The Blue Journal Page 6

  “I’m a psychologist, Detective Walker. People come to see me with problems of one kind or another.”

  “Fair enough. Putting aside her usual problems, then, did you notice anything out of the ordinary in Mrs. Knoebel’s behavior the last time you saw her?”

  Randi Conway stood up and walked to the window overlooking the town’s main street. She watched the morning traffic crawl by as she recalled the scuffle between Elizabeth and Fran. She also thought about some of the many other things she could tell him about Elizabeth. “I would like to help you, Detective, I really would.” She turned from the window and faced him again. “As you know, whatever my patients discuss with me is strictly confidential. Elizabeth’s death doesn’t change that.”

  “Look, Doctor, would you mind sitting? I have trouble with people talking down to me.” Walker smiled in apology. “Must be some sort of hang-up I should look into. What do you think?”

  Randi returned to her chair without answering.

  “Thanks,” Walker said. “You do a lot of marriage counseling, that right?”

  “That’s the basis of my practice, yes.”

  “Your specialty is working with couples—talk with them about their relationships, their personal lives, deal with their children, all that?”

  “You’ve come here prepared, Detective.”

  “It’s my job. Sorry.”

  “You should never apologize for doing your job well.”

  Walker grinned. “Is that free professional advice?”

  “Call it an observation.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for. Some observations about Mrs. Knoebel.”

  “No, in her case you’re asking me for specific information about a patient.”

  “Former patient.”

  Randi shook her head slowly.

  “You say the last time you saw her was in the group?”

  “Right.”

  “Was that a regular meeting?”

  “That group usually meets on Monday. I occasionally saw Elizabeth for private counseling.”

  “No regular date for that?”

  “It varied. Some of my patients need flexibility in their appointments.”

  “Mrs. Knoebel worked, did she?”

  “She was a freelance software consultant. But I assume you knew that already.”

  “Did you ever see Mrs. Knoebel anywhere else?”

  “Besides my office, you mean?”

  “Yes, anywhere else.”

  “No.”

  “Never saw her socially?”

  “Never. She was my patient.”

  “Never ran into her on the street, in a grocery store, nothing like that?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  “It’s a small town, Doc.”

  “If I see a patient on the street, I generally head in the other direction. Protects their privacy, avoids embarrassment.”

  “She ever phone you?”

  “Certainly, from time to time.”

  “Would she talk about her problems or would she just call to make appointments?”

  “From time to time patients call to talk things over.”

  “She call at your office? Your home?”

  “My office. I also have a line for patients to call me at home in the event of an emergency.”

  “What about Mrs. Knoebel? She ever have an emergency?”

  “I can’t recall Elizabeth ever telephoning me at home.”

  “Did you speak to her at any time after Monday’s group meeting?”

  “No.”

  “Did she ever mention that she was having an extramarital affair?”

  Randi frowned. “Come on, Detective. You can do better than that.”

  Walker offered another smile. “Just doing my job. You said you can’t blame me for that.”

  “No, I said you shouldn’t apologize for doing your job well.”

  Walker sat back and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “No offense, Doc, but this isn’t a whole lot of help. I have a dead woman in the morgue and I need to know where to go to start chasing down her murderer. I realize you’ve got to preserve her reputation—and your own ethics—but I need help.” He looked directly into her soft, brown eyes. “I’m not asking you to tell me any of her deep, dark secrets.”

  “That’s precisely what you’re asking.”

  Walker shrugged.

  Randi leaned forward, her voice quiet. “Elizabeth was an exceedingly smart woman. Complicated, troubled, no question about it.” She shook her head again, dismissing an unwelcome thought. “Look, Detective, as a human being, not to mention as her therapist, I’d like to give you whatever help I can if it would identify the person who did this. At the same time—how did you put it? I’ve got to preserve her reputation. And my own.”

  Now Walker leaned forward. “What about her husband?”

  “What about him?”

  “She ever say anything about him?”

  Randi laughed, breaking the tension Walker was obviously working hard to create. “We’ve already established that I specialize in marriage counseling. I think it’s fair to say she discussed her husband.”

  “Think he could’ve killed her?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a fast answer, Doctor.”

  “That’s because I’ve seen the question coming since I found you waiting in my hallway.”

  Now Walker laughed.

  “That’s what you came to ask me, isn’t it? If I thought Stanley Knoebel was capable of murdering his wife?”

  “That’s one of the reasons,” Walker admitted. “How about this one . . .”

  “Is there anyone else she ever mentioned who might have had a reason to kill her?” Randi said.

  Walker offered an appreciative nod.

  They heard a knock. Randi excused herself, went to the door, and opened it slightly. Speaking to someone out of Walker’s view, she said “I’m just finishing up. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes, just have a seat in the group room.” Then she closed the door and turned back to the detective. “That’s my next patient.”

  “Next patient? Am I being analyzed?”

  She showed him a slight smile but said nothing.

  It was apparent she would not be sitting down again, so Walker stood up. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Whether she ever mentioned that someone might want to murder her? No, I would remember that.”

  “All right. Anything else she might have said about anyone that might be useful, anything at all you can share with me?”

  “I’ll have to think about this. I’m sorry. I probably need to get some legal advice.”

  “What a world,” Walker sighed. “Everybody’s got to call their lawyer for everything.” He shook his head. “All right. You look into it and we’ll talk again.”

  Randi paused. “I’m not sure how far I can go with this, but I feel I can tell you that she never said anything about being in danger.”

  “Nothing that might suggest a problem with someone?”

  Randi stared at him without responding. That was a different question with more answers than she was willing to contemplate right now. “That’s not what I said. I mean that she never expressed any particular fear that someone might want to harm her that way.”

  “That way? Meaning what? Did she ever say someone might have wanted to hurt her? Other than murder, I mean.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Elizabeth Knoebel had scratch marks on her neck. The coroner says they were made a day or so before the murder. Know anything about that?”

  This time, Randi Conway’s silence spoke volumes.

  Walker nodded. “You know we found Mrs. Knoebel in bed. Naked. Probably late afternoon when someone put that bullet in her brain.”

  Randi shook her head. “Is that a question? Because if it is, I really don’t know how to respond.”

  Walker sighed. “They’re working on the autopsy. You never know if someone might
have drugged her first or whatever. Anyway, it was sure a strange setup.” He shrugged. “Look, you and I know that in a homicide investigation a judge can sign an order that overrides your confidential privilege. Then you’d be forced to give sworn testimony about anything you know that might help in the investigation. I’m just trying to keep things simple. I’m not interested in hurting your practice or broadcasting any of the woman’s secrets, but there may be things you know that have a bearing on this case. Things you may not even realize could be important.”

  “I understand. For now it doesn’t change my obligation.”

  “Right.” Walker decided to give it one more try. “Suppose she had mentioned another guy—just suppose, you don’t have to say if she did or not. Would she have given a name?”

  There was a long pause. Then Randi said, “No, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type.”

  “Wasn’t the type. Perfect.” He took a moment to think that one over. “The shooter was probably someone she knew well, maybe even trusted. Someone got extremely close to pull that trigger right beside her head. No sign of a struggle or forced entry into her home. Think about it—someone she knew and trusted.” He watched her. “You might want to consider helping me here.” They were standing face-to-face as Walker reached into his jacket and pulled out several photographs. He held them out to her.

  They were graphic, providing several views of Elizabeth Knoebel’s corpse, her blood-stained bed, and close-ups of her fatal wound. As Randi looked at them, she was no longer involved in a clinical discussion with a police officer. She felt as if she was in Elizabeth’s bedroom, a witness to her violent death. She drew a deep breath, then handed the pictures back to Walker. He gave her his card in exchange.

  “You know, Doc, your answers, or should I say your nonanswers, make me think you might just know something you should be telling me. So what gives? What could possibly be so confidential you wouldn’t want to tell me if it could help find her murderer?” Walker shoved the photos back in his jacket pocket.

  Randi was still thinking about the pictures.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said, “something you may have considered yourself. Mrs. Knoebel was your patient. She talked to you, confided in you. Whoever murdered her might feel the way I do, that you know enough to help us solve this case. Which means you’re a potential liability to the killer. Like I say, something you probably thought of yourself.”

  Randi stared at him. “Yes,” she admitted, “I have.” She did not reveal any of the other fears that were already forming.

  “Well then, give me a call when you’re ready to talk. And if you think any of your other patients might know something useful,” he gestured toward the business card she was holding, “you know how to reach me.”

  As soon as he was gone, Randi closed the door and hurried to her desk. She opened the drawer and pulled out the plain white wrapper. It was not sealed. Inside was a single sheet of white paper. On it was typed:

  DR CONWAY

  I AM SORRY

  She read the short message twice, turning the note over to its blank side and back again, as if there might be something else to see, something she was missing. She returned the note to the drawer, placing it beside the other plain envelope she had received just a day earlier. Once again, there was no name or address on the message or the envelope.

  Randi slowly closed the drawer and then, before attending to her waiting patient, she sat back and stared straight ahead without seeing.

  CHAPTER 9

  Stanley Knoebel was a renowned vascular surgeon with a successful practice in New York City. A talented professional, he enjoyed the stature society accords those who trade, quite literally, in the business of life and death.

  Charm, however, was not one of his skills.

  Knoebel had a reputation for condescension and coldness that was unusual, even for a surgeon. He was arrogant toward subordinates and colleagues alike, and his social interactions were not much different.

  Born in Romania, he spent his early years in strict parochial schools that left him with a stiff bearing, and his heavy accent only added to that haughty persona. He valued intelligence and serious debate, despising banal chatter and cocktail party conviviality. As a consequence, he had many valued colleagues but very few friends.

  Knoebel had no difficulty accepting that he was not a popular man. He was actually proud of his values, having long ago realized it was not easy to play God without offending someone.

  On Thursday morning, the day following the discovery of his wife’s body, Dr. Knoebel telephoned Darien Police Chief Henry Gill. Foregoing any sort of social preamble, he demanded to know when his wife’s body would be released.

  Gill informed him that the coroner had not finished his examination.

  “As we discussed last evening, Chief Gill, it is evident that Elizabeth died of a gunshot wound, is it not? Any general practitioner could see that.” His English was excellent, but those unmistakable inflections of Eastern Europe fortified his peremptory style.

  Chief Gill mustered all the compassion he could, compassion not being his long suit. “I understand, Doctor Knoebel. Unfortunately, in a case like this we’re required to follow our procedures and conduct a thorough autopsy.”

  “All right,” the doctor responded with undisguised exasperation. “When do you expect these procedures to be completed?”

  “Hopefully in the next day or two. We need to verify the time of death and finalize some other forensic tests.” Gill glanced at Anthony Walker, who was standing in the doorway of his office, listening to the chief’s half of the telephone conversation. “Detective Walker will be in touch with you so you can make the appropriate arrangements.”

  “I have already made the appropriate arrangements,” Dr. Knoebel insisted. “My wife’s will makes it clear she wished to be cremated. This is upsetting enough to my daughter without prolonging her suffering with bureaucratic delays.”

  “I apologize, but we do have certain rules.”

  “Rules,” Dr. Knoebel said derisively.

  “Detective Walker will also need to conduct an interview of you, Doctor. Perhaps we can set some time that would be convenient for you.”

  “Frankly, there is no convenient time.”

  “All right,” the chief said, looking up at Walker as if he might offer some help. “How about the least inconvenient time, then?”

  There was silence. “My house,” Knoebel said. “Eight o’clock tonight.”

  “Your house at eight,” Gill agreed without asking Walker how he felt about it. “That’ll be fine.”

  “My daughter has returned from boarding school. She will be at home. I trust your Detective Walker will exercise some discretion. Obviously we will have this discussion privately.”

  “Of course. I’ll pass that on.”

  “If you learn anything else before we meet, please call and leave word with my receptionist.”

  “All right,” Gill answered, but the line had already gone dead.

  Walker waited for Gill to put the phone down, then said, “Seems he’s all teary-eyed over this thing.”

  “Spare me the sarcasm,” Gill snapped. “Knoebel is a respected member of this community, and we have his wife on the coroner’s slab with a bullet in her head. We owe him some answers.”

  “He owes us some answers too, don’t you think?”

  “Easy Walker.” Gill, who spent more effort in maintaining his relationships with the local gentry than actually preventing or solving crimes, was not the sort of superior officer Walker was ever going to warm to. He had simply reconciled himself to the fact that Gill came with the job.

  “I’m happy to take it easy, Chief. It’s Doctor Knoebel who seems in a hurry to claim the body.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Maybe, but they tell me cremation is forever. I wonder what the rush is.”

  The chief let that go. “Make sure Jake does a thorough job on this,” he said.

  “O
f course. Meanwhile, if Knoebel can get one of his doctor friends to sign a death certificate saying she died of natural causes, we can release the body today.”

  Gill frowned. “Look, Walker, this is a town where people don’t lock their doors, where they leave their cars in the driveway with the keys on the seat, where this sort of thing just doesn’t happen. Now my friends’ wives are calling, asking if they should be worried, if this was a random act or if we might have a serial killer on our hands.”

  “People watch too much television.”

  “Maybe so, but I work for those people.” He treated Walker to his sternest look. “And by the way, so do you. Go do what you have to, but be sure you don’t step on any toes along the way.”

  “I’ll dance around like Fred Astaire.”

  The chief shook his head. “Local reporters are all over, but I can deal with them. Problem is, we’re already getting calls from the New York stations. I want this wrapped up, and I want it done pronto.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What’d the psychologist have to say?”

  Walker recounted his conversation with Dr. Conway earlier that morning. “Not much help so far.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I told her we could get a court order, force her to cooperate.”

  “Not yet,” the chief said quickly.

  Walker had guessed what Gill would say about that—he was just a bit surprised the reaction came so quickly. “All the same, we need to apply some pressure, right?”

  “Maybe so, but we don’t want to turn this into any more of a media circus than it has to be.” He shook his head. “All I need is a local therapist giving up her patients’ secrets. God, we’ll all be on Entertainment Tonight before you know it.”

  “I also reminded Doctor Conway that the murderer might figure she was the one person Mrs. Knoebel would have confided in, the one person who could help us solve this case.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I do. And I’ll tell you something else, I think Doctor Conway believes it. I think she realizes the danger.”

  Gill groaned like someone had just hit him in the solar plexus. “Wonderful.”

  Walker waited.