by Ann Raina
"Good Lord, that's indeed exaggerating the facts!" Oliver shook his head. "My, he's a liar."
"So we concentrate on getting Julian out, okay? No admitting that Chris almost stumbled to his car."
"Right, I got that." He glanced at her, more careful to keep the car on the lane. "But what about Mr. van Meers? I mean, he walked his dog and though I think that this little creature saw more than he did, he's still a witness."
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." She coughed and wiped her face. "I feel like shit. Let's hope it doesn't take too long."
Palmentry was the only mental health institute which took up criminals as well as respectable citizens. New drugs had ruined more people's mental stability than any other disease and the institute had recently built a new wing to cope with the growing number of men and women coming in for treatment. Only doctors and nurses of high reputation were employed at Palmentry and the institute was praised for its effective work. Even celebrities from other cities claimed to have been treated back to health at the large, white building, which towered amid the soft greens of the northern Boston suburbs.
Oliver stepped on the break hard enough to shake Kyra. "Sorry," he mumbled, put the gear into the park position and switched off the lights. The afternoon had turned dark quickly and the heavy gray sky announced snow. "I'm not at my best here, Kyra, and I really, really don't think it's a good idea to take me with you."
She put a hand on his arm, urging him to look at her. He sweated badly now. "Oliver, I need you to stand to this. I need you clearheaded and ready. If we don't get him out today I don't know what will happen to him. Do you understand that? Oliver, please, what's freaking you? I'm frightened, too, but that's…" She was at a loss and even more when Oliver grimaced as if in pain.
"Kyra…I tell you this and beg you to keep it to yourself." She nodded. "And don't ever ask me again about it." She nodded again. "I had a friend once. Long time ago. He got into trouble and was arrested. He was a good friend and he wrote to me and ask me to visit him, for he was alone. And I…I just never found the time. Business, family, the whole stuff. I just didn't make it to the prison. And then…just two months later, I got a note from a lawyer. He wrote that my friend had died in prison and had left me quite a sum of money. You know, he made me his heir and I hadn't even fucking once visited him! Do you know how I felt?" Kyra felt goosebumps all over his body. It was a bad time for confessions, but she nodded, close to tears. "You know how hard it was to speak to the lawyer and explain who I was? And he knew that I hadn't been there." Oliver shook his head and took a deep breath. "See, and today I drive you here to help your friend and I feel guilty all over again for not doing the same for my friend. Just a visit, Kyra. He didn't ask for anything! Just a visit."
Kyra swallowed. Drowning in tears would not help now, but she took off her seatbelt and embraced Oliver. "You are a good friend, Oliver. A very good friend. You did not know."
Oliver returned the embrace then, suddenly let go. "We should go." He left the car, took the bag with Julian's spare clothes and Kyra followed on shaky legs. They took each other's hand, reassuring, giving confidence. "What are we to do?"
"I called the officer in charge, a Sergeant Brideman. He'll be here. And I hope that my father kept his promise." They entered the exclusively decorated hall with a counter in its center, larger than Kyra's house plus garden. She felt intimidated by the size and height. It was like entering a castle if there had not been the smell of antiseptics and floor polish. Oliver beside her almost cringed with discomfort. "Get a grip," she hissed. He nodded, swallowing visibly. Kyra introduced herself to the young woman behind the counter and was sent to the second floor to be received by the sergeant.
"Let's hope he's a friendly guy." Oliver let go of her hand when they reached the room. He held the door for her and told her with a look that he would do all he could. Everything would be okay. In an hour. Maybe. Kyra swallowed, straightened and walked inside.
The room was small, furnished with white tables and cozy looking chairs in a soft shade of blue. A small table with glasses, cups and coffee as well as water and juice stood to the left. Sergeant Brideman was the only person waiting. He turned from the large window, gave her a quick smile and came to shake hands. He was tall, solidly built with a tendency to become soft around the middle, and a friendly, clean shaven face. His short hair turned already gray though he could hardly be forty. He smelled of stale smoke, and the bulge of his uniform pocket told of a pack of cigarettes and lighter.
"Officer Pisetti already gave me a summary of the incidents at your house. Please…" He pointed to the chairs. They sat down. Oliver brought two glasses and the pitcher with water. A coffee mug stood in front of Brideman, but he did not drink. "I would like to know in your words what happened when Mr. Balfour came to your house."
Kyra told him, but left out how grim the brawl had been. "Mr. Bithrell finally managed to push him out. Mr. Balfour walked to his car and left."
Sergeant Brideman nodded. He had taken down notes on his small notepad, latest edition as Kyra noticed, and let the words hang for a moment before he turned to Oliver. "You watched the fight?"
"No, sir, I did not." Oliver sipped water, put down the glass and only when the sergeant lifted his brows, did he continue. "I stood on my porch and watched when Mr. Balfour came to the path leading to the sidewalk."
"Did Mr. Balfour appear healthy?"
Kyra held her breath and coughed immediately. She drank water, searched for a handkerchief and blew her nose. She gave Oliver time to collect his wits. "He had fallen on his knees when Mr. Bithrell had pushed him. Then he got up, said something to Mr. Bithrell and Ms Jennings, which I did not hear then turned and walked to his car."
"He walked? Not staggered, stumbled or went on all fours?"
"No, sir."
"What did Mr. Bithrell do?"
"He stood on the threshold."
"The whole time?"
"Yes, sir."
"He did not follow Mr. Balfour?"
"No, sir."
"He did not threaten him with…more punches or else?"
"No, sir."
Sergeant Brideman took a deep breath, chewed his lower lip and sipped coffee before he groped for his pack. "May I smoke?"
"Yes." Kyra leaned back on the chair to be away from the quickly rising smoke.
"Mr. Balfour reported that he was forced into a fight with Mr. Bithrell, who hit him hard enough that he hardly made it to his car, which was parked at the curb." He frowned through another cloud of smoke. He squinted at Kyra, "Has Mr. Bithrell offered violence before? Against you or other person?"
"No. At least not in a way that caused harm."
"Explain that, please."
"We had an incident at my shop, but it was quickly settled."
"Because you or someone else stepped in between and ended the fight?"
"It was no fight. Just the male way of finding out who's top dog."
"Oh." Brideman smiled over the corner of his mouth. He pulled the ashtray to his place. "Aside from that he has been peaceful?"
"Yes." Kyra's heart raced. She knew that the next question would be about the burglary. And she was right.
"Did you know that the burglar, who invaded your house, was injured by Mr. Bithrell?"
"I know, but he injured that man in self-defense. No charges were pressed."
"I know that." The smile vanished. "But you agree that Mr. Bithrell is capable of hurting other people?"
"Pushed to a limit everybody is. Even me. I shot the burglar on my porch."
The sergeant held her stare for a moment, a silent duel of intellect. Brideman gave a small shrug, which could mean everything and nothing, and Kyra settled down more comfortably. Brideman was on their side. "Your statement is that Mr. Balfour came to your house and did not leave when you ordered him to. He also tried to harm you."
"That's correct. I asked him twice to leave, but he refused to go. Instead he came up to me and I was afraid."<
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"Mr. Balfour was your boyfriend."
"Until four months ago. He has not stopped following me since."
"You did not press charges against him."
"Because I hoped that he would be an understanding grownup and leave me alone. Today's incident told me that he's neither grownup nor understanding or willing to give in."
"Hmm." Sergeant Brideman consulted his notes again. "Mr. Balfour dropped charges an hour ago." He looked up. "Do you have anything to do with it?"
"He obviously came to his senses." Kyra blew her nose again. "Sergeant Brideman, did you check with the hospital Mr. Balfour drove to?"
"I did." Brideman put out the cigarette and drank coffee. Oliver sighed silently. He could not stand smoke the least. "The ER crew told me that they treated Mr. Balfour, but he had no internal injuries and the scratches, bruises and bleeding nose were not harmless, but not life threatening either." The small smile was back. "You are probably right, he came to his senses."
"Thank you for telling me."
"Then tell me one more thing. Did you order Mr. Bithrell to fight against Mr. Balfour?"
"When Mr. Balfour did not leave on my polite request I…I did not know what to do. Honestly, I feel pretty bad and I don't know what Mr. Balfour was up to. I wanted him out of the house, so, yes, you could say that I asked Mr. Bithrell for help."
"And his help was to fight Mr. Balfour."
"Mr. Balfour started the fight the moment Mr. Bithrell touched his shoulder. Like I said, he wasn't willing to leave."
"Very well." Sergeant Brideman ended his notes and stuffed the notepad back into the other breast pocket. "Since the charges were dropped, Mr. Bithrell's release from Palmentry was initiated, but Doctor Celinski wants to have a word with you." Kyra sighed deeply and Brideman's smile was all soothing and kind. "I'm sure it's just some formalities to clear up." He stood and shook her hand. "I hope you continue participating in the convict program. I read the article in the Boston Herald. I'm impressed. People like you are needed to help delinquents back into life."
Kyra did not know what to say. "That's…that's flattering, really." She claimed back her hand. "It's kind of you to tell me."
"The praise is earned." He nodded his head toward the adjacent room. "You take really good care of Mr. Bithrell."
"I hope he will be released today." She made it a half question and the sergeant shrugged.
"Charges were dropped so there's no reason from my side to keep him here. Talk with the doc." He said goodbye to Oliver and Kyra and left the room.
Oliver slumped back into the chair and wiped his brow. "Oh, my God, I'm so glad he didn't ask more questions. One more yes, sir, no, sir, and I would've puked."
"You did very well," Kyra praised him and sneezed. She squeezed his arm. "Thanks for coming, Oliver, I wouldn't have made it without you."
"Now, don't over egg the cake. I was mere decoration."
"No, that's not true. A witness is a witness."
"Is a witness, yes. But Chris already dropped charges so that sergeant was just making sure Julian wasn't the bruiser he thought he would be."
"Maybe." The door opened again and a short, round man in a white frock entered the room. His hands were stout as well as everything else on him. Head, neck, paunch. Even the glasses, which slipped down his nose, were round. "Doctor Celinski, I suppose?"
"Yes, and you're Ms Jennings, here for Mr. Bithrell?" He put a file on the table, asked for Oliver to introduce himself then nodded curtly and sat down. "I don't want to make this too hard or long for you, Ms Jennings. I see you're sick and should be in bed rather than here. So let me tell you this." His face, framed by very short gray hair, was very earnest now. "You want Mr. Hartford to listen?" Kyra nodded. "Mr. Bithrell was brought here today and was examined by a colleague and me. We both come to the same conclusion." A pause followed. He pushed back his glasses, checked with the notes in the file and looked back up. "The patient was extremely agitated when he arrived. He resisted my staff and had to be restrained before any examination could take place." He stared at Kyra who cringed on the seat. Oliver took her hand and she clung to it for support. "He did not cooperate in any way and he refused to answer questions concerning his health and former diseases."
"You see…"
"Let me finish, Ms Jennings. For a convict, who has got no record of being in an institute like ours he was not reacting accordingly. We did not offer violence or threats, Ms Jennings, so there is the question of his behavior pattern in general."
"Be assured that his behavior has been flawless so far." Kyra felt anger seep into her words and tried to correct it. "Mr. Bithrell has lived at my house for three months by now and he has not offered violence in any form."
"Nevertheless, his behavior pattern is not entirely stable."
"Not entirely stable? Glad to hear you tell me these things, but who would be stable and calm and cooperative when brought here on the base of false accusations? I understand that he was agitated. He had done nothing wrong."
"There was a severe and brutal fight at your house, I was told. And I was told that he caused it."
"There was a fight, but it was not like Mr. Balfour claimed it to be. So can I take Mr. Bithrell out of here? Now?"
"Do you have an ESG at your home?"
The question startled her. "Yes, I have an ESG, why?"
"In a case of emergency it should not be far away from you."
Oliver bent across the table. "Are you telling her that Mr. Bithrell might be violent?"
Celinski blinked at Oliver, indicating that he did not like a mere listener ask questions. "I just said that his behavior fluctuates. He might be peaceful and reasonable in one moment and violent the next. Men like him are able to behave themselves for a long time, but no one can predict their behavior when the situation changes. He might become violent again."
"Thank you." Kyra stood and urged Oliver to do the same. "Where do I find Mr. Bithrell?"
"Due to his behavior I advised caution," Doctor Celinski said, still earnest. He pushed back the glasses again. "The safety of my staff has to be guaranteed at all times."
"Which means you tied him down?" Kyra felt goosebumps spread over her body. She wanted this day over. Fast. She looked at Oliver, and he nodded.
"I'll help." He took the bag, and they waited for Doctor Celinski to show the way.
CHAPTER 18
The walk through the many floors gave Oliver and Kyra the creeps. The light yellow painted walls were decorated with paintings, the floor carpeted in brown with yellow patterns matching the walls. However, nothing distracted from the electronically locked doors or the guards who patrolled each corridor. Oliver's hand around hers was slick with sweat. He almost freaked out when he heard a patient scream in one room and only Kyra's firm squeeze kept him from running. She saw the pulse in his neck, fast, so unbelievably fast. Sweat poured down his temples and he swallowed again. The doctor never stopped or waited or turned to them and they had to hurry to the elevator through the next long floor, which looked not so nice anymore and finally to a closed section. Cameras controlled the area in front and behind the locked gates and all personnel were armed with clubs and an electronic stunner. Kyra had seen these devices while working for the police. Once pressed to a person their body went limp in a flash. She shuddered and Oliver's suppressed whimper did nothing to ease her strain. A guard opened the fence, greeting the doc. They passed through and, when the doc halted in front of a padded cell, Kyra's heart sank to her knees.
"You keep him locked up like this?" she whispered. Oliver pressed the bag in her hand and stepped back.
Celinski raised his brows. "For his security and ours."
"Open the door."
He waited a minute until two guards arrived then opened the door. Kyra stepped in first, the guards came up close behind. She looked left and found Julian sitting on the ground in the rearmost corner of the small room, which smelled of the foam used in the thick mattresses covering floor and wall
s. Julian had drawn up his legs and tried to hide his face against the wall. She could see his feet bound by leather restraints and, when she crouched to touch his hands, found them covered and bound by a belt to his waist. "Julian?" He looked up, but there was no one home. She was used to the liveliness and sparkling of his eyes, but now they were just brown eyes. Like those of a teddy--beautiful but empty. "Julian." She caressed his temple, tears trickling down her cheek. Her chest was tight with emotion. "Please, Julian, look at me." His hair was tousled, his face pale and sweaty. He parted his lips as if searching for words, which did not come. She turned to the guards. "What did you do with him? He's totally unresponsive."
"A mild sedative, Ms Jennings," said the doctor. "I told you…"
"Your security, yeah. And the shackles were needed, too?" Celinski nodded, conveying that his staff had handled a total lunatic. She turned back, cupped Julian's face with both hands and searched his eyes for a spark of recognition. "Do you know what's happening? I've come to take you home. With me."
He wet his lips. "Kyra."
She nodded, glad to have woken him from the place his mind had fled. She did not want to imagine what he had gone through in just five hours. What would have happened if she had not come immediately? Better not think about it. She felt sick and also angry. A bad combination, making her heart beat frantic.
"You're here for me?"
"Yes. You'll be released."
"I can go?"
"Yes." Kyra felt the fine hair of her neck stand on end. This was unnerving. What would a heavy sedative have done to him? Knocked him out flat for a day? "I brought you clothes. No, Oliver thought of them. I was too headless to think." She sneezed. "See, I only brought my cold with me." She turned to see the guards stand at the ready, watching her. "Take off the cuffs so that he can dress."
They checked with the doctor and, only when he gave his okay did they open the shackles. Kyra swallowed angry words and clenched her teeth hard enough that they hurt. She hated Chris that moment. She hated him strong enough to drive up to his house and use any weapon handy to beat sense into him. If he had been close the fight would have been inevitable.
