Black Is Back (Quentin Black Mystery #4)

by JC Andrijeski

  “This guy, Norberg... he made six calls to your cell phone in the two days leading up to his death.” He passed over a copy of the phone record. His voice carried more bite when he added, “...Of course, you probably weren’t aware of that, given your decision to go off-grid for the past few weeks. We got access to the messages he left and they were pretty... emotional. And accusatory. He also called your office an additional eight times in that same period. Again, I’m assuming you wouldn’t know that, either...”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, I shook my head. “I didn’t know. But I’m not surprised.”

  “You’re not?” Nick said.

  Glen held up a hand, indicating for Nick to back down.

  “Why would he be calling so much?” Glen said, turning back to me.

  I looked at Glen, then exhaled, combing my fingers through my hair. “Because Jeff Norberg had serious boundary issues.”

  “Meaning what?” Nick again, his voice still on the sharp side.

  Exhaling in impatience that time, I gave him a flat look. “Meaning, he had trouble with ‘no.’ He got angry if I wasn’t available to him 24/7, regardless of whether I was working or not, whether I was with another client... or even whether I was in the country. He would try to use all manner of psychological blackmail to get me to comply with what he wanted.”

  I leaned back in my chair; it let out a loud metallic squawk and jerked me back hard enough that I grabbed the edge of the table. I’d forgotten how old these chairs were.

  “...I tried to manage it, but I couldn’t,” I added, pulling myself upright with a thunk.

  “Is that why you dropped him as a client?” Nick said.

  I nodded. “Yes. I eventually gave him a referral to see a peer of mine.”

  “How long ago was that?” Nick said.

  “Six months ago.” Frowning, it occurred to me that I’d lost some time. “...Maybe seven. It was right after I got back from Bangkok. Maybe four, five days after.”

  “How did you try to manage it?” Glen said, drawing my eyes back to him. “Before you dropped him. How does a psychologist manage a situation like that with a client?”

  I sighed, rebalancing my weight on the chair.

  “I tried talking to him about it first. During that initial talk I warned him I was going to confront him more strongly from that point forward, every time he made an unreasonable demand or crossed a boundary I felt was inappropriate... or tried to manipulate me to get me to do as he wanted. I spent several weeks afterwards doing exactly what I told him I would do. I stopped him––often mid-sentence, to interrupt his narrative about why he had the right to do it. I would point out very clearly what he was doing, and I wouldn’t back down despite his denials or attempts to redirect. I explained to him that his lack of respecting other people’s boundaries was a large component of what brought him to my office in the first place...”

  “Which was what? What issue did he come see you about, doc?”

  I let out a humorless sound. “Stalking. He was being sued by one of the women he employed and eventually fired.”

  “They put him with a woman shrink when he’d been accused of stalking women?” Nick said, his voice holding disbelief.

  I nodded, glancing at him. “They do that sometimes. Sometimes it works, giving them a safe way to practice boundaries with someone trained to maintain theirs.”

  Nick grunted. “But you dumped him after Bangkok?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’d left over thirty, increasingly aggressive messages at my office in the week I was abroad. He’d also called my personal line, and I’d never given that number to him, which means he’d done something inappropriate to get it.”

  “What happened with the woman he stalked?” Glen said. “The other one?”

  I stared down at the table, frowning as I remembered.

  “She sued him, like I said––initially for harassment and wrongful termination. She also got a restraining order against him... again, for stalking, since he continued to harass her and her family even after he fired her. She alleged that the firing itself was retaliatory for her refusing to sleep with him. His company settled with her. Out of court, I believe. They made counseling a condition of Norberg keeping his seat on the board... for insurance reasons, I imagine.”

  Since Jeffrey Norberg was dead, I could pretty much tell them all of it.

  “Isn’t he married?” Glen said next, frowning as he glanced down at his file, as if suddenly remembering what was in it.

  I gave him a flat look. “You don’t work many stalking cases, do you, Glen?” I said.

  At Glen’s flinch, I sighed, taking another few swallows of coffee.

  “Sorry,” I said. “...And yes. Jeff Norberg was married. It came up a lot while we talked. He used his wife as a shield constantly, and as a reason why he couldn’t possibly have done what his ex-employee accused him of doing since his wife was physically attractive. I honestly think he saw counseling as nothing more than a shield, too. A further means of vindication against the woman who accused him and the judge and the cops for believing her.” I shrugged, placing my hand on the table with a sigh. “It was a pattern with him. Obviously. He wasn’t really open to feedback on his behavior towards me, either.”

  I met Glen’s gaze. “So I gave him a referral for a new doctor. On it, I strongly recommended he be put with male counselors only in future, at least until he’d begun to open up about what was really going on with him. I’d written him off, truthfully.”

  “Why?” Nick said.

  I gave him another flat look. “Because he didn’t want help, Nick. He didn’t seek therapy... he was forced into it. He genuinely didn’t think there was anything wrong with him.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Nick said, annoyed. “I meant why didn’t you follow up? File some kind of report?”

  “I handled it according to my job protocols, Nick. He hadn’t done anything illegal to me. Not yet.”

  Nick’d frown deepened.

  He seemed about to say something else, but Glen cut him off.

  “You’re saying he was some kind of sociopath?” he said, his voice measured.

  I looked at him, then shrugged. “Maybe. That word gets thrown around a lot, but I think it’s because a lot of people display aspects of it. There are other reasons a person might lack self-awareness, empathy and/or accountability. From the beginning I suspected he might suffer from narcissistic personality disorder, or NPD, which is on a spectrum with antisocial personality disorders that are often blamed for these behaviors.”

  I shrugged, glancing at Nick, who continued to frown at me.

  “...Either way,” I added. “He didn’t want my help. He wanted to play games. When I wouldn’t do that, I became another of those ‘bitches’ who needed to be put in her place. Any attempt to confront him or puncture the delusion that he was fine and everyone else was crazy just infuriated him. It caused him to escalate, not reassess, and he fed off the drama. The relationship became completely unworkable as a result. In the end, the only solution was no contact. I had to opt out of his game totally.”

  Still thinking, I added, “I think a male counselor would have had most of the same problems, truthfully... but a male counselor would also be less likely to be putting himself at risk of physical danger as a result, since Norberg’s specific issue was with women. They also would be able to monitor him for signs that his illness might be escalating.”

  Glen nodded, scribbling down notes on the yellow legal pad in front of him.

  He looked like he followed me just fine, and I felt a little guilty when I realized I’d been doc-speaking him, with a thread of underlying hostility I wasn’t proud of.

  Worse, I had no idea what that hostility even stemmed from.

  I liked Glen. I always had.

  “So what did he do when you terminated the relationship?” Glen said.

  That time, I answered in more of my normal voice, throwing up my hands.

  “Pretty much exactly wh
at you would expect,” I said, my frustration at Norberg coming out more directly. “He told me I was being ‘emotional’ and that I was directly harming his clinical program. He accused me of acting ‘unprofessional,’ ‘delusional’ and ‘crazy.’ He called a few of my colleagues to lie about me before he filed a formal complaint with the practice board. He told at least one of them we were sleeping together. He told a few others that I’d grown obsessed with him and was sexually harassing him. He claimed I’d shared his psychological history with people at his work. He claimed I’d threatened his wife. He found ways to falsify emails from me that hinted of illegal or highly unethical activity and forwarded those to colleagues, often with lines supposedly written by me that insulted or lied about those same colleagues. He photoshopped naked pictures of me and put them up on revenge-porn sites.”

  Hearing a disbelieving sound from Nick, I let out a humorless snort.

  “...Luckily, I know someone who fights against those sites, so I was able to get those down pretty quick. If it had continued much longer, I would have obtained a restraining order for the day-to-day harassment stuff. He called my personal and work phones at all hours of the day and night, claiming he was in ‘crisis’ and was considering suicide. When I referred him to a suicide hotline, he told me I was a cold, heartless bitch and that he’d destroy my career if it was the last thing he did.”

  Nick let out another incredulous sound. When I glanced at him, he was staring at me, his eyes holding disbelief. Glen raised a hand again to silence him.

  “Is it possible he would have gone through with an attempt?” Glen said. “At suicide?”

  I rolled my eyes––I couldn’t help it.

  “Highly doubtful. Of course, he probably would have faked an attempt, both to garner sympathy and to be able to log it in at the emergency room to prove emotional hardship for when he filed a lawsuit. I expected him to try something like that and then to sue me for malpractice or criminal negligence or something similar. He had the money and he was the type.”

  “You’ve dealt with this type before?”

  I nodded, exhaling again. “It’s been awhile, but yeah. Occupational hazard.”

  Glen glanced at Nick.

  I noticed only then that Nick was still staring at me, his expression bordering on angry. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this guy, Miri?” he said.

  I looked at him, pursing my lips.

  “Because it’s my job, Nick. I followed protocol... pretty much by the book. I kept my peers informed as soon as it was appropriate. The guy I referred him to, Dave Esterhaus, got copious notes from me following his initial assessment. He’s no rookie with this stuff. He had Norberg pegged as a possible narcissist with misogynistic tendencies within the first session, and I hadn’t even told him anything yet, since we both agreed Dave should evaluate him cold first. He told me Norberg had ‘agenda’ written all over him from the second he walked in the room. Esterhaus knew the guy was going to try and manipulate him to get at me. He told me Norberg was already feeling him out for what he might be able to get him to do to harm me by proxy... and that he’d already accused Dave of being a castrated stooge. I would never have referred him to someone who didn’t have the clinical experience and the maturity to see Norberg for what he was.”

  Nick nodded. That tenser thing in his eyes dimmed.

  Even so, I couldn’t help but think how similar his question had been to Black’s.

  I folded my arms on the table, copying Nick’s pose. “If he’d escalated into criminal behavior, believe me... you would have been first on my call list. Well,” I amended. “The police would have been. If it got to you guys first, chances are, it would have been someone else reporting it.”

  Glen chuckled.

  Nick’s eyes were completely humorless when I glanced up.

  “That’s not funny, Miriam,” he said.

  Glen’s smile faded. I felt his puzzlement when he glanced at Nick that time. Usually Nick could dark humor with the best of them. Like paramedics and ER nurses, it was pretty much a cop thing to whistle in the dark.

  Glen thought Nick was acting pretty weird, I could tell.

  Even as I thought it, Nick glanced at his partner. “Can you give us a minute, Frakes?”

  Glen hesitated, giving me a fleeting look. Then he nodded, rising to his feet.

  “Sure thing.”

  He left the manila file folder and his yellow legal pad on the table, within an arm’s length of me. I stared at the file, having to fight the impulse to slide it over to where I could look at it. Some of that was morbid curiosity, but Nick also mentioned wanting me to go with him to see the body, so I also wanted to prepare myself for what I was in for.

  I’ve never been overly fond of dead bodies.

  “Miriam,” Nick said, sliding over so that he took Glen’s seat, the one directly across from me. “Was this guy dangerous? To you, I mean. Did you... you know. Assess him the other way?”

  I met Nick’s gaze. “Of course. But it’s not always clear when someone’s just thinking about doing something and when they’re really going to act on it, Nick. You know that. A lot of people are just bluster. And most narcissists are cowards.”

  Nick nodded, but I could tell something still nagged at him.

  “What about motives for Norberg’s murder?” he said. “Any thoughts?”

  I gave him a puzzled look. “Do you have any suspects I could check out?”

  “No. Not as yet.” Still watching my eyes, he added, “We’ll check out the woman you mentioned of course... and her husband and any other people in her life who might have moved against him. But we don’t have a lot to go on at this point.”

  I nodded, but continued to watch his face. “Well, if your L.A. detective is right, you might not need to look hard for a motive.”

  “True,” Nick conceded.

  “Do you still want me to look at the body?”

  “Yes.” He looked away finally, blinking and nodding as if he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to ask me. His face hardened as he stared down at the table. “...Although I guess it might make more sense to have Black come in to look at it. For the merc thing... but for the other thing too, since you said a lot of this is new to you still. I’ve already floated the idea of bringing both of you in as possible consultants on this and the brass seemed okay with it. He’s a licensed P.I. with expertise in paid security, so it’s not completely out of bounds...”

  He hesitated again, looking at me.

  I could already feel the questions forming.

  “Jesus, Nick,” I said. “Not now, okay? Not here. We’ll talk about the rest of that stuff later, okay? This isn’t the time.”

  “When?” His frown returned, growing harder again. “The next time you and Black get dragged bodily out of his apartment after you decide to go all Tarzan and Jane again? Or should I just wait until one of you has another possible connection to a serial murderer?” Muttering, he massaged the back of his neck with a muscular hand. “...Not like that second one doesn’t happen to the two of you on a regular fucking basis.”

  Pressing my lips together, I didn’t answer at first. Then, looking up at his face, I sighed, realizing I wanted to clear the air too.

  “What about tonight?” I said.

  He jumped a little, looking at me in surprise. “Just you and me?”

  “Or you, me and Angel.”

  “But not Black,” Nick said, as if to clarify.

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I grunted, folding my arms. “You and Black don’t seem to play well together, Nick. I’d rather wait until you can be in the same room without threatening each other’s lives.”

  Nick didn’t even blink. “If you really want to go there, Miri, I might mention that you didn’t seem all that rational with Angel this morning, either. Or were you going to deny that you practically bit her head off just for laying a finger on your psychotic boy-toy?”

  I started to
answer, then didn’t, biting my lip.

  Watching my face, Nick grunted, subduing his voice. “You hurt her feelings, you know.”

  Biting my lip harder, I nodded, not looking up.

  Nick just stared at me for a moment, as if trying to decide if he should press it. Then he seemed to think better of that, too. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair, adjusting his weight. He made his voice neutral, if not exactly friendly.

  “Forget it. Dinner tonight sounds good. It’d be good to trade notes too... on the case, I mean, since we’ll be talking to Mozar and his partner later, and I’d like you there for that as well. Maybe we can combine the two. I’ll talk to Angel.”

  Folding his hands on top of the table, he leaned towards me.

  “Look. Back to now. You probably know I want you here for more than just to ask about Norberg... or even because this douchebag was stalking you. I’m hoping you can help point us in the right direction here, doc. With our current bad guy. Can you... you know... do that thing you do? Give us a place to start?”

  Sighing as I let the stuff around Nick and Black go, I held out my hands, gesturing in a sweeping motion that I only realized afterwards mirrored one of Black’s odd gestures. I tried to cover it, clasping my fingers on top of the table, but I saw Nick’s eyes watch me do it.

  “How, Nick?” I said, pulling his gaze back to my face. “I can’t read a corpse. You don’t have any suspects. How is it you think this works exactly?”

  “What about Black?” Nick said, his voice gruffer. “Guy’s a P.I. How would he normally do this? I assume he’s a bit more ‘liberal’ with his gifts than you are, from what you’ve said.”

  I thought for a few beats, then shrugged.

  “No idea. Why don’t you ask him? You said you were going to try and hire him anyway.”

  Nick scowled, but I could tell by the way he did it that he’d already more or less resigned himself to doing just that. He was still staring off to the side when he spoke again.

  “He didn’t like this either, did he?” he grunted. “With Norberg.”

  Sighing, I once more combed my fingers through my long hair. “No,” I said.