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  “Randi?”

  “Doctor Conway.”

  “You’re on a first-name basis now?”

  Walker stood up. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

  CHAPTER 20

  That evening, as she pulled off the parkway and turned her car onto High Ridge Road, Randi Conway was still preoccupied with the anonymous notes, worrying once more if she should mention them to Walker. She had spoken with Bob Stratford and his advice had remained the same—she needed to protect the rights of her patients. Even if the police might seek a court order forcing her to divulge information confided to her by Elizabeth Knoebel, Stratford warned her to keep the faith for the time being. Only then did she tell him about the notes and, although he expressed his concern, his position remained unchanged.

  “Meet with Detective Walker, hear what he has to say, but be careful.”

  “Careful of Walker?”

  “In a way, yes,” he said, then filled her in on what he had been told by his friend Chief Gill about Walker’s New York City background, his brash style, and his tendency to break rules when he saw fit.

  So, on the way to the restaurant, Randi found herself thinking about Anthony Walker, faintly amused at his clumsiness in asking her to dinner, suspicious of his motives, and reluctantly curious about seeing him again.

  She drove on into the rainy night and, in her mild state of distraction, failed to notice the sedan that was following her, less than a hundred yards behind.

  Walker was at the bar when he spotted Randi entering the restaurant. He watched as she stopped at the hostess desk. When she removed her coat, he was pleased to see that she was dressed in a silky, maroon blouse and black skirt, nothing festive exactly, but something she probably had not been wearing on a Saturday in the office. She certainly is tall, it occurred to him again.

  It also occurred to him that he had not had a date for months, not since he went out with the attractive divorcee who ran dispatch in Norwalk Police Headquarters. He was working on a case with her department, and one afternoon she offered up a provocative look that led to a suggestive conversation that led to dinner and ultimately to bed. It was fun, and neither of them had any complaints, but there were no repeat performances, since they both realized they were a lousy match. He had generally done all right with women, so he knew there was no point forcing the issue when things are not a good fit. Even in the face of a relatively long dry spell, he told himself there would always be someone else to meet.

  Even if he didn’t believe it.

  He had always been a one-woman guy and years ago, when he met Mary, he figured he had found his mate for life. He took the marriage seriously and his split-up hard. He did his best to get over it, trying to convince himself that everyone is entitled to a mistake, even a big one like that. But his experiences with women since then had ended up as one-night stands, or two or three at best. Women seemed to like him well enough, and he knew his way around the bedroom, but the reviews he got were usually the same—he was damaged goods, emotionally distant, unready or unwilling to have another go at real commitment. Those brief encounters generally concluded with the same final scene—a kiss on his cheek and the offer to have him call again, but only when he was ready to have a real relationship.

  Who was he to argue?

  Tonight was not really a proper date, he reminded himself again, but he was looking forward to it all the same, and he felt glad when Randi looked in his direction and smiled.

  He stood up, polished off what remained of his bourbon, and walked toward her.

  “Detective Walker,” she said as she extended her hand.

  If she was at all nervous about meeting with him, there was no evidence of that in her warm grip. He said, “Look, if we’re going to have dinner, the least you can do is call me Anthony.”

  Randi smiled. “Are you buying?”

  “I am,” he said.

  “All right then, Anthony it is. At least for this evening.”

  “Okay if I call you Randi?”

  She gave him a look that told him the bashful act wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Right,” he said. “They’re ready for us.”

  They were shown to a corner table. The waiter removed the card marked ‘RESERVED,’ then held Randi’s chair for her. Walker asked if she would like a cocktail.

  “I think I’ll have some wine with dinner,” she said.

  Walker wanted another bourbon but resisted the notion. “White or red?”

  “Let’s start with white.”

  “Start with, huh? I like that.” Before she could respond he asked for the wine list, had a quick look, and made a selection. As the waiter went off to fetch the bottle, he said, “You have to admit, this is a little more relaxed.”

  “Than what?”

  “You know, than talking in your office. Or mine.”

  “I see. You asked me to dinner instead of hauling me downtown.”

  “Hauling you downtown?” Walker laughed. “Before, on the phone, you asked if I was calling you in for questioning. You watch a lot of crime shows, do you?”

  She straightened out the cloth napkin on her lap. “I’ve seen my share. And my friend Bob Stratford warned me about you.”

  “First Selectman Stratford, huh? You start right off with the big guns.”

  “Bob’s my lawyer, and a friend.”

  “I see. And what’d he have to say about me, since he and I don’t even know each other?”

  “He said he checked you out with your chief. Said that I shouldn’t be fooled by your rough New York City style.”

  “Uh huh. Fooled like how? Like I’m really a softy underneath?”

  “Not exactly, no. More like you may be shrewder than you seem.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I said you’d have to be.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You walked right into that one.”

  “I guess I did. So, Stratford is a close friend of yours.”

  “We’ve known each other a few years.”

  “So you said. But known each other how? An old romance?”

  “That’s a rather personal question.”

  Walker looked around the room. “This is a personal setting.”

  “I see. So this dinner is more than just an alternative to the third degree at the old station house?”

  “There you go again, sounding like an old episode of Law and Order.”

  She laughed.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Randi paused, realizing that it was the first time she had really taken a good look at him. He was not a handsome man, but he had pleasant features, and his gray-brown eyes had an unmistakable hint of kindness that surprised her. “Bob was my lawyer when I set up my office in town. We became friends.”

  Walker grinned. “So you said.”

  “He’s given me some good advice over the years. Issues come up all the time in my profession.” When Walker continued smiling, she added, “He’s married.”

  “Uh huh. So how about you, you ever been married?”

  “I’m sure you’ve looked into one of those intrusive police files you have on me by now. You know the answer already, don’t you?”

  Walker hung his head slightly.

  “It’s all right. I suppose I should be flattered by the attention.”

  The waiter came, displayed a bottle of Nickel & Nickel chardonnay, then opened it and poured a little into Walker’s glass.

  “My lady friend should taste it. Probably knows more about these things than I do.”

  The waiter poured for her. Randi took a sip and told the waiter it was delicious.

  “So, what about you?” she asked after the waiter filled their glasses, placed the bottle in a bucket of ice, and went on his way. “You ever been married?”

  “Was. Didn’t take. My wife wanted something I just couldn’t give her.”

  Randi lifted her glass, waiting. He liked the way she held it by the stem. “Like what, for instan
ce?”

  “Money,” he said. “Honest cops never see much of it.” He picked up his glass. “Cheers.”

  “Any children?”

  “Yes, two wonderful girls.”

  “Visit with them much?”

  “I try. They live with their mother. And her new husband,” he added, then started to say something else but stopped himself. “They’re teenagers now, so they basically view me as a dinosaur. But they’re great.” He tasted the wine and gave an approving nod. Then he said, “In the interests of full disclosure I should tell you that I also heard from Robert Stratford today. Left me a voice mail, but you probably knew that.”

  “I didn’t, actually.” Her surprise seemed genuine. “Now it’s your turn to tell me what he said.”

  “Nothing much,” Walker replied. “Said I shouldn’t be fooled by your sweet, all-American looks. Said you’re tough as nails under that soft exterior.”

  “Come on.”

  “He said he was worried about protecting your professional ethics.”

  “So am I.”

  “I’ll call him back Monday,” he told her with a shrug. “No offense, but I hate talking to lawyers, even the mayor of the town. I’ll just have to remind him I can get a court order and subpoena you.”

  “So you’ve said.” Randi frowned. “And Bob’s well aware of it.”

  “Funny, you know? He’s worried about trampling on your patients’ rights. I’m concerned about just the opposite.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m worried one of your patients might start trampling all over you.”

  She stared at him. “Gee, Anthony, you certainly know how to sweet talk a woman.”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  She continued looking at him without speaking.

  “I’ve got a murderer to find, and I’d like to keep the number of victims at one. You want to help me?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “All right. I brought some things you might find interesting.” Walker pulled a few snapshots from a brown envelope. “Have a look at these.”

  They were the photographs of Elizabeth Knoebel, lying dead in the bedroom, that eerie bedroom decorated with dark wood and Victorian furniture.

  “You showed me these before. Having another go at shock value?”

  Walker shook his head. “It always amazes me. Doesn’t matter how smart a person is, we’re all victims of our training, right? You’re a psychologist, so you look at everything from that point of view. What people say, their body language. You ask yourself, ‘What did she mean by that?’ Or, ‘Why would he say such a thing?’ You listen to the words and the tone of voice and you try to judge a person’s emotional state. My job isn’t that much different from yours, but I have another perspective. I’m trying to solve another sort of riddle, so I spend more time on the physical evidence than you would.”

  “I can see that,” Randi conceded impatiently. “Are you going to give me another hint or are you about to tell me what I’m not seeing?”

  “You’re not necessarily missing anything. It’s just an odd scene, don’t you think? I mean, leaving aside that she was murdered.”

  “Kind of tough for me to do.”

  “I understand. But just think, for an afternoon in the suburbs, it looks more like a bordello than a married woman’s bedroom. Especially since she knew her husband was not coming home that night.”

  “I’m not going anywhere near that one.”

  “Okay. But consider that there’s no sign of forced entry into the house and no sign of a struggle. And remember, she was naked. The killer could have undressed her after she was dead, but there would have been blood on her clothes, or marks on the bed that would show she was moved. We found nothing consistent with that sort of activity. Our people think she was lying there, just as she died. So tell me, what have we got here?”

  Randi Conway shook her head as she slowly pushed the photos together. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Whoever did this was someone she knew well. Someone who could get that close and pull the trigger.”

  Randi did not respond.

  “Maybe a lover? Maybe someone else? Maybe she never even saw the gun before the killer raised it to her head and shot her.”

  Walker watched her face as she handed the pictures back to him. He took them, shoved them in his jacket pocket, and picked up his menu. “I guess I shouldn’t have hit you with all that first thing, huh?” He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  She looked again into his gray-brown eyes. “It’s all right.”

  They spent a silent minute studying their menus. Their waiter came by to describe the specials and, when he was done, Walker told him they’d need a few minutes. Then he returned to the large brown envelope that sat on the table. “This is interesting too. Not gruesome like the photos, but something I think I should share with you.”

  She watched as he unfastened the clip.

  “I understand you wrote a book a couple of years back.”

  “So, you really have been doing your homework on me.”

  “Called it The Cheating Heart. Interesting title.”

  “It was therapeutic for me to write it, never thought anyone would publish it.”

  “About unfaithful spouses.”

  “Unfaithful fiancé, in my case.”

  “Which explains why you’re still single.”

  She had another taste of the wine but said nothing.

  He removed the papers from the brown envelope and, without looking up at her, he asked, “Did you know Elizabeth was writing a book?”

  “A book? What sort of book?”

  “Not sure how to describe it. You might say it has a similar theme to yours, although it comes at the issue from a completely different angle.” He held out the pages, showing her the top sheet that bore the title, SEXUAL RITES. “We found it in her computer. Split up in sections.”

  Walker was watching her, but Randi’s eyes revealed no sign of recognition.

  “It seems Elizabeth Knoebel turned sex into a kind of hobby. Some of the characters may have been from the couples in your groups. If we believe what she says here, she went after some of the husbands you work with.”

  She seemed more curious than surprised. “Went after them?” she asked.

  Walker nodded. “According to her journal, or whatever this is. Cute little act.” He shuffled through some of the pages. “She doesn’t use last names in here, but it wasn’t tough to put it together.”

  “How did you get her files? You said they were in her computer. Her husband let you have all this?”

  Walker nodded.

  “This may sound like an idiotic question, but did Doctor Knoebel understand what he was giving you?”

  “The question is not idiotic. We really don’t know yet.”

  “You think he gave this to you in the hope of identifying her murderer.”

  “That’s what we assume.”

  “What if it’s all fiction?” Randi asked. “Isn’t that possible? Maybe she made things up based on what she heard in group.”

  “It could be fantasy. We’ve considered that.”

  “I mean, how would she get to meet these men?”

  “We’re not sure. She might have used information their wives spilled in your group to meet them and seduce them.”

  She groaned, as if she had just had the wind knocked out of her.

  “We’re probably going to have to speak with each of them.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  Walker nodded. “The women too.”

  As their eyes returned to the pages on the table, the buzzer on Randi’s cell phone went off.

  “Sorry, occupational hazard,” she said as she pulled it out of her purse. “Always on duty.”

  “Me too,” he replied with an understanding smile.

  She put the phone to her ear and said, “Yes,” then the muscles in her face tensed as she listened. “All right,” she said, “hold on please.
” She placed her hand across the phone and looked at Walker. “You need to excuse me for one minute. I’m not getting much of a signal in here.” She held up the phone to show him, as if that proved it. “I’ll be right back.”

  She stood and so did Walker.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine, I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she headed toward the front of the restaurant, he took a moment to admire her attractive shape. He would have much preferred if their dinner conversation did not have to revolve around murder, not to mention the consequences his investigation might have on her professional life. He realized he didn’t like having to upset her, which was not his usual sentiment when examining a potential witness in the course of a homicide investigation.

  When she turned the corner out of his view, Walker placed his napkin on the table and walked across the room to the bar. He was holding Elizabeth Knoebel’s manuscript in his hand as he asked for a bourbon—something told him Randi was going to be a bit longer than the minute she had promised. Then he went to the window overlooking the parking lot and watched her.

  CHAPTER 21

  Randi stood just outside the front door, holding the phone to her ear. When she received the call inside, the display screen had declared “CALLER ID UNAVAILABLE.”

  When she answered, she found the voice was being electronically distorted. All the same, the words were clear. The caller demanded that she leave the restaurant to have an urgent discussion.

  Now Randi stepped farther outside, past the edge of the terrace, where the air was turning cold and a light drizzle was beginning to fall.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “Elizabeth trusted you,” the voice said angrily.

  “Tell me who this is or I’m hanging up right now.”

  “Elizabeth trusted you,” the voice repeated.

  “I’m hanging up and calling the police,” Randi said.

  “You’re already with the police,” the voice reminded her.

  Randi’s sense of outrage was suddenly replaced by fear. “How do you know where I am?”