you do gotta talk to me.”
“Yeah? Who are you? Though you sure as shit look like a cop. You got the eyes.”
He showed her his shield. “I’m Sergeant Polk, Pittsburgh PD. I need to speak to you about what happened tonight.”
“Do I have a choice?”
He blew air out of his stubbly cheeks. Long past five o’clock shadow. “It’s either here or downtown, lady. But it’s late, I’m wet and tired, and I’d sure like to get this over with. I figger you would, too.”
She frowned, but then nodded and ushered us inside. Though she pointedly avoided my gaze as I passed. Fine with me.
For the second time that night, I was led through the foyer and into the living room. At a gesture from Joy, Polk and I found seats. She picked the large leather chair again.
Polk took out his notebook. “Just to get me up to speed. Your boyfriend, Mr. Burke, lives here with you, right?”
“Yes. Every moment a little slice of heaven.”
He wisely ignored that.
“We have Mr. Burke in custody, and he could be charged with attempted murder, or at least assault with a deadly weapon. Hell, maybe public intoxication, if the ADA is in a pissy mood.”
“I figured he’d be looking at something like that.”
Her reply was casual, assured. Trying to give the impression of bored indifference. But I noticed the anxiety pinching her eyes. A slight twitching in her fingers.
“The thing is, Ms. Steadman, Burke claims he went all batshit—excuse me—that he was provoked because he found out you were cheating on him. Having an affair.”
“Yeah, he accuses me of that every couple weeks. It’s our thing. Something we do. Up till now, I could handle it.”
“But not tonight?”
“Well, gee, Sergeant, no. Tonight was different. He started waving a goddam gun around. I was afraid for my life.”
I’d calmed myself a bit by this point, enough to keep my tone steady. Sort of.
“But Eddie believes that you and I are having an affair. He says you told him it was me.”
Joy took a deep breath, but said nothing.
“Is this true, Ms. Steadman?” Polk stared. “Did you tell Eddie that you were sleeping with Dr. Rinaldi here?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they were moist with tears. “Yes. Yes I did.”
Joy turned to me, her face going pale. “I’m sorry, Dr. Rinaldi. Really. But I had to.”
“Why?” As my anger slowly began to ebb.
“Because he threatened to kill me if I didn’t tell him who it was. I was terrified. Eddie was so drunk, so crazy…And he had that gun! Then suddenly I thought about you—”
“But why me?” I asked again.
She let a small smile play on her lips.
“I don’t know. I mean, you’re not bad-looking, and you live right across the street. Made sense at the time.”
Polk and I exchanged dubious looks.
“I know it was shitty thing to do,” Joy said to me. “Really shitty. I’m ashamed of myself.”
“And that’s the truth?” The sergeant leaned in toward her. “You said it was Dr. Rinaldi because Eddie threatened you?”
“Yes. And then he got even crazier, yelling and cursing, and pointing the gun at me. I swear, I thought he was going to kill me. So I ran out the front door. But Eddie followed me and started shooting. By then I’d made it across the street and hid behind the doctor’s car. I guess because it was so dark, or Eddie was so drunk, he couldn’t see me. Just kept firing off his gun, shouting for me.”
Polk swiveled his head to me.
“That’s when one of the shots smashed your window?”
I nodded. “Luckily, it missed me. Then I went outside and saw Burke in the middle of the street. Staggering, shouting. A minute or two later, a patrol car rolled up. Officers Pratt and McCarthy came out, guns drawn. But Burke surrendered peacefully and it was over.”
“That’s it?” Polk said.
“That’s it.”
Polk considered this for a moment, then snapped shut his notebook. Scowled at Joy.
“Ya know, you coulda got the Doc here killed. Not to mention yourself.”
She let her head drop.
“I know. It was stupid. Cowardly. But I was so scared…”
Again, she brought her eyes up to meet mine.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Rinaldi. I mean it.”
I looked back, at a loss. Though I was still pretty angry, there didn’t seem to be anything to do about it. Nothing, at least, that I was inclined to do.
“Look, Joy,” I said after a beat, “I’m not too happy about it, but I do believe you feared for your life. I guess, from your perspective, you did what you had to.”
She sighed then, though whether from gratitude or relief, I couldn’t be sure. Then she gathered her robe more tightly around her and got wearily to her feet.
“Are we finished, Sergeant Polk?”
The sergeant and I both rose as well, Polk grunting from the effort. Then he squinted at the young woman. “You’ll still need to come downtown tomorrow and swear out a complaint.”
“I will. Scout’s honor.”
As Polk and I made our way to the front door, I noticed Joy taking a cell phone from one of her robe’s pockets.
I turned. “Are you calling your parents? Or a friend? I still think it’d be best to have someone stay with you tonight.”
She pushed some buttons on the phone.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m calling my lawyer. He’s used to me waking him up in the middle of the night.”
Polk gave me a sidelong glance.
“It’s for Eddie,” she went on casually. “To get him bailed out. He can’t stay in some crappy jail cell all night.”
She smiled grimly at my quizzical look.
“C’mon, Doc, you’ve been around the block. You can’t tell me you’re surprised.”
“Not entirely. No.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Just consider my life one of those cautionary tales you hear about, okay? Now can you two give me some privacy?”
Chapter Six
“Like I’m always sayin’, women are nuts.”
“I assume you mean Joy Steadman?”
Polk stood by the driver’s side door of his unmarked, fumbling to light an unfiltered Camel against the push of a rising wind. I was leaning against the sedan’s hood.
“Stupid broad,” Polk said. “No matter
what the prick did, she’ll take him back. They’ll fuck like bunnies, then all is forgiven. Till the next time he loses his shit.”
“I’ve seen it before, of course. Thing is, people often accept from others what they think they deserve. And, hell, brutal attention is still attention. Some even think it’s love.”
“Yeah? Crazy people, maybe.” Finally, a deep, grateful drag from the Camel. “More your line o’ work, thank God.”
The rain had stopped, leaving only a damp chill in the midnight air. Above, thin clouds drifted like ash-gray smoke across the arch of sky.
“By the way, Harry, most people aren’t that comfortable using the word ‘broad’ nowadays.”
He blew out a good-sized puff. “I ain’t most people.”
I had to give him that.
As he turned to open the car door, I put my hand on his arm. He peered at it, then at me.
“You thirsty?” I said. “I know it’s late, but…”
He grinned. “You oughtta know better than that by now, Doc. You wanna throw back a few at the bar?”
By “the bar,” Polk meant the Spent Cartridge, a venerable cop bar struggling to hold onto its lease—and its character—in the midst of urban gentrification. The kind of place where Iron City beer signs still sizzled in bright neon above the front door.
“No, not your usual dive, Harry. I have another place in mind. I’ve been meaning to take you there for a long time.”
He eyed me suspiciously. Joy Steadman had been right. Polk definitely had a cop’s sour squint.
“Somethin’s on your mind, ain’t it, Doc?”
And a cop’s instincts. Because he was right.
l l l l l
“Sergeant Harry Polk, meet Noah Frye.”
The latter stood behind the bar, vigorously wiping the beer-stained counter with a grimy cloth. Without stopping, he gave Polk a dark, baleful look.
“Another cop friend, Danny? What is it with you, anyway? Next thing ya know, you’ll be wearin’ a goddam badge and one o’ them funny hats.”
Head Wounds Page 3
