Head Wounds

by Dennis Palumbo

  “Then what choice do we have?”

  Another pause. “None. Lives are at stake. That’s the most important thing. So we have to do it Maddox’s way.”

  I took a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, Gloria.”

  Barnes chuckled dryly. “Now aren’t you glad I called you in on this, Agent Reese?”

  Apparently, his humor was lost on her. Instead of replying, she turned on her heel and headed out of the room, calling back to me over her shoulder.

  “Follow me, will you, Danny?”

  “Wait a minute.”

  I’d just remembered that I still had Maddox’s revolver in my pocket. The one he’d tied to Robbie’s hand. Using my thumb and forefinger, I held it out for Barnes. He, in turn, used a handkerchief to take it from me, but gave it a sour squint.

  “We both know there won’t be any prints on it.” He wrapped it in the white cloth and put it on the coffee table. “Maddox probably wiped it before tying it to the boy’s hand.”

  Gloria nodded ruefully, after which she asked me again to follow her. She led me to the bathroom and waited while I took a quick shower, then wrapped myself in a thick towel before coming out. Smiling, she ordered me to sit on the edge of the tub. Finding swabs and antiseptic in the medicine cabinet, she went to work tending my old bruises, as well as a few new ones.

  Finally, she stood, yawning. “By the way, you have a good-sized welt on the back of your neck. Probably from where Maddox injected the paralytic.”

  “Yeah. He jabbed it in pretty hard. Hurts like hell.”

  “I’ll bet. Anyway, I’m looking forward to a shower myself. But not at home. I’ll just swing by, pick up some clothes, and check into a hotel. And get some sleep. But if that whack-job contacts you again—”

  I interrupted her. “Good idea, Gloria. About the hotel. With Maddox, we can’t be too careful. Now that he knows you and Barnes are working with me. By now he’s probably tracked down where you each live—”

  “That’s what Lyle and I think, too. The old man’s getting a room, too, but in a different hotel. Neither of us will know where the other is. Just in case.”

  “I agree. I don’t want to know where you two are staying, either. It’s safer that way. For all of us.”

  “Plus, Lyle’s picking up some throwaway cells for us to use from now on. Untraceable.” She paused. “Speaking of hotels, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you made yourself scarce, too.”

  I said okay, though the thought of Maddox forcing me to flee from my own home rankled me.

  Her face softening, Gloria touched my forearm. “Hang in there, okay, Danny? You’re not alone.”

  I nodded my appreciation, which brought a second, firmer squeeze of my arm. Then, with a half-smile, she leaned up and kissed me on the cheek, giving me a whiff of her subtle perfume.

  Without another word, we returned to the front room after a quick stop in the kitchen to retrieve her laptop. Remembering that I still had her cell, I returned that to her as well. Then Gloria said good-bye to Barnes and me, and left.

  “Great girl. A bit on the skinny side for my tastes, but with a superb ass.” Barnes settled down on the sofa. “And by the way, Doc, you’re an idiot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “While you were out, Gloria told me she made a move on you a couple weeks back. After that case you were both involved in wrapped up. She said you told her about still carrying a torch for some other woman who’s broken it off with you.”

  “It’s complicated. And none of your goddam business.”

  “Suit yourself, Doc. But you’re not getting any younger.”

  Bristling, I stared at him. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. At least until the next time Maddox surfaces. I figure you can see your way out.”

  Maybe it was fatigue, or the stress of the past two days, but I wasn’t in the mood for Barnes’ Neanderthal views of women. Nor his opinions about my personal life. Not that he’d been any less truculent or confrontational during our clinical work together. At the time, I’d seen it as classic resistance, especially since he’d been required to receive therapy from a younger man. And a civilian, to boot.

  But now, in a sense, we were working together. In a kind of covert partnership necessitated by Sebastian Maddox’s demands. Along with Gloria Reese, he was my ally in my battle against a madman, which changed the dynamic of our relationship. Like it or not, we were no longer merely therapist and patient.

  I also realized that whatever we were now would take some getting used to.

  l l l l l

  I went into my bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweats and a Pitt jersey. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my landline.

  Maybe Maddox was listening, maybe not. At this point, I didn’t give a damn. There was nothing I was going to say on the phone that would give the game away.

  Stifling a yawn, I called the Palermo house. After a half-dozen rings, Robbie’s father answered. I introduced myself.

  “Yes, Doctor. My son…he’s spoken very highly of you…”

  Despite his best efforts, his voice had a quaver in it. The man still trying to process what had happened to his boy.

  “I just wanted to call and see how Robbie’s doing. I saw on the news about—”

  “Yes. Everybody keeps calling. Family and friends. The press…” A heavy sigh. “Somehow his name leaked out…”

  “I can’t even imagine what you and Mrs. Palermo are going through, let alone Robbie. I know it’s quite late, but if you need me to come by…”

  “No, thanks. Robbie’s pediatrician sent over some pills to help him sleep, and it looks like they finally worked. My son’s upstairs, lying next to his mother in our bed.”

  “Probably the thing he needs most.”

  It was the kind of platitude I rarely expressed, but at the moment all I wanted to do was offer comfort, reassure him that his son would eventually come out on the other side of this.

  “Look, Dr. Rinaldi, we’re grateful for all you’ve done for Robbie since Matthew’s death, but with this new…thing…” He swallowed a breath. “Anyway, my wife is going to take Robbie out of school, get him away from here. Go stay with her mother in California. I have to remain in town for work, but—”

  “Not a bad idea. How long will they be away?”

  “For as long as it takes for my boy to heal. I mean, how much more can the poor kid take?”

  Before hanging up, I told him that Robbie could always call me, even from the West Coast, if he needed to talk, and that, of course, I would be available to continue treatment with him when he came back to town.

  If he came back, I thought.

  I was glad Robbie’s family was taking him three thousand miles away. As long as Sebastian Maddox was at large, there was every reason to believe he’d try again to take the boy’s life. That’s why, as a precaution in case Maddox was able to listen in on my landline, I didn’t ask Mr. Palermo to specify exactly where in California Robbie and his mother were heading.

  The only other call I made was to my office voice mail, which I suddenly realized I’d neglected to check even once today. Luckily, there were no new messages from patients. No one in crisis who needed to speak to me.

  The only message was from Noah Frye. From the sounds in the background, I could tell he was calling from his bar.

  “Hey, Danny, it’s me. It’s weird leavin’ a message on your office voice mail, but you’re a hard man to reach. I tried your cell but didn’t get an answer. When I tried your landline, I got a busy signal. I swear, if I wasn’t standin’ here lookin’ at your bar tab, I’d think I’ve been hallucinatin’ you all these years. Which would kinda suck.

  “Anyway, you should get your ass down here tonight ’cause I’m sittin’ in with the trio. Remember my old band, Flat Affect? Some o’ the same guys’ll be playin’. We’re all on
our meds, so it oughtta be a real tight set. Oh, and Charlene says hi.”

  Given recent events, hearing Noah’s slightly manic voice was a welcome balm. And a part of me yearned to take him up on his invitation. But now, with every passing hour, it felt as if I’d entered some alternate reality, not my own. As Maddox had predicted, I was in his world now.

  But it wasn’t about me anymore. It was about the obscene death of Joy Steadman. And Stephen Langley. Even that of Eddie Burke. Despite his abusive treatment of his girlfriend, he didn’t deserve to die in a horrible car crash fleeing from a murder charge of which he was actually innocent. Then there was Robbie’s family, whose lives were abruptly upended as a result of Maddox’s actions.

  No, despite Maddox’s desire to inflict pain on me, it wasn’t about me any longer. It was about what had happened to his victims that fueled my deepening grief and outrage.

  With a heavy sigh, I rose stiffly from the bed and padded down the hallway to the kitchen. It was nearing midnight, and my body was craving sleep, but I wanted to fill the coffeemaker so it would be ready first thing in the morning. Although I couldn’t foresee what would happen tomorrow, I knew damn well it wouldn’t be good.

  Preoccupied with that thought, it wasn’t until I’d turned from the counter that I noticed my laptop wasn’t on the kitchen table, where I’d last seen it.

  Puzzled, I glanced into the front room. There I spotted Lyle Barnes, in a cotton tee-shirt, boxer shorts, and socks, sleeping fitfully on the sofa. He lay on his back, his long, lean form taking up the entire length of the cushions. On his stomach, rising and falling with his every breath, was my laptop, resting in the crook of his arm in its sling.

  I smiled to myself. At least Gloria had been right about one thing. I wasn’t alone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I slept pretty fitfully myself, until roused at dawn by Lyle Barnes, in his same street clothes from yesterday, standing at my bedside, backlit by pale morning light streaming through my bedroom shutters.

  “You got company.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Pittsburgh PD knocking at your door.”

  Blinking into wakefulness, I climbed out of bed.

  “Who is it?”

  “Your buddy, Sergeant Polk. From his knock, I’m guessing he’s not exactly a morning person.”

  I shrugged. “He’s pretty miserable any time of day. Listen, you better make yourself scarce. Maybe down in the basement. Your presence here will just invite a lot of questions, none of which we can risk answering.”

  “True enough.”

  We left my bedroom together, Barnes heading for the steps to the basement while I padded barefoot to the front door. Slowly. Buying myself a few extra seconds to clear my head.

  I opened the door while Polk was in mid-knock, his fist mere inches from my face. I smiled at it.

  “Jesus, Harry, you know what time it is?”

  He grunted unhappily. “Yeah, it’s time for you to put on your big-boy shoes and socks and come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Downtown. That’s where we usually interrogate suspects.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. Personally, I think Biegler’s nuts, but he wants you brought in on the Joy Steadman murder.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I told ya, I’m not. But Biegler is. Now are ya comin’ easy or do I have to get out the cuffs? Not that I’d mind doin’ it.”

  I groaned. “Give me a minute.”

  True to my word, it only took about that long to change into jeans, Polo shirt, and jacket. But before rejoining Polk, I stopped in the kitchen and wrote a short note to Barnes, explaining my absence. I left it right next to my laptop, which he’d already brought back to the table. I also noticed he’d turned on the coffeemaker I’d prepped the night before.

  Now, glancing at the near-empty carafe sizzling on its grate, I wondered how long Barnes had been up. Had he gotten any real sleep at all? Or had his former symptoms recurred, his slumber once more invaded by night terrors and the cascade of fearsome, demonic images, the horrifying yet illusive shapes. And then the haunting, inexplicable dread when wrenched awake. Sweat-soaked, heart pounding…

  “Yo, Doc! We ain’t got all day!”

  Polk’s belligerent voice ended my ruminations, at least for the time being. But I’d have to address it with Barnes at some point, and sooner rather than later. Despite the present crisis we were dealing with, my clinical obligation to him remained.

  I hurried back to join Polk, then followed him to where his unmarked was parked at the curb.

  It was another bright, clean-shaven morning, downtown nearly deserted on a Sunday. I couldn’t remember if there was a Pirates game today, in which case city-strangling traffic would soon materialize as though summoned by the baseball gods. But for now, the drive to the main precinct was an easy sprint along empty streets and through long, dawn-birthed shadows.

  As we neared the Old County Building, I regarded Polk’s stolid profile, an unlit Camel balanced between his lips.

  Neither of us had said much on the drive down from my place.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Harry? Why Stu Biegler has such a hard-on for me all of a sudden?”

  His beefy hands turned the wheel, guiding us into the parking lot. “What are ya talkin’ about? The Lieutenant’s hated your guts for years.”

  “I see your point. What I don’t see is how Biegler can think I had anything to do with Joy’s death.”

  He found a spot near the building entrance and shut off the engine. But instead of getting out of the car, he turned in his seat, facing me. Cigarette bobbing up and down as he spoke.

  “It’s ’cause of the forensics.”

  “From Joy’s autopsy? What about them?”

  “That’s just it, Doc. There ain’t any. No hair, fibers, nothin’. No DNA, either. The M.E. says the perp swabbed her with somethin’ like rubbing alcohol afterwards. Even douched her.”

  I didn’t reply, thinking back to the video of the assault Maddox had shown me. His naked body was hairless, completely shaved. And I figured he’d been careful enough not to leave fingerprints on anything in the girl’s bedroom. Nor to come unprepared for covering his tracks afterwards.

  I also realized what this meant to the police.

  “I get it,” I said at last. “The working theory is that Joy’s death was unplanned, the impulsive act of her angry, jealous boyfriend. Meaning that if Eddie Burke jacked his lawyer’s car and went straight back home to kill Joy, it’s unlikely he’d have prepared any of these precautions. Or taken the time after the murder to swab any traces from her body.”

  Polk nodded. “That’s what Biegler figures. Besides, nobody who knew Burke thinks he was smart enough to do all that shit. Not to mention the fact that no rubbing alcohol was found in the house, no swabs an’ stuff, which meant the perp took it all with him afterwards. Except nothin’ like that was in the lawyer’s car when it was found. Nothin’ but what was left o’ Eddie Burke.”

  I nodded reflectively, at the same time fully aware of how disingenuous it was to be discussing the case with Polk while secretly knowing the actual identity of Joy Steadman’s killer.

  “So,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray my thoughts, “how does this suddenly make me Joy’s killer?”

  “Well, first off, there’s your affair with the girl—”

  “I told you, that wasn’t true. Hell, you were sitting right next to Joy when she admitted she’d made it up.”

  “Maybe she was lyin’ to protect you. Maybe you was lyin’ when you told me it was all bullshit.” His eyes narrowed. “You ain’t always played straight with the Department, ya know.”

  “C’mon, Harry. I wouldn’t lie about something like that. You know me, right? At least I h
ope so.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. I mean, sure, I think Biegler’s off his head likin’ you for this, but whoever the killer was, he was fuckin’ smart. Smarter than a coke-head like Eddie Burke. But not smarter than you, Doc.”

  With that, he opened the driver’s side door and climbed out. After a long moment, I did the same.

  l l l l l

  As we passed through the lobby on our way to the bank of elevators, a uniformed desk clerk—old, bored, gone to fat—called over to me.

  “Hey, Dr. Rinaldi. You got a call a few minutes ago. Some female, asking for you. She left her number.”

  Polk glowered at me. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me…”

  I suspected it was Gloria Reese.

  “Might be important, Harry. I’ll meet you in the conference room in five minutes.”

  “Look, Doc, just ’cause you’re some bullshit consultant…”

  “Which means I’m hardly a flight risk. Five minutes?”

  I could hear his disgruntled sigh over the hum of the fluorescents above us. I also thought I spotted the heavyset cop behind the desk trying to hide a smile.

  “Five goddam minutes,” Polk growled, “and then I come down here and haul your ass upstairs.”

  Snatching the unlit cigarette from his mouth and shoving it in his jacket breast pocket, he strode off toward the elevators.

  The desk jockey pointed with a sausage-like forefinger.

  “You can use the lobby phone over there. She said you had her number.”

  There were a couple faux-leather, pea-green chairs facing a small plastic table in an alcove at the far end of the lobby. On top of the table was a landline phone, circa 1990s.

  I dialed Gloria’s cell. She picked up after one ring.

  “Are you at the station?” she said without preamble.

  “Just now. You’ve met Polk’s boss, right? Weasel named Biegler. He thinks I look good for Joy’s murder. And before you say anything, yes, the irony isn’t lost on me. If that son of a bitch Maddox finds out I’m a suspect, he’ll laugh his ass off.”