by Corey Brown
“Look, these men were both very wealthy and they died on the very same night while having intercourse with their wives. And it was on that night each of these women conceived the children they are now carrying.”
Cody’s expression tells Doctor Harris that he has Cody’s attention. For Harris, it was a rerun of the day Nick Wheaton had stood where Cody was now standing, and listened to this bizarre set of circumstances. The thought of Nick’s death flashes through Harris’ mind, he wonders if Cody will meet the same fate. The idea makes him shudder. He wants to tell Cody to forget it, to just walk away but he knows it won’t make any difference. This investigation is about one of Cody’s own.
Cody narrows his eyes. “Are these the guys I read about awhile back?” He says. “I think one of them was a CEO and the other guy was a banking executive, they both had some kind of financial problems. Those guys?”
“The same.”
Cody drops into the chair in front of Harris’ desk and takes out a notepad. “What are the names of the men who died?” Cody says.
Harris looks at him and, deadpan, says, “There is more, detective.”
“More?”
“Much more.” Harris leans forward in his chair. “About the same time I discovered my patient’s husbands had died, I happened to attend a social function where I bumped into some colleagues. They---”
A voice on the intercom breaks in saying, “Doctor Harris?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor, but Julia and Mrs. Briggs would like to see you.”
“Please, send them in.”
A moment later the door opens, Harris is already rounding his desk to meet the two women. Jamie looks only a little worse for the wear but Julia’s tear-stained face makes her suffering painfully obvious.
“Oh, Julia,” Harris begins, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “I am terribly sorry, poor Nick. What can I do to help?”
Julia shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says quietly. “But thank you anyway. I just need to go home.”
“Of course, take as much time as you need. We’ll be here whenever you’re ready to come back.”
“Thank you,” Julia whispers.
Looking at Cody, Jamie says, “We’re going home.” Then she shakes her head. “I mean, I’m taking Julia home. I might stay with her tonight. We’ll see how things go.”
“Good idea,” Cody says, with a nod. “I’ll bring dinner and maybe an overnight bag, if you need it.”
“Julia,” Harris says. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning but if you need anything in the meantime, call me at home. And if I’m not there, you know my cell number. You call, I’ll come running.”
Julia forces a smile and a quick nod, tears trickle from the corners of her eyes. Then she reaches for the door.
“Todd should be home around suppertime,” Jamie says to Cody, falling in step with Julia. “Take it easy on him, okay?”
Cody gives her a sober look. “Don’t worry, I’ll be good. I promise.”
Jamie rises up on her tiptoes and gives him a gentle kiss, her lips almost a whisper against his own. “See you soon,” she says, quietly.
A moment later they were gone.
Cody stares at the door, he can still taste her kiss, feel her mouth and suddenly he misses her. Jamie’s departure is odd, almost troubling. For some reason, he wants to follow her, go after her. Before he can move there is a hand on his shoulder.
“Everything all right? Harris says.
“Yeah, I guess.” Cody looks at Harris, Jamie’s lingering kiss quietly disappearing. Then he feels strangely linked to the doctor, as if they have known each other for some time. Cody looks at Harris and says, “You were saying there was more?”
Harris turns and walks to the window, rubbing the back of his neck. Looking down at the traffic below he says, “Just about the time my patient’s husbands died, I attended a social function and I bumped into an old acquaintance. Well, we started talking and it turns he had a recently widowed patient, too.”
“Don’t tell me…” Cody says.
Harris turns to face Cody. “Yes. The patient was perfectly healthy and died, inexplicably, during intercourse. After which, his wife became pregnant.”
“Only one, not two husbands?”
“Correct. Doctor Sheldon only lost one. But later that evening I met with another old friend, Doctor Findlay. She runs a clinic for women and several months earlier she had asked me to pay for some tests for her patients.”
Cody lifts his eyebrows, signaling a question.
“Elizabeth is a fine doctor,” Harris says. “But her patients can’t exactly pay for her services, so I help out from time to time. Anyway, I asked her about those patients, I wanted to know how they were doing. Needless to say I was stunned when she told me.”
“Let me guess,” Cody says. “She had patients with dead husbands, too?”
Harris looks at him sharply, disliking Cody’s careless tone. Nick Wheaton had spoken so highly of Cody that Harris assumed that he was a different sort of cop, maybe someone who cared. But, now, Harris is not sure he likes this NOPD detective.
“Not quite,” Harris says. “But Doctor Findlay had six patients who all became pregnant on one night.”
Cody shakes his head. “I don’t see a connection here. How does that relate to your patients?”
For a few moments, Harris just stares, absently, at the framed bits of paper honoring him, decreeing his competency to practice medicine.
“As I said, Elizabeth runs a clinic for underprivileged women. It’s an inner city shop, up in Baton Rouge. She treats people no one else will. All six of these women were either prostitutes or single. And all were destitute. All claim they were raped but none of them had any memory of who they might have been with.”
“So someone gave them roofies or something,” Cody says.
“No,” Harris says, shaking his head. “Elizabeth did blood work on each patient and found nothing that would indicate the use of Rohypnol or any other kind of date rape drug. Two of her patients were recovering heroin addicts, but they were clean when Elizabeth tested them. Besides, none of her patients mentioned any of the other common side effects, nausea, dizziness, or motor skill degradation. None of the things usually associated with date rape drugs.”
Harris shifts his weight, the motion is uneasy. “But she did conclude,” Harris says. “That all six women were raped by the same person.”
“Six?” Cody says. “Six women raped in one night, by the same guy? That’s hard to believe.”
Harris drops back into his leather chair. Leaning forward, he puts his elbows on the desk and rests his forehead on his palm. Cody wants to ask what led Doctor Finlay to her conclusions, but he waits. Looking at Harris, Cody senses that he is searching for the right words.
“These young women,” Harris says, cautiously. “Their experiences were all exactly the same. During the night they drifted in and out of consciousness intensely aware that someone was on them, in them, but they have no recollection of what he looks like.” Harris looks up at Cody. “They described the same intense feeling of fear during the experience.”
Cody nods. Over the years, he’d seen enough rape victims to create a lifetime of mental images. Women’s lives shattered, sometimes forever. Families torn apart, a legal system that unofficially blames the woman and a culture dominated by the secret male fantasy that women like being violated.
“Okay, it’s a tough experience,” Cody says, with shrug. “But it doesn’t explain why your doctor friend thinks all of them were raped by the same person.”
Harris glances up at Cody, again surprised by Cody’s tone of voice. For some reason, he still expects more empathy from Nick’s friend.
“It is a terrifying experience,” Harris says, trying to correct Cody’s attitude. “But that’s not what I mean. These women lead desperate lives. They were poor and most of them traded sex for money or drugs. None of them were strangers to the terribl
e things people do to each other. But without exception, each of these women talked about the horror of the one raping them, not the rape itself. The figure attacking them was incredibly frightening.”
“But I thought you said none of them got a good look at him,” Cody says. “I don’t understand.”
Harris sighs. “I don’t understand it either, detective. But all six of them, independently, described basically the same feelings.”
“Okay. Maybe that’s a little unusual. But I don’t see how that’s enough to tie them all together.”
“These rapes were oddly violent,” Harris says. “All of the victims had severe vaginal trauma. They all suffered elements of epidermal damage in the form of bruises, scratches and bite marks. The first two women died within one week from internal hemorrhaging. The very last woman had all of the same signs of violence but to a lesser degree. All of them became pregnant and, of the four that lived, each miscarried in the first trimester. None of them were severely beaten or cut or harmed much beyond the points of sexual contact. The sex organs and related anatomy seemed to be the only areas truly affected.”
Stroking his jaw with his fingers, Cody digests this information. “So, did Doctor Finlay go to the police?”
“No. There was nothing to report, at least as far as a rape was concerned. There were no physical traces of the rapist. No hair, no skin samples, no semen, nothing. Beyond the poor physical condition of the patients, there was nothing to indicate that they’d been raped. Besides, none of the women wanted to talk to the police. Elizabeth tried to convince them but not one of them would go.”
Cody makes a face. “Come on, Doctor Harris,” he says. “That’s not possible. Based on your description of the victims, there would have to be bio-evidence. You said they all got pregnant, so there had to be semen for godsakes. And a DNA test of the fetuses would provide the first lead.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Harris says. “Remember those tests I paid for? I didn’t know it at the time but they were DNA tests on the dead fetuses. After Elizabeth told me her story I insisted on seeing the results myself. But there was not a single DNA strand in any of the fetuses.”
Cody finds all of this too much to believe. “I’m not a medical expert,” he says. “But even I know that’s not possible. Hell, at the very least, the mother would have contributed to the DNA structure of the kid.”
Harris draws in a deep breath, knowing that he is losing credibility. “Look, I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen the test results myself.”
“What about a second test? Maybe the first one was wrong.”
“How about three tests?” Harris says, almost shouting. “At three different labs. You tell me, detective. A total of eighteen tests at three independent labs and they’re all wrong?
Cody stares at Harris then says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you hadn’t been thorough. It just doesn’t make any sense, you know?”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let me get this straight,” Cody says. “We know for certain the fetuses came from these women?”
“Yes. Elizabeth was present for all of the miscarriages and observed the autopsies of the two women who died.”
“And the fetuses had absolutely no DNA?”
“None,” Harris says. “No detectable DNA material whatsoever. Well, remember there were only four fetuses. Two of the women died only days after conception. But we tested the fertilized eggs, and…..nothing.”
Cody frowns, runs his fingers through his hair, almost afraid to ask. “These fetuses,” he says. “Were they even human?”
Harris pauses, considering the question. “Until just now, I would’ve assumed so.” He gives Cody a look and says, “But without DNA, I guess, they can’t be.”
A shiver runs the length of Cody’s spine. He narrows his eyes and says, “What the hell does that mean?”
Doctor Harris stares at Cody, looks through him, says, “You tell me.”
Cody stands and walks toward the door, Harris thinks he might be leaving. But Cody stops and turns back. He starts to speak but holds up, pinches his lip between thumb and forefinger.
“None of it makes sense,” Cody says. “I mean, I can’t even begin to process this.”
“I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it,” Harris says. “Frankly, none of this is possible.”
“But your tests show it is.”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
“So what’s the link between the Finlay cases, the other doctor’s, and yours?” Cody said. “I sure can’t find it.”
“Well, there isn’t, at least not a tangible one, anyway”
“Is there anything not weird about all of this?”
“Not one goddamned thing,”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Cody says. “What’s the ‘not’ tangible connection?”
Harris stands, unbuttons his lab coat, and says, “Finlay’s cases occurred first. Then, within a month, Doctor Sheldon had his and a month later I had mine. Sheldon’s patient suffered some of the same violence as Finlay’s but not as much. By the time my patients became pregnant, they only showed faint signs of rough sex. Nothing more than what two extremely passionate people would experience. In fact, Sheldon’s patient and both of mine described how intense their lovemaking sessions were that night, and that it was very unusual for their husbands to display such passion. Actually, Sheldon’s patient said that she and her husband were rarely intimate and that he was not very, uh, shall we say, skillful at it.”
“Let me guess,” Cody says. “That night he was a pro?”
The corner of Harris’s mouth drifts into an artful smile and he nods. “You got it. Both of my patients said the same thing, their husbands were exceptionally good that night.”
“Fine,” Cody says, moving closer to Harris. “So we have three women who have fantastic sex with their husbands and it’s too much for them, so the boys croak. What’s the hook into the Finlay patients?”
“The husbands.”
“What’re you saying? These rich guys raped those six women?”
Harris nods slowly. “That’s my theory.”
“Wait. What about the missing evidence? Those guys would’ve left traces. And how the hell did they get those women pregnant without semen?”
“Don’t forget the missing DNA in the fetuses.” Harris says. “I have no idea about any of that. But my gut tells me that they are the ones who raped and killed those women.”
On another day, Cody would have dismissed Harris as a respectable lunatic. And even though he didn’t have any compelling reason to believe Harris, Cody found himself being drawn in.
“Sheldon’s guy,” Cody says. “Was he as wealthy as the ones you first mentioned?”
“Yes,” Harris says. “But he wasn’t a business man.”
“What? Was he a priest?”
“You know who I’m talking about?
“No, I’m kidding,” Cody says, but then the look of surprise on Harris’s face registers. “Hold on, he was a priest?”
“Yeah, he was,” Harris says. “Well, not a priest, but he was a man of the cloth. Ever hear of Pastor Olstein, the senior guy at the Crossing.”
Cody slowly shakes his head in amazement. “I didn’t even know he was dead. You think he raped people? That seems pretty far out there, don’t you think?”
Harris looks away, as if he were embarrassed at the suggestion. “I don’t know. Maybe not him.” Then he glances back at Cody. “But you tell me. In your line of work, you’ve never heard of something like that?”
“You got me there. I’ve seen some weird shit, all right. A minister raping someone? It’s not so far out there, really. I guess if those idiot TV ministers can do it, this guy can, too.”
Cody looks around the room. For some reason the number of women involved comes to mind. Mentally, he repeats the numbers: six, one and two. Two, one and six. At the moment, he cannot make sense of it. Nine? Six twelve or two sixteen? D
id the numbers or sequence even mean anything?
“They don’t mean anything,” Cody says absently.
“What doesn’t mean anything,” Harris asks.
Jolted by the realization that he had been concentrating on the numbers, Cody says, “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud. Sorry.”
“The numbers, you’re trying to make sense of them?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
Harris smiles weakly. “I’ve been doing the same thing for months,” Harris says. “Sometimes it’s all I can think about, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking of those numbers.”
“And?” Cody said.
“They don’t mean anything. Not that I can tell.”
“That’s just great.”
“Hey, welcome to the obsessive-compulsive club.”
Cody draws a breath, scratches the back of his head, says, “This information pointed Nick to the NOPD Vice squad, how so?”
“I don’t know,” Harris says. “I’ve told you everything I told Nick. With him it was a one-way street, he didn’t tell me what he was doing. Once in a while he’d drop in, ask me some questions---- he did tell me that he’d transferred to vice,” Harris shrugs. “But otherwise….”
“Tell me this,” Cody says. “Was DNA testing done on any of your patient’s fetuses? Do you know who the fathers are?”
“Nick wanted the same information.” Harris shakes his head. “Normally you don’t do that. It’s hard on a developing child. Besides, if I wanted to collect an amniotic or placental sample,I’d have to get authorization from my patients. And even if I did have that information, I couldn’t give it to you. It would violate my patient’s trust. I couldn’t give it to you without----”
“A court order,” Cody says, finishing Harris’s sentence. “I know, I know. And no judge in his right mind would order such a thing, especially considering the social status of these women. Any chance I can have the names of the dead men? That would be public record.
