Head Wounds

by Dennis Palumbo

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Here’s something about it.”

  I turned up the volume on a report airing on an independent local channel. The female anchor was sharing the screen with a head shot of my late former patient.

  “In other news, police sources confirm that the stolen van purportedly used in the hit-and-run death of Stephen Langley has been found in a junkyard in Braddock. The van has been impounded and the owner notified. However, preliminary reports indicate that whoever stole the van used some kind of bleach or solvent to clean the vehicle’s interior. Which leaves investigators very little to go on. ”

  Gloria gave a short laugh. “What a surprise.”

  “When questioned by reporters,” the anchor went on, “a police spokesman acknowledged that the van was similar to that used in the kidnapping of young Robbie Palermo. However, he stressed that they’d ruled out any connection between the two crimes, other than the coincidental use of stolen white vans. He also emphasized that experts estimate there are over thirty thousand white vans of various makes and models registered to drivers in Allegheny County alone.”

  I clicked off the TV.

  “That’s not just spin for the media,” said Barnes. “I’m sure detectives have already questioned the families of both victims. Robbie’s parents and whoever Langley leaves behind. My guess is, both parties are total strangers to each other. As far as the cops are concerned, there isn’t a connection.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way.” I got to my feet again. “If Maddox has even the suspicion that we’ve fed anything about him to the cops, God knows what he’ll do. Maybe another bomb, maybe this time at the Mayor’s office. Or a college campus.”

  Gloria sighed. “Part of me still thinks he’s going to try something like that. Something big. In the end.”

  “But not till after I’m dead,” I reminded her. “If nothing else, we can count on that.”

  l l l l l

  I’d no sooner hung up from both calls when my landline rang. It was Angie Villanova, her usually gruff voice choked with grief.

  “Jesus, Danny, have you seen the news? About Harvey?”

  “Yes, I was just watching it. I’m stunned.”

  “It’s…unbelievable. I mean, him and me weren’t super close, but I sure as hell liked him. A tough son of a bitch, but he always played fair with the Department. Blalock was one of the good guys in a town not exactly overrun with ’em.”

  “I hear you.”

  “God forgive me, but I can’t wait till they find the fucker who did this and stick a needle in his arm.”

  “That’d be too good for him.” And I meant it.

  I heard her swallow a couple of deep breaths, calming herself.

  “Listen,” she said finally, “while I got you on the phone. Did you really mouth off the other day to Biegler? Call him an asshole or somethin’? I just found out he’s registered a formal complaint about you to Chief Logan.”

  “C’mon, the guy’s a total dick.”

  “Not the point, Danny. And after all I went through to get you back on Logan’s good side.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it.”

  “My ass. Look, I’ll try to smooth things over downtown. But I can’t make any promises.”

  “Thanks, Angie. See why you’re my favorite relative?”

  “And you’re a bullshit artist. Anyway, come for dinner this Sunday. I’m making baked ziti. My mother’s recipe.”

  I gave an inward sigh. Dinner at Angie’s meant breaking bread with her bitter, bigoted husband, Sonny.

  “I’ll try, Angie, but—”

  “Just be there, will ya, for Christ’s sake?” Her tone softened again. “We’ll drink a toast to absent friends. Like Harvey Blalock.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  l l l l l

  For the first time in days, an ominous string of gray clouds stretched across the sky from the west, filtering the morning sun. Having just driven down from Grandview, I sat in Monday commuter traffic on the Liberty Bridge. A hastily packed travel bag lay across my backseat, alongside my laptop, though there hadn’t been any contact by Maddox since Blalock’s death. No doubt the sadistic prick was enjoying making me sweat.

  Before hanging up on our group call earlier this morning, Barnes had given Gloria and me an address in Wilkinsburg, asking us to meet him there in three hours.

  “I’ll need at least that long to get it ready. Useable.”

  “What is it?” Gloria asked.

  “An abandoned FBI safe house. Probably from before your time, Agent Reese.”

  “Why abandoned? Was its location breached?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “By a crack team of rats. The four-legged kind. See you guys there.”

  After which, I quickly dressed, threw some clothes in the bag, grabbed my laptop, and locked up the house. But before pulling out of the driveway, I repeated the search of the Mustang I’d seen Gloria do. Inside and out. And found nothing.

  Now, as the traffic finally lessened, I headed down the ramp toward the parkway. Placing the prepaid cell in the dashboard cradle, I dialed my office voice mail. Though I’d canceled my patient appointments for the week, I still needed to check my messages, in case anyone was in crisis.

  To my surprise, the only message was from Liz Cortland, Barbara’s former colleague at Pitt with whom I’d spoken at the Mayor’s cocktail party.

  “Dr. Rinaldi, this is Liz Cortland. I hope you check your office machine soon. I’m calling because I’m in my office this morning, grading papers. I was hoping you might be free to stop by. I should be here till noon, when I have to teach a class. Just come on up.”

  By “up” she meant her office on the faculty-only fifth floor of the Cathedral of Learning, the most iconic building on the Pitt campus. The office she’d mentioned was three doors down from where my late wife’s had been. Of course, I’d been in Barbara’s office many times when she was alive, though never, as I recalled, in Liz Cortland’s.

  Stopped at a light, I debated what to do. As preoccupied as I was with Sebastian Maddox, I couldn’t help thinking about her message. At the Mayor’s party, Liz had said she wanted to talk to me about something that concerned Barbara. Was that what this sudden invitation was about?

  I glanced at my watch. I still had plenty of time before I was supposed to meet up with Barnes and Gloria at the safe house. Besides, there was a question I’d been wanting to ask Liz Cortland myself. One that had been nagging me since this whole nightmare began.

  My mind made up, I angled around the Point and crisscrossed the clogged city streets until I was headed down Fifth Avenue. Traffic in Oakland was its usual headache, but I managed to find a parking space in the metered lot across from Hillman Library.

  The looming spire of the Cathedral of Learning looked as regal and timeless as ever against the gloomy sky. Inside was even more impressive, especially to a former student like me. The ponderous, chilled embrace of Medieval-style masonry, the broad ground-floor expanse, framed by recessed alcoves and dotted with study tables. Side corridors led to the various Nationality Rooms, each decorated in the style befitting its specific country. And, throughout, the familiar sharp tap of student footsteps echoed on the stone floors.

  I took the elevator up to the fifth floor, passing a number of offices, including the one Barbara had occupied. I’d never bothered to find out who’d been assigned it after her death.

  Finally, I found Liz Cortland, her office door open. She was in a collared shirt and jeans, sitting at her desk with some exam papers. Her pen moving hurriedly and somewhat furiously over the one in front of her. I didn’t envy that student.

  At the sound of my footstep on the threshold, she looked up. The determined set of her lips quickly turning to a smile.

  “Good, you got my message. Come on in, Dr. Rinaldi.”

 
; I did, as she rose to shake hands. Then she motioned to the only other chair in the cramped office and invited me to sit.

  “Thanks. And please call me Dan. Or Danny.”

  “Yes.” She settled back in her seat. “Danny. That’s what Barbara always called you. And, of course, I’m Liz.”

  An awkward moment of silence followed.

  “You know,” she said suddenly, “I’ve never put much stock in the so-called sisterhood to which women in the Humanities are supposed to respond as a matter of course. But it was different with Barbara and me. We actually liked each other.”

  “I know. She really valued your friendship. She always said that she could confide in you. Talk about anything.”

  “We certainly did that. Which is one of the reasons I wanted you to come by. Because the thing she talked about the most was you. Or should I say, your marriage.”

  I took a breath, which she registered.

  “Anyway, Dan, in case you weren’t sure, Barbara did love you. She said you were smart, generous, and could always make her laugh. She also said you were a good lay.” A brief smile.

  “On the other hand, she made it damn clear that you were no day at the beach. Stubborn as hell. Quick to anger. She often said she wasn’t sure the marriage would last.”

  “Neither was I. If she was that candid with you, you’re probably aware of how much we fought. How we’d even sought couples counseling. Though I’m not sure it helped.”

  “Yes, she spoke about the fights. But it was more than that. Though Barbara considered herself a feminist, she hated having displeased her father by marrying you.” She paused, looking off. “No matter what, it never changes. Fathers and their daughters. Christ. Probably explains the problems in both of my former marriages.”

  Another long beat of silence. Obviously, this wasn’t a subject on which she wanted to elaborate.

  “Look,” she said at last, rising from her chair. “There is a reason I wanted to see you. I have something of Barbara’s that I think you ought to have.”

  She moved some books aside on the near shelf and withdrew a bound manuscript. About a hundred pages, it looked like. She handed it to me.

  “It’s a book Barbara was working on. On linguistics, of course. She hoped it would break new ground.”

  “A book? I didn’t even know…”

  “She didn’t want to tell you—or anyone, really—until she was sure it was any good. She only told me about it because I happened to come into her office once and found her working on it. Though I could tell she was glad to be able to share her excitement about it with someone.”

  I felt a sharp sting at her words. Wishing, out of pure ego and hurt pride, that Barbara had felt comfortable enough to tell me. That she would’ve wanted to.

  Liz must have guessed my thoughts.

  “Open the first page. The dedication.”

  I flipped to the front and read the words written there.

  “To Daniel. My husband, my partner, my love. Barbara”

  I swallowed hard, let the manuscript drop to my lap.

  Liz folded her arms. “Most people wait till the book’s finished to worry about a dedication. But Barbara told me it helped motivate her to write it first. To you. So she could imagine you reading the final product. And being proud of her.”

  I just sat there, moved beyond words. Ashamed of my initial, self-centered response.

  “I’ve made a copy for myself,” Liz went on, “but I always wanted to give you the original. Even unfinished, anyone reading it can see how remarkable her work was. How unique and seminal her thinking. What a great book it would be.”

  “Would’ve been.” My eyes lifted to hers. “Why didn’t you get in touch with me after her death? Show it to me then?”

  A pause. “I don’t know, really. Somehow the timing never seemed right. Then, after a while, it felt like too much time had gone by. Your life had moved on, and I worried that all I’d do is dredge up old, painful memories.”

  “But when we saw each other at the party…”

  “I realize it doesn’t make sense, but somehow it felt like a sign. That the time was right to give you her manuscript.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “Pretty touchy-feely for a hard-ass like me, I know. But there it is.”

  I nodded, and thanked her for her time. And the manuscript. But I paused before getting up to leave.

  “If you don’t mind, Liz, I’d like to ask you a question. You and Barbara were so close, such good friends…I just wondered if she ever mentioned a man named Maddox? Sebastian Maddox. They were in a class together as undergrads, and—”

  Her face paled. Then she slowly re-took her seat.

  “Yes. Maddox. I know all about that. One time, when we’d had a few drinks after work, she told me the whole story.”

  I nodded, but said nothing.

  “She also revealed that she’d never told you about it. Even after you two were married. And even though it had all happened years before she’d ever met you.”

  “I know. I’ve only just learned about him. What can you tell me about it?”

  “Only what Barbara told me. They were both sophomores, both taking an art history class. She because of her genuine interest, and Maddox because it was one of those humanities courses that the tech students were required to take. Apparently, he was some kind of computer genius.”

  “Yes. A double-major with philosophy.”

  “Real Brainiac, it seems. But not like what you’d expect. He was considered a total hunk. Handsome, athletic…” She hesitated a moment. “The truth is, Barbara was quite attracted to Maddox. So they started dating, and—”

  My mouth went dry. This was something I hadn’t expected to hear. Or, more honestly, never wanted to learn.

  “How serious was it?” I managed to say.

  “Not serious at all. Barbara said that after a couple dates, just dinner and drinks, she began to get a weird vibe off him. That he really creeped her out. So she stopped seeing him.”

  “That’s when his obsession with her took over.”

  Liz nodded. “He kept insisting they were in love, that they were soulmates. Fated to be together. He began stalking her, becoming more and more threatening. Until she literally feared for her life. Thank God she finally went to the cops. That must have scared him off. She never saw him again. Turns out, he left school soon after.”

  “One last question, Liz. Did Barbara ever say why she’d never told me about Maddox?”

  “To her, it was all in the past. A horrible period in her life that she didn’t want to relive. Or burden you with. Truth is, if she hadn’t had so much to drink that night, I doubt she’d ever have told me. Especially since she came to me the next day and asked that I never repeat the story to anyone else. And particularly not to you.” A thick pause. “I hope it was okay that I told you now.”

  I shrugged. “Well, I’m the one who asked.”

  Tucking Barbara’s manuscript under my arm, I thanked Liz again and stood up. We exchanged a brief, awkward hug. And then I left.

  l l l l l

  Walking back to my car under grayish clouds pouting with the promise of new rain, all I could think about was the bound manuscript under my arm. Stunned and saddened that I’d been unaware of such a crucial part of Barbara’s life during those last months.

  Was her reluctance to tell me about it really due to her concern as to its worth, or was it merely another sign of the growing distance between us? Yet, if that were the case, how did I explain the book’s dedication to me?

  I realized then that it was symbolic of our whole marriage. Triggering images in my mind of the unique, challenging woman I remembered. Her solemn gaze, her stern humor, how her voice faltered when speaking to her father. The endless fights, the prolonged silences. That barely discernible fragrance she wore, which I loved but that alwa
ys made me sneeze. Certain sounds she made in bed. Her bitter laugh. Her hidden, conflicted love.

  How, even toward the end, I both knew her and didn’t know her…

  I made my way slowly across Forbes Avenue, unmindful of the students hurrying past me, eyes glued to their cells—some bundled into thick sweaters, others wearing spring jackets zipped up against the cooling, damp-cotton air.

  Maybe, I thought, the manuscript was just another example of the conflicted nature of our marriage. How we each yearned for connection and yet distrusted intimacy.

  Proven by what I’d just learned from Liz Cortland. I knew I’d need time to process the news that Barbara had actually dated Maddox. Not out of any jealousy—she and I hadn’t even met yet—but due to my lingering regret that she’d never told me about her experience. Her growing terror at being stalked, her having to resort to a restraining order. This was a significant, no doubt traumatic, event in her life, and I’d never even known about it.

  Not to mention the cruel irony. Two casual dates with him, and yet it was the genesis of an erotic obsession that would end up, many years later, costing Barbara her life…

  l l l l l

  I’d no sooner stepped up onto the curb when a few droplets of rain began to fall. By now, the parking lot outside Hillman Library had filled, but I had no trouble finding my Mustang.

  Still burdened by thoughts of the past, I distractedly opened it up and placed Barbara’s manuscript on the backseat.

  And froze.

  The travel bag was still there, where I’d left it. But my laptop was gone.

  Straightening, I glanced at the passenger side seat in the front. The laptop was sitting on top of it. Lid open, the screen completely filled with the face of Sebastian Maddox. A still photo, like an actor’s head shot.

  As I stared at the piercing eyes and cruel, self-satisfied smile, I suddenly heard his voice crackle from the laptop’s speaker. Cool. Darkly gleeful.