by Jason Starr
IT WAS almost four in the morning, about two hours since the shooting, and the Blooms’ house was still filled with cops. Dana and Marissa were in the downstairs den with Dana’s friends Sharon and Jennifer, who had come over during the commotion. Adam was at the dining room table, sitting across from Detective Clements, a weathered, gray-haired guy who reeked of cigarettes.
“So you saw Sanchez on the stairwell,” Clements said.
The cops had found a New York state driver’s license and other ID in the dead guy’s wallet and had learned that the victim was thirty-six-year-old Carlos Sanchez from Bayside, Queens. They’d already done a search on Sanchez and discovered that he was a career criminal with a long rap sheet and had been released six months ago from Fishkill, where he’d been serving a sentence for multiple drug-dealing convictions. Adam had already described everything that had happened prior to the shooting at least once, but Clements was still digging for details.
“Well, I didn’t see him,” Adam said. “I saw a figure. You know, a shadow.”
Adam was exhausted, so out of it that it was hard to focus. The whole night seemed surreal—the nightmare about the giant black rat, waking up, the shooting, and now sitting here with this detective. He knew it would take a while before he could process and accept what he’d done. Meanwhile, he had a splitting headache, and three Advils hadn’t made a dent.
“Yet you could tell it was a man,” Clements said.
“Yes,” Adam said. “I mean, I heard the noise from downstairs, him coughing or clearing his throat or something. There was no doubt it was a guy. My wife and daughter heard it, too.”
“And then you shot him.”
“No, it didn’t happen that quickly. I mean . . .” He had to think; for a moment he actually couldn’t remember what had happened, the exact sequence of events. It was all blurry, disorganized. Then he said firmly, “I didn’t just shoot him. I saw him make a move first, like he was going for a gun.”
“Did you see a gun?”
“I thought I did, yes.” He felt uncomfortable, like Clements was trying to catch him in a lie. “I mean, I could see his arm. He was coming up the stairs and I was afraid any second he’d start shooting. Look, what was I supposed to do? The guy was in my house, coming up the stairs, and my wife and daughter were in the bedroom. I didn’t have any choice.”
“Did you give him any warning?” “What do you mean?”
Adam had heard the question; he just wasn’t sure how to answer it. He was also getting frustrated by the discussion in general.
“Did you tell him you had a weapon and did you ask him to drop his?” Clements asked.
“No, but I told him to get the hell out of my house, or something like that.” “And how did he respond?”
Adam remembered that the guy had said something, started to speak, might have said, “Please, don’t—” Adam hadn’t told Clements about this because he didn’t see the point. What difference did it make either way?
“I don’t think he said anything,” Adam said, “but, look, that part happened very fast. I thought he was about to start shooting, he was in my house. Why? I had a right to defend myself, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did,” Clements said.
“Then why do I feel like you’re interrogating me?” “I’m not interrogating you, I’m questioning you.” “What’s the difference?”
Clements almost smiled, then said, “Look, I don’t think you have anything to worry about legally, all right, Dr. Bloom? You were in a tough situation and you did what you had to do. You got B and E and, yeah, that gives you the right to protect yourself. As long as your gun license checks out I don’t think you’ll have a problem. But I just gotta say, it’s a good thing you’re not a cop.” He turned a page in his pad, then asked, “What about the other intruder?”
“What about him?”
“Him. You said that before, too. How do you know it was a guy?”
Adam thought about it for a moment—it was still hard to think clearly— and said, “I guess I don’t know that. I just figured it had to be two guys.”
“But when you fired your gun you were unaware there was a second intruder.”
“Correct,” Adam said.
“So I guess that’s why you spent a whole clip, huh? You didn’t think you had to save any bullets for anybody else?”
Clements had already raised this issue of why Adam had fired ten shots, and Adam had explained that he’d done it because he wasn’t sure he’d hit the guy, that he was just trying to defend himself. But Adam didn’t like how Clements was bringing it up again, like he was trying to get to the bottom of something. “I just wanted to make sure I . . .” Adam was going to say “killed him” but
modified it to “—got him before he got me.”
Clements, shaking his head while looking at the pad, said, “It’s a good thing you’re not a cop, Doc. It’s a good thing you’re not a cop.”
Adam had had enough. He asked, “Is it okay if we pick this up later, or in the morning? I’m exhausted and my head’s killing me and I’ve been through a lot tonight, obviously.”
“I understand, but there’re still a few things I need to be clear about, okay?” Adam breathed deeply, then said, “For instance?”
“For instance,” Clements said, “the issue of how exactly the intruders got into the house.”
They’d been through this already, too, at least a couple of times. The police had found no visible signs of a break-in, but both the back door in the kitchen and the front door had been unlocked, and the alarm system had been disarmed. Adam had told Clements that he was positive that he’d set the alarm before he went to bed, the way he did every night.
“Didn’t we cover all of this already?” Adam asked.
Acting like he didn’t hear this, Clements said, “Are you sure you locked and chained the front door before you went to sleep?”
“Yes,” Adam said.
“Is it possible you went out, or your wife or daughter went out, maybe to take out the garbage or something, and forgot to—”
“No, I was the last one to go to bed last night, and I chained the door. I always lock and chain it if I’m the last one to go to sleep, it’s part of my nightly routine. I make sure the gas is off in the kitchen, lock all the doors, set the alarm, and go to bed.”
“So assuming all this is correct, the other intruder must’ve unlatched the chain on the front door on his way out of the house.”
“That has to be what happened,” Adam said. “I heard the front door slam.” “So that means the intruders likely entered the house through the backdoor.”
“Yes,” Adam said, squeezing the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension.
“And are you positive you set the alarm and no one else disarmed it after you set it?”
“I’m positive.”
“But the alarm wasn’t set when we arrived, is that correct?”
“If the alarm was set the guy,”—Adam caught himself—“the person would’ve tripped it on the way out.”
“That seems to make sense,” Clements said. “So who—” “I have no idea,” Adam said.
Clements glared at Adam, seeming irritated that he’d been cut off, then continued, a little louder, “So who except you and your family know the code to the alarm?”
“No one else knows it,” Adam said.
“Did you ever give anyone the code, on any occasion?” “No.”
“Did you ask your wife or daughter—”
“You asked them directly, and they said no, didn’t they?” “Now I’m asking you.”
“Asking me what? If my wife and daughter lied to you?” “Or weren’t being entirely truthful.”
“What’s the difference?”
Clements was smiling sarcastically, like he was enjoying the exchange, but Adam stayed deadpan.
“They didn’t tell anyone the code,” Adam said. “No one told anyone the code.”
“Sorry to play devil’s advoc
ate, Dr. Bloom, but unless Houdini robbed your house, somebody got ahold of that code.”
“Maybe it was stolen,” Adam said, “from the alarm company. Maybe they hacked into the system or something.”
“We’ll explore that possibility,” Clements said, “but nobody stole a set of keys from the alarm company. Did you or anyone in your family loan a set of keys to anyone?”
“I already told you, we only have three sets of keys to the house and one spare set, and the spare set is still where it always is.”
“Maybe someone got access to the keys. A worker in the house?”
Adam thought for a moment, then said, “We had some painting done a few weeks ago, but those guys had nothing to do with this.”
“Your wife gave me the names of the painters, the electrician, your maid, your gardener. Can you think of anyone else we should check out?”
“No,” Adam said.
“I noticed the keys to the back door weren’t Medecos or ones that couldn’t be easily duplicated,” Clements said, “What I mean is they looked like normal keys.”
“Yeah?” Adam asked. “So?” His eyelids were heavy, and he felt like he could pass out at any moment.
“So it’s possible somebody could’ve duplicated the keys at some point,” Clements said.
“It’s possible,” Adam said, “but no one knows where we keep the spare keys.”
Clements turned a page, then said, “Your wife told me you’d been planning to go away to Florida for several days, right?”
“That’s right,” Adam said, “to visit my mother.” “You canceled the trip because of a storm?”
“That’s right. We heard there was a tropical storm off the coast down there. They said it could turn into a hurricane and might hit Florida, so I thought we might as well go some other time.”
“When did you decide not to go?”
Adam thought about it for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck again, then said, “Two days ago.”
“Who knew you changed your plans?”
“Nobody,” Adam said. “I mean, I had to notify a few patients, to reschedule appointments, and I guess Dana and Marissa told a few people, but we didn’t take an ad out in the paper.”
Clements, not amused, asked, “Do you ever have any patients who are prone to violence?”
Adam immediately thought of Vincent, a patient he’d been seeing for about a month who’d told him about how he’d beaten up some guy during a bar fight a few weeks ago. There was also Delano, a guy in his forties, who had stabbed his brother—nonfatally—when he was a child.
“Yes,” Adam said, “I have a few.” “Has anyone threatened you lately?”
“No,” Adam said. “Actually I’ve rarely if ever had any situations like that. I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist. If I have a patient who shows signs of that kind of volatility I’ll refer him elsewhere.”
“So I guess you’re pretty good at that, huh?” Clements said. “Telling if somebody’s volatile or not?”
Adam wasn’t sure why Clements was asking this—whether there was any point to it or he was just trying to be a wiseass.
“I think I am pretty good at it, yes,” Adam said.
“Then maybe you’re in the wrong profession,” Clements said, “maybe you should be doing my job.” He smirked, then asked, “Does your daughter have friends over?”
“Of course,” Adam said. “She lives here.”
“Is there any drug or alcohol use in the house?” “Excuse me?”
Adam didn’t like where this was going.
“Sanchez had multiple priors on drug charges. Perhaps your daughter was an acquaintance of Sanchez’s, or a client of his.”
“There’s no way she knew that guy, okay?”
“Maybe she has a friend, or a friend of a friend, or someone she may have invited into the house, someone who knew the place, who could’ve—”
“My daughter had nothing to do with this.” “Dr. Bloom, I’m only—”
“And she has no friends who’d steal a key or rob a house. Her friends are all normal, nice kids, just like her.”
“I noticed the bong in her room, Dr. Bloom.” Again this felt like more than “routine questions.” “What’re you trying to say?” Adam asked.
“I’m trying to figure out how the intruders got into your house.”
“Yeah, that’s funny, because it sounds like you’re trying to say something else. My daughter had nothing to do with this, okay, so let’s leave her out of it.”
Clements seemed unconvinced, but he asked, “What about your relatives?”
“What about them?”
“Any animosity in the family? Anybody with a grudge?”
Adam thought about Dana and her brother, Mark, the manic-depressive. They were on bad terms and hadn’t spoken in years, but Mark lived in Milwaukee and obviously had nothing to do with any of this, so Adam didn’t see the point in even mentioning it.
“No,” he said. “Nothing like that. This had nothing to do with my family.
Zero. Zilch. Nada.”
Clements closed his pad—finally—and said, “That should do it for now. But I want you to think about who could’ve gotten ahold of the keys and the code to the alarm. Right now this does seem to have all the makings of some kind of inside job. Not only did the person, persons, have access to the house, they also seemed to know the house very well. I mean, they knew you didn’t have a chain on the back door and they could enter that way, so it seems like at least one of the perps had been in the house before. Maybe he was a repairman or a plumber, a mover, he delivered a rug, something like that. So if you can think of any times when someone could’ve had access to the key and the alarm code, can you let me know as soon as possible?”
“I’ll let you know right away,” Adam said, standing up.
“I’m gonna have to talk to your wife and daughter again now,” Clements said.
“Are you kidding me?” Adam said.
“It won’t take long, but I need to talk to them.” “Why can’t it wait till—”
“Because it can’t, all right?” His tone left no room for discussion.
Adam and the detective went out to the living room, where Dana and Marissa were sitting on the couch, across from Sharon and Jennifer. Being around Sharon, especially when Dana was in the same room, was always awkward for Adam to say the least.
About five years ago, when Adam and Dana were having serious marital problems, Sharon and her husband, Mike, were also having trouble in their marriage. Sharon called Adam one day at work and asked if she could come by his office for some advice. Adam said that would be fine and arranged to see her at seven o’clock, his last appointment of the day, when the other therapists were out of the office. Adam gave Sharon some informal marital counseling, and then he hinted that things weren’t going so well in his own marriage. He knew exactly what he was doing—exposing his own vulnerability as a way of letting Sharon know that he was interested in her—and he already knew that she was attracted to him, because she had been flirty with him for years. They commiserated with each other about their marriages for a while, and then Sharon confessed that she’d often fantasized about “something happening” between her and Adam. Adam, who counseled people having affairs practically every day, knew that getting involved with Sharon would be a huge mistake and could create a rift in his own marriage that would be impossible to repair. But knowing what to do and actually doing it are two very different things. He was as human as anyone else and had been flattered by the interest from another woman and simply couldn’t resist her.
They only had sex that one time, on the therapy couch. There were no ethical issues because he wasn’t actually treating Sharon, but he didn’t want to get into a full-blown affair with her or deal with the pain and drama that would inevitably follow, so he wisely told her—and she agreed—that they had to consider this a one-time thing and go on with their lives. She wound up working things out with her husband, and Dana and Adam
went into counseling and managed to improve their marriage—well, for the most part. Adam still felt there were serious underlying problems in their relationship, mainly a lack of closeness, and he considered confessing the affair to Dana. Normally he advised his patients to confess infidelity because he believed it was the only way to truly heal and reestablish closeness and trust in a marriage. But in this case, because he didn’t feel any emotional involvement with Sharon, he decided that confessing the affair would only hurt Dana and do more harm than good. So instead he worked on exploring his reasons for the affair and developed strategies for becoming a better husband. While he regretted what he’d done, he refused to blame Dana or himself. Marriage had ups and downs, and his minor lapse had hardly been atypical. He had done the best he could under the circumstances, and if he got into a similar situation in the future he would try to make a better decision.
He would have preferred to cut off contact with Sharon completely, but, of course, this was impossible. They often saw each other around the neighborhood or at parties, and Sharon and Dana were good friends, and so were Marissa and Sharon’s daughter, Hillary. Adam and Mike occasionally played golf together at Adam’s country club and got along well. Sharon and Adam were always friendly with each other but, although they avoided discussing the affair, there was a simmering attraction between them that would probably be there for the rest of their lives.
Detective Clements asked Marissa if she’d come with him into the dining room.
Marissa, looking exhausted, asked, “Again?”
“It’s okay,” Adam said, glaring at Clements. “It won’t take long.”
When Marissa and Clements left, Dana said to Sharon and Jennifer, “You two should go home now, it’s late.”
“Are you sure?” Sharon asked. “Because if you want us to stay—” “No, it’s okay, really. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”
“I know,” Jennifer said, “we’ll bring over bagels and coffee in the morning.” “You don’t have to do that,” Dana said.
“No, we want to,” Sharon said.
Sharon and Jennifer took turns hugging Dana and then came over and hugged Adam. Trying not to notice the very familiar scent of Sharon’s perfume and how it was starting to give him an erection, Adam said, “Thanks so much for coming.”
