by Dan Ames
A hallway ran through the center of the building, with a kitchen off the first doorway, just visible from the reception area.
“You must be Mary Cooper,” a voice said from above. There was a stairway off to the right and Mary saw a woman at the top of the landing, looking down.
“And you are Dr. Pregler?” Mary said.
“I am, please come up.”
Knowing that psychologists loved to have two entrances and exits, so that departing patients didn’t have to come face to face with arriving patients, Mary figured there was another door on the other end of the hallway upstairs that led outside.
But seeing as how there was only one car in the lot, Dr. Pregler must have been between patients.
The Doctor was a woman Mary guessed to be near fifty years old, with hunched shoulders, broad hips, and a face that somewhat resembled a Pug. Large eyes and loose jowls. But the eyes were big and blue and bright. A fierce intelligence radiated outward.
“So Detective Cornell said you needed someone to talk to,” the woman said as she gestured toward a leather club chair. Mary sat, and the Doctor sat in a chair opposite her. The woman’s office was wide and spacious, with framed certificates on the walls and a desk off to the side with a laptop computer.
The room smelled vaguely of fresh flowers.
“Yes, I need to ask you about infantilizing, I believe it’s called.”
“Okay. What would you like to know?”
“Well, it’s a fetish, right?”
“It can be. It’s called autonepiophilia. Or, the more general term is adult baby syndrome.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m wondering about.”
“Not to be confused with urolagnia.”
“Euro-what?”
“Urolagnia is also known as watersports. Fascination with urine, etc.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. This involves a grown man wearing a diaper, a woman dressed up like a child.”
“Yes, that would be infantilism.”
“So what’s the deal with it? Why do people enjoy it?”
“I am by no means an expert but in the majority of cases it is a role playing issue. Nothing more, nothing less. As I understand it, sometimes it involves masochism, but not always.”
“Spanking? That sort of thing?”
“Yes. Like any type of sexual fetish, it can be taken to any degree imaginable.”
“Women and men?”
Dr. Pregler nodded. “Women and men, definitely, in both roles. Not children, though. Infantilism is not related to pedophilia.”
“I see. So, is it possible for this kind of role-playing to get out of hand? As in, leading to murder?”
“Of course. As I said, any type of sexual role playing can be taken to an extreme.”
Mary thought about it.
“Okay, so let me ask you about psychology as a profession. How does it work? Do you monitor each other? Or just wait until things reach a court of law?”
“Physician, heal thyself, kind of thing?” the woman said. She had taken off her glasses and now chewed one end of the stem. Mary had heard that was a good way to get an ear infection.
“Sort of.”
“Your best bet would be the Psychiatric Review Board, which manages and oversees all claims of abuse,” Dr. Pregler said. “If you’re looking for information before it reaches court, that would be the place to begin. However, some of the information is public, but much of it is not. The service is free and patients can walk in and demand to see any complaints that have been lodged against a certain doctor.”
The woman scribbled something down on a sheet of paper and handed it to Mary.
“Here’s their address.”
Mary tucked it inside her purse.
“Can you give me any kind of idea how often there is trouble between a patient and his or her therapist?”
The woman nodded. “Much less often than you would think. In thirty years practicing psychology I’ve had less than half a dozen issues with patients. And I expect I’m fairly normal compared to my colleagues.”
“I see,” Mary responded.
“Now Detective Cornell said you had some relationship issues you wanted to talk to me about.”
Mary flushed slightly.
That jackass.
“No, no issues with me. Just the case,” Mary said. “Jake, however, definitely needs his head examined.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Psychological Association of Los Angeles was located in a single-story, fifties-style office building that sat on the corner of a quiet street in Reseda. Mary parked the Accord and went inside.
There was an unattended counter with a computer monitor and a chair. The monitor was turned off. The calendar was a month behind.
“Hello?” Mary said.
She heard a shuffling of papers and then a woman appeared. She was old but dyed her hair a cross between black and dark, dark red. She had on a black sweater over a red blouse, gray slacks, and shoes with thick black straps.
“How may I help you?” she said.
“I’d like to look into any information you have on Dr. Frank Fallon,” Mary said.
“Okay,” the woman said. She went to a computer, tapped the keys for a bit, and then looked up at Mary.
“We have different categories of information. Professional accomplishments, education, services offered…”
“I’m looking for any illegal activity,” Mary said. “Crimes, lawsuits, criminal activity. Anything like that.”
“I see,” the woman said. “The only information we can provide are documents that have already been made public. We use a software program that’s searchable by the physician’s name. There may be criminal information, but that would be stored separately. I can only give you what I find through the search. Anything else, you would need a court order.”
The woman tapped the keys some more.
“I’ve got about twenty pages of documents,” she said. “We charge ten cents a page.”
“Let her rip,” Mary said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mary grabbed a coffee to go from the Peet’s just down the street from her building, then went to her office, put her feet up on her desk, and set the papers on her lap.
She sipped the dark, strong brew until it was nearly half gone, then set it on her desk.
Mary picked up the papers and started reading, occasionally taking a coffee break before diving back into the documents.
By the time she was done, she learned that there had been only one real stretch of trouble for Dr. Frank Fallon.
A woman named Robin Dipple had filed a formal assault charge against Fallon. The charge had been resolved out of court, but news of the woman’s original complaint was still on file.
There were a few other minor skirmishes over billing and one instance of a supposed breach of patient confidentiality.
But that was it.
Mary double-checked the date of the original complaint. It had been nearly two years ago.
She glanced at the clock. There was still time to give Robin Dipple a call if she could track down the number. A quick search yielded an R. Dipple in Beverly Hills, and another in Long Beach.
Mary gambled and called the number in Beverly Hills.
A woman answered.
Mary explained she wanted to talk to the Robin Dipple who filed a complaint against Dr. Frank Fallon. She explained she was a private investigator.
The woman hesitated only briefly then surprised Mary by volunteering her address. She told Mary to stop by around lunch time and she would happily tell her all about Dr. Frank Fallon.
Mary loved it when cases picked up steam, and this one was starting to give off smoke.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mary was getting ready to leave her office for her appointment with Robin Dipple when a woman appeared in her lobby.
Mary immediately recognized her. She was the woman Mary had seen in the hallway outside of Dr. Frank Fallon’s offic
e when she had gone there to question him.
“Hello?” Mary said, leaving her office to enter the waiting area.
“Hi, are you Mary Cooper?” the woman said.
“I am.”
“Hi, I’m Ann Budchuk. Do you have a couple of minutes to talk?”
Mary’s curiosity was piqued.
“Sure, come in,” she said. “Do you want anything? Water? Coffee?”
“No thank you,” Budchuk said.
They went into Mary’s office and the woman sat in a chair across from Mary’s desk. Mary slid her office chair out so the desk wasn’t between them.
“What brought you into a private investigator’s office?” Mary asked.
“I heard you at the doctor’s office…that you were looking into Craig Locher’s death.”
Mary hid her surprise.
“Did you know Mr. Locher?” Mary said, neither confirming nor denying if she was working the case.
“I did. We worked together years ago at a marketing firm and kept in touch. He was the one who actually recommended Dr. Fallon to me. I was shocked to hear he was murdered.”
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm him?”
The woman shook her head. “No, everyone loved Craig, that was the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, women were attracted to him, men loved to go drinking with him because he was fun and always made the party better with his presence. So he was constantly getting pulled by various people in tons of different directions. And he had a big problem saying no. So he almost always said yes. And that caused problems for him.”
“What kind of problems?”
“I believe he struggled with various addictions. Alcohol, drugs, or sex. Or, maybe even all three. I’m not sure. But he definitely needed help.”
Mary paused and thought about what Ann Budchuk was telling her.
“I get the feeling,” Mary said. “That you know something and that’s why you stopped by today. You wanted to check me out, see if I was legitimate, and maybe you would share with me what you know. And maybe you won’t. Are you at that point?”
Budchuk leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Just a good guess,” Mary said.
The woman nodded. “Yes, I do have something to share.”
She leaned forward and spread her hands on her knees.
“I think Craig was murdered by another one of Dr. Fallon’s patients.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“His name is Derek Pitts.”
Mary started taking notes.
“He was…is…a total psycho,” Budchuk said with a small smile. “I know that’s not politically correct. I’m sure the medical term is bipolar or sociopathic or something. But the man is nuts.”
“How do you know all of this about him?”
“Well, his appointment was usually before mine, and I saw him in the waiting room. But then something went horribly wrong with his treatment and he supposedly broke into Fallon’s office, got all of our patient information, and made threats that he was going to kill every one of Fallon’s patients,” Budchuk said. Her hands shook as she talked. “Fallon’s office had to contact us and let us know about the situation once the police couldn’t find him.”
“When you say us, who do you mean?”
“All of us patients. A few of us ladies were friends and that’s how I found all this out. One of the other women knew Dr. Frank better than the rest of us, and apparently he told her some of this.”
“What did they say when they contacted you?” Mary asked.
“Just to take extra precautions for our safety.”
“And when did all of this happen?”
“About a month ago.”
Mary smiled to herself. Funny how Dr. Fallon had completely failed to mention that a former patient had made threats against his other patients. Apparently business came first for Dr. Fallon.
“What do you know about Pitts?” Mary asked.
“Virtually nothing other than what I just told you.”
“Did they tell you it was Pitts who had threatened your safety?”
“No, I just put two and two together. Plus, they gave a description and it fit him perfectly. I knew it was him. I could tell he was deeply troubled, in a bad way.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s short. Dark-skinned. Dark hair. Swarthy. Tons of tattoos. Looked like a weight lifter.”
Mary jotted something down.
“What do you mean he was troubled in a bad way?”
“Some people, you can just tell they wouldn’t mind hurting people. Like, if I imagined violence with this man, he wouldn’t be troubled by it.”
Mary looked at the woman.
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re seeing Dr. Fallon for?”
The woman seemed caught off-guard.
“Why does that matter?”
“It might not, but when someone provides what could be some very important information, I like to know as much as possible about the source.”
“So you’re trying to figure out if I’m a nutso, is that it?”
“I can tell you’re not a ‘nutso’ as you put it. Look, you don’t have to answer the question. But I felt I had to at least ask.”
“Fine. I’m seeing him for depression. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life.”
Mary nodded.
“Are you going to try to find Pitts?” Budchuk asked.
“Yes.”
“Good luck. And be careful.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mary put in a call to Jake regarding Derek Pitts, then hustled to her car and drove to Robin Dipple’s house. Traffic was light for the first time in the history of Los Angeles, and she made the drive in less than twenty minutes.
The Dipple house was a French colonial with a custom tile inserted under every window. While the brick exterior was tan, the tiles were a powder blue and seemed to shout from the otherwise bland setting.
The woman who answered the door had a pretty but severe face, with skin stretched very tightly and eyebrows that slanted back with razor precision.
She showed Mary in to a formal living room where a sitting area anchored by two French wingback chairs faced a fireplace.
“Thank you for so readily agreeing to see me,” Mary said.
“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” the woman said. She smiled and Mary thought she could actually hear the woman’s face creak under the exertion.
“So as I understand it, you filed a complaint against Dr. Fallon,” Mary said.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No.”
Mary looked at her. “What do you mean? You invited me over to talk.”
“What I mean is I signed a non-disclosure agreement after we settled out of court. So I can’t talk about specifics of my case, but I can give you opinions. I read the contract very carefully before I settled.”
“That’s good.”
“So I can tell you, in general terms, that Dr. Frank Fallon is a piece of dogshit. A steaming pile of poo.”
“I’m surprised those phrases weren’t included in the legal document,” Mary said.
“Nope, they sure weren’t. In fact, I can give my opinion on all kinds of things, as long as I don’t talk about the specifics of my case.”
“And why do you associate Fallon so strongly with dog feces?”
“Because he will pursue a woman for sex long past the point of reason. Again, in my opinion, he will resort to whatever means necessary to get his way. Do you understand what I mean?”
Mary thought about it. By any means necessary could mean all kinds of things.
She considered asking for clarification, but knew the woman was bound by legalities.
“How long ago was your incident?”
“I can’t say. What I can say is that my favorite number is 2.”
Two yea
rs.
“I see.”
“And did you want to talk to me because you feel that some people never change their ways? That they continue to repeat behavior they shouldn’t?”
The woman nodded her head vigorously.
Mary was at a brief loss in terms of the best way to continue. She opted for the big picture.
“Do you have any general opinions you’d like to share with me?”
“Why yes,” the woman said. “Yes I do.”
She folded her hands across her lap.
“Again, this is my opinion, but when a celebrity of any sort, say a lawyer or a doctor or an actor becomes too big for their sexual britches they begin to feel above the law.”
Sexual britches? Mary would have to remember that one.
“In that case, a celebrity doctor might need money to cover up their discretions. Lots and lots of money. And in order to get their hands on the kind of cash they would need to cover up their problems, they would do all kinds of things.”
“What kind of things would they do, in your opinion?” Mary said.
“I actually don’t have a firm opinion on that one. But I have an opinion based on something I overheard.”
Mary was getting tired of the innuendo. But she knew it was all she was going to get.
“And that would be?” Mary prompted.
“That a celebrity type would venture into illegal practices within their industry. The kind that would generate lots of money.”
“And that would possibly hurt people?”
“Yes. That would be my opinion.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mary went back to her office to begin looking into the whereabouts of one Derek Pitts.
When she got there, though, she found an envelope that had been slid beneath the door.
Mary took it back to her desk, popped a Point beer, and slid a finger underneath the flap.
