“Those are expensive digs. Three million you paid for it two years ago?”
“What of it?”
“You treat many patients for free or just take Medicaid. Even with regular insurance, a garden penthouse in Chelsea is expensive for a physician, whereas illegal prescription drugs are big business, just huge-”
“I have inherited money. Goddammit, this is offensive.”
Kerri looked at his left hand. “Not that much inherited, I checked.” No, she hadn’t; she had no idea how much he had and was winging this. She put her hand to her heart. “Really doctor, considering your fine work and the community adoration you’ve built, I’d hate to see your name back in the papers.”
“Get out.” His voice dropped and he glared. “I’ve given enough time to your bullshit.”
Kerri rose. “Fine, it’s your choice if you want to…obstruct.” She emphasized the word, really dragged it out. “By the way - are you divorced yet or just separated?”
He froze.
She indicated his left hand. “Recently separated, I’m guessing. Ring tan line’s still discernible. Did your wife insist that you wear it? Was that a bummer? I read about the domestic abuse calls to your home. I’d hate to see that too back in the news.”
Allen stared at her; breathed in, swallowed. “I know why you’re doing this.”
Kerri stepped away from him, not answering. She had him defensive and limp now, not objecting to her survey of photos on the wall, more photos behind his desk.
“What’s this?”
Allen barely glanced. “Photo of me with a homeless guy who needed meds. You’re doing this because you’re the one cop left vowed publicly to solve what happened to Sasha Perry. You want to build your career on that poor kid’s-”
“Nonsense,” she told him scornfully. “What’s this?”
Barely glanced, seething. “It’s a boat.”
“Yours?” She’d seen it behind his desk the moment she entered.
“No! It’s…faculty friends going out for a sail. Listen, it wasn’t that way about my breakup. She was the abusive one, she was screwing around. It’s harassment to threaten me with more media lies…”
He droned, so caught up in defending himself that he waved a tense hand - “Whatever!” – when she asked to take a quick picture of the grinning group before the docked sailboat. Ben Allen, Carl Finn and Paul Barron, with Finn planted boisterously in front of the other two, hamming it up and hoisting beer cases.
The same photo as on Carl Finn’s Facebook page.
Her gut had led her here, now her heart pounded. She had felt her way through BS questions guessing that this doctor on Sasha’s first faked prescription might have lead to...
Allen referred twice to Sasha as “that poor kid.” She was troubled, he cared about her, knew the cops were watching him and may have sent her on to Carl Finn - also an M.D. but off authorities’ radar.
Well, this was something: an established connection between the two men and Sasha.
Ben Allen was back in his chair, frowning and dour; barely responded when Kerri thanked him and left.
Why so troubled if he’s clean? she wondered as she headed to her Bronco. Then stopped; felt her heart kick higher as she wondered how much Allen had cared about Sasha – then heard Becca again: “Maybe it was some guy with a jealous wife or girlfriend.”
Huh? Wait a minute. She suddenly felt hyper.
The head was spinning. She needed someone to help her think, she decided, driving off.
20
“Don’t eat,” she told Alex, peeling left, beating a yellow light.
“Ever?” he asked.
“No, now. Come to my place, I feel like cooking, have new thoughts about the Perry case and a raging need to get the hands busy instead of the busting head-” A horn blasted. She’d just swerved past an Audi on Eighth, had made it up to Midtown in record time.
“You speeding again?”
“Who me? Never!”
“You’re going to get caught one of these days. Some rookie in blue’s gonna pull you over and be really surprised.”
“Won’t happen.”
“You also sound too energetic for Friday at six. That’s not normal.”
“I’m revved. Cooking helps me think - besides, how long since you’ve eaten healthy?”
“Not since you brought in that chicken Whatchamacallit.”
“Marengo.” It was an impulsive chance to slip in something else. “Doesn’t your girlfriend cook?”
Hesitation, then: “Things aren’t going so well there, she never cooked anyway. You just caught me going into that hoagie joint with its mystery meat and tomatoes that look like plasma.”
“Don’t eat in those places! E.coli! Salmonella! Come chez me!”
“I’m on my way.”
He hung up with a whoop and Kerri calculated: he’d have to drive all the way up from his place in Chinatown, which gave her time. On 108th Street she stopped at her favorite market, picked up eats, and minutes later was unpacking at her home, a converted two bedroom way over on West 110th near Riverside Park with its jogging and picnic areas and dog walking trails if she had a dog, which she didn’t, sigh.
She patted Gummy, her tabby who sidled over to rub her leg and then jump onto the counter. “Yes Gums, food, I’m happy to see you too,” she said, scooping out tuna fish, putting the cat and her bowl back on the floor. “Whatsamatter, you bored with Kibbles ‘n Bits?”
By the time she showered fast and was back to cutting and chopping, the bell rang, and there was Alex, one arm leaning on her jamb, the other holding up a pretty-wrapped bottle of wine.
“Shiraz your favorite,” he smiled crookedly, coming in, pressing the bottle to her heart. He had showered and smelled of cologne and looked handsome – her soul swelled and she thought, cripes, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, especially with him checking her out like that in her form-fitting jeans and sleeveless blue cotton sweater and her hair flying not quite dry from her shampoo. He also seemed to anticipate awkwardness by marching straight to the center island, plunking the wine there, then stooping to greet Gummy. She purred; actually seemed to smile as he cooed and scratched behind her ears and then she jumped into his arms.
Holding her, he took one of the bar stools and watched Kerri, back to busy cutting, chopping, heating up a pan. He’d been here before, oh yes, and now looked happily around at her apartment’s familiar openness, the warmth of bare brick that made up one wall, the sturdy beams of this old brownstone that dated back to the late 1800s.
“Let me help.” He put Gummy down, hesitated for one last pat, then seemed to think of something else as he straightened and started to unwrap the wine. Just the ribbon he took off, though, then stepped behind Kerri, pulled to the nape of her neck her still-damp hair, and tied it with the ribbon. “There,” he said. “Pretty.”
Oh, the feeling of his fingers on her neck. Kerri flushed bad, feared it showed, smiled and mumbled something stupid about the mushrooms, the mushrooms, they had to be washed and sliced.
He turned back to the sink, splashed water, got to work on the mushrooms. “So tell,” he said over the water. “What’re these new thoughts about the Perry case?”
Over sizzling chicken breasts and onion slices she told him first about the visit to Ben Allen. He remembered the name. “Hostile. The cop investigating him…”
“Eddie Ruiz.”
“Right. Eddie said he showed up with his lawyer first thing and started ranting about police brutality.”
“That’s him. Very big ego, has set himself up as the god of vulnerable people who worship him. So I went to see him, made up BS to get him to talk. Got those mushrooms ready?”
Alex did and turned with them, dumped them dripping into the hot skillet where they sizzled like fire crackers and made him grin. Chicken Stroganoff. They’d made this recipe together before.
“You’ve lost me,” he said, watching her stir. “Why’d you go to Allen in the first place? Nothi
ng stuck to him. Sasha faked his prescription, he claimed to know nothing and that was that.”
“I went because A – I’d never seen him, talked to him, and B – there are new things I just found out.” With tongs Kerri flipped a chicken breast, then another. “Mainly, when I saw that he taught at the U too…wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. It really starts with - remember I told you about that woman named Liddy who came in last night?”
“Partly. You passed me running to someplace.”
“Now I’m catching you up.” Kerri stirred the mushrooms and onions, simultaneously telling about Liddy Barron, her nightmares and apparitions all involving water in some form. “Instead of looney tunes, that hit home because we’d just seen Sasha’s photo of the Hudson she’d shared with Becca – and Liddy Barron’s husband owns a boat, docks it at the 79th Street Boat Basin. He’s a neuroscientist named Paul Barron. While researching him I found that his research partner is a dude named Carl Finn, new stop on the breadcrumb trail because - ta-dah! – Finn, Barron and Ben Allen all teach at the U, and they’re pals. On Allen’s wall there’s a photo of them whooping it up in front of Barron’s boat. I’ve got it in my cell phone, and the same pic’s on Carl Finn’s Facebook page. Think it’s time to turn down the heat?”
“Yes. I’m confused but continue.” Alex was laying out two places on the counter - knives, forks, napkins – as Kerri turned the heat lower, continued.
“Sorry if it’s coming out in a jumble, that’s where I need you to help me sort it out. So…from Ben Allen’s photo – which no cop would have noticed in June - we now have a connection between him, Sasha, and Carl Finn, who is also, conveniently for Sasha, an M.D. A ladies man too, which she may have found out fast. You should see his Facebook photos hugging lots of women.”
“A needy, pretty young thing. I’ll bet he adored her on sight.”
“What a thrill that would have been for her. A good-looking doc seeming to love and take care of her, she would have fallen madly for him, and trusted him…this is all guessing – my thoughts going wild.”
“Let ‘em, this is good.”
“It gets better. Finn’s in research not clinical practice, so off the radar aimed at regular docs re getting prescription drugs.” Kerri stirred again; turned another chicken breast. “So that’s my new theory: Allen sending Sasha on to Finn.”
“Like a party favor.”
“Funny you should say that, ‘cause after I left Allen it occurred that he liked Sasha a lot. Actually emoted about her, hence, a wrinkle in my theory – such as a love triangle? Jealousy? On the other hand Sasha may have gotten too needy for Finn, demanding and in the way because he was simultaneously romancing some rich lawyer who may have gotten wind of his little toy and dumped him, suddenly disappeared from his Facebook page, so Sasha had to go. Isn’t wildly confused wild guessing wonderful?”
“Yes. I gotta look up this Finn.”
The heat was lowered. Kerri scooped in fat free sour cream and medium dry sherry and stirred it all. Alex groaned that it looked so good his brain just quit, he couldn’t think on an empty stomach, so they opened the wine and sat and dug in, amid more groaning from Alex mimicking a porn movie over how good it was. “Healthy and luscious, oh God, oh God, I’m in heaven - make this often, bring it in to work?”
Kerri laughed and said yes.
But soon enough they got back to it, went through it all again, with Alex following the dots that Kerri had made. “So…Liddy Barron’s water nightmares led to her husband who led to Carl Finn. Curious how things sometimes come together.”
“Liddy came in because of yesterday’s TV conference.”
“Oh, right.” He was in his phone checking out Carl Finn online, in his Facebook pictures, then switching back to photos Kerri had shown him of Finn and Liddy Baron’s husband at their science gathering. Kerri had her phone out too, showing the photo of Allen, Barron, and Carl Finn before Barron’s boat.
Alex pointed to Paul Barron. “He isn’t an M.D.?”
“No, just Allen and Finn, though for sure Allen’s been extra careful doling out prescriptions knowing he’s being watched, and Sasha would have been wary of street dealers, online drugs. Who wouldn’t be if you had a friendly doctor?”
Kerri watched Alex frown at Carl Finn in close up. “Liddy Barron also claimed she sketched Sasha without ever having seen her. I saw the sketch, it was eerie - a match.”
“How could she not know who it was?”
Kerri told him about Liddy’s accident, her hospital stay coinciding with the news coverage of Sasha’s disappearance, and someone telling her maybe she saw the girl’s picture on the hospital TV, identified and remembered her sub-consciously.
“Got any room left?” she said. “I’ve got dessert.”
They moved to the couch where she was scooping vanilla ice cream onto apple pie when her phone buzzed.
She checked the readout with surprise. “What’s this?”
21
There was one lamp on in the bedroom. She wanted it that way because that’s how she felt: sad, full of dark shadows, lonely. This wasn’t healthy, going through old stuff, trying to figure what to throw out, what to pack, but Paul was working and it was on her list. Finish sorting, finish filling those Bekins boxes. What stays? What goes? Surely not this beat-up old sweatshirt – ha – the one she’d wanted to get and couldn’t that time Carl was trysting down in the berth and Paul didn’t want to disturb him.
No, that stayed, went into this box on the right because it was a reminder of an angry day. A wearable symbol of the resentment she felt for Carl and the hold he always had over Paul. It was stupid and passive, really: when she wore the damned sweatshirt Paul had no idea it was her way of silent protest, weak and mute but somehow a comfort. What difference would it make anyway if she complained? She had tried; Paul had thrown up his hands as if she wasn’t being fair; it had come to nothing. Funny how some old clothes can make you feel better.
Enough.
She started tossing things. Jeans really too far torn - out, into the box on the left. Ditto the ragged old Reeboks, the white T-shirt with the wine stain, the blue T-shirt with the VILLAGE DRUNK logo on it - why had she ever thought that was funny? The red T-shirt…
She stopped and stared at it. Blinked, held it up. In the shadowy end of the bed, it looked darker than she knew it was. She brought it to the head of the bed, sat again and touched its old fabric under the light. The stitching was frayed along the neckline, but the color was still as red as the day it was new. Red…red…she stared at it, remembering the red teddy bear of her dream. The soaking red teddy bear, swept away in the current with Sasha clinging to it.
Sasha. Her ear stud.
“Was I right about the teddy bear?” she had asked Kerri Blasco.
“Close. Very close,” the detective had smiled and said.
Liddy’s frustration returned over not being able to describe it. She had seen it and sketched it! Surely, somewhere in the recesses of her overburdened mind the stud was still there. She wanted to remember, really push to prove to herself that, despite everything, her mind still worked.
Small ball on top, bigger one below…kinda like a snowman. Right, stupid, a snowman in a red T-shirt.
Liddy raised her head; blinked. Something was coming. She stared at the closed curtain on the window as if it were a movie screen, and saw, focusing, not a snowman in a red T-shirt but… It focused further, and suddenly her heart took off because she had it, and jumped for her purse, found what she was looking for, then came back to the bed by the lamp and started punching her phone.
The other end picked right up. “Blasco.”
“Winnie the Pooh!” Liddy cried. Then half-stammered identifying herself and said it again. “It just came to me. The ear stud of the blond girl who passed us that day was Winnie the Pooh.”
“You’re sure?” Kerri said cautiously.
“Yes, yes, I had one as a kid, have been seeing his little red T-shirt without realizing,
obsessing about red in all sorts of crazy ways.” Pause to gulp air. “I don’t know if it helps, it’s just nice to know I haven’t totally lost my mind. I just…wanted to tell you.”
“You nailed it,” Kerri said quietly. Alex was by her on the couch. He’d been leaning on her but he straightened; got out his notebook.
Liddy sat hunched on the bed. Her surroundings had disappeared and her months of torment were now maybe explainable in the phone. “Why did I see her, can you tell me that? The news says no one else has, and out of the blue she comes to me? Why?”
“I wish I knew, Liddy. You did see her on television.” It was a still-cautious, trick comment.
“Not close enough to see any ear stud which she wasn’t wearing anyway! You said it wasn’t in any photos released.”
She’d nailed it again. Kerri glanced at Alex as Liddy went on, “It’s as if she’s sought me out for some reason. Why me? Please…help me understand her?”
Tell her, Alex scrawled fast.
Kerri did, speaking quietly. She knew Sasha’s story. Her heart pounded. This was something.
“The Winnie the Pooh ear stud was a gift from Sasha’s father, when she was fourteen. Her mother had died years before, and she loved her dad terribly. She was from a small town upstate, got a scholarship to NYU – which thrilled them – but when she came here her dad came too, saying he wanted the best for her but couldn’t bear being alone. He met a nice woman, married her, then died at the end of Sasha’s junior year. She took it horribly. Her stepmother said she’d worn the ear stud occasionally before that. Afterwards, she wore it a lot.”
Liddy listened, tears stinging. “So sad,” was all she could manage.
“Yes.”
Liddy voice felt strangled. “But if I saw her, she must be alive.”
Silence at the other end, and then: “But why would she give heartache to everyone who loved her? Her stepmother said she wouldn’t do that in a million years.”
“So did I see a ghost?” Liddy gripped her phone harder.
“I’ve got no answers. Except that your ID of the stud has me reeling. Who knows? Sometimes people have emotional breakdowns and just…lose it, go into hiding. Possibly Sasha is in your neighborhood for some reason. Thanks for calling, you’re a sweet soul. Please definitely call if anything else.”
Fear Dreams Page 8
