Case of Lucy Bending

The Case of Lucy Bending

"A book that's impossible to put down . . . Read THE CASE OF LUCY BENDING and you're bound to become a Sanders fan."

—KANSAS CITY STAR
"The first three chapters are dynamite . . . from then on, it's constant action!"

—NASHVILLE BANNER

"A good juicy read."

—ATLANTA JOURNAL
"A colorful, gripping novel of psychological suspense."

—BUFFALO EVENING NEWS
"Another showcase of Sanders' talent."

—GRAND RAPIDS PRESS

LAWRENCE SANDERS

"A masterful storyteller..."

—KING FEATURES SYNDICATE
"A writer who has matured into one of our great ones."

—PITTSBURGH PRESS
"One of the most consistently satisfying 'entertainment' novelists in America today!"

—WASHINGTON POST BOOK WORLD

THE ANDERSON TAPES THE CASE OF LUCY BENDING THE FIRST DEADLY SIN THE MARLOW CHRONICLES THE PLEASURES OF HELEN THE SECOND DEADLY SIN THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT

THE TANGENT FACTOR THE TANGENT OBJECTIVE THE TENTH COMMANDMENT THE THIRD DEADLY SIN THE TOMORROW FILE

Lawrence

SANDERS

The Case of

LUCY

Bending

BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

This Berkley book contains the complete

text of the original hardcover edition. It has been completely reset in a typeface designed for easy reading, and was printed from new film.

THE CASE OF LUCY BENDING

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

G. P. Putnam's Sons edition / August 1982 Berkley edition / August 1983

All rights reserved. Copyright © 1982 by Lawrence Sanders. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

ISBN: 0-425-06077-2

A BERKLEY BOOK® TM 757,375 Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016. The name "BERKLEY" and the stylized "B" with design are trademarks belonging to Berkley Publishing Corporation.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

PARTI

The office was half-nursery. One sunlit wall painted with moon-jumping cows and fiddle-playing cats. A deep bookcase jumbled with toys, games, puzzles, stuffed animals. And on the ceiling, pasted stars.

The man planted behind the desk stared through percolator-top glasses. A snarled salt-and-pepper beard framed rosy lips. His nose was a smudge; dainty ears pressed close to a heavy skull.

His hunched body loomed forward, neck sunken in rounded shoulders. Cigar ashes drifted across an atrocious tie and the lapels of a rumpled black suit so shiny it looked like it had been oiled and polished.

"Mrs. Bending," he said, his voice a throaty rumble, "Mr. Bending, suppose you sit there . . . and there. I must start off by confessing that I am a habitual cigar smoker. Of course, if it offends you, I won't light up. Ma'am?"

"No, that's all right," the woman said nervously. "Go ahead, doctor."

"You, sir?"

"Fine with me, doc. Filter-tips are my vice."

"Thank you." He took a dark cigar from an open desk drawer, began to strip cellophane carefully away. "My name is Doctor Theodore Levin. It is spelled L-e-v-i-n, but pronounced Levine, for reasons I have never been able to understand. You are Mrs. Grace Bending and you, sir, are Mr. Ronald Bending. Your daughter's name is Lucy, and you have been referred to me by Doctor David K. Raskob, pediatrician, of Boca Raton. Do I have my facts correct?"

"Yes, doctor," the woman said stiffly. She was twisting her wedding band, around and around.

Levin lighted his cigar with a wooden kitchen match scratched on the underside of his desk. He turned the cigar slowly in pursed lips. He blew a smoke cloud toward the pasted stars.

"Now then ..." he said. "I have found it best for all concerned if I explain at the beginning exactly how I practice so there can be no possible misunderstanding. As I told you on the phone, ma'am, my fee is a hundred dollars an hour. That is a professional hour; forty-five minutes to be exact."

"Beautiful!" Ronald Bending said with a loppy grin.

His wife snapped at him: "Ronnie, be quiet."

The doctor looked at them, woman to man and back again, with a fiercely benign smile.

"This initial interview," he continued gently, "of^forty-five minutes at the usual fee, is to give you an opportunity to explain the nature of your daughter's problem. At the end of this meeting, I may tell you that I feel I can be of no assistance. It sometimes happens. In such a case, I may be able to suggest other psychiatrists who might be able to help."

The woman's eyes squinched with anguish. "But Doctor Raskob recommended
you."

"I appreciate that, ma'am, but your daughter's problem may be better handled by another. Please let me be the judge of that."

He paused a moment while Ronald Bending lighted a cigarette, using a gold Dupont lighter. Bending then sat back negligently, crossed his knees, adjusted the crisp crease in his trouser leg. He was wearing tasseled cordovan moccasins, burnished to a high gloss.

Dr. Levin went on: "In the event I feel tentatively that I might be of help, I will require an initial interview with your daughter, uh . . ."

"Lucy."

"Yes, with Lucy. After meeting and talking with her, I will be able to give you a final decision on whether I believe I can be of heip and will accept the case."

Bending's face reddened. He jerked forward angrily. "See here—"

"Ronnie," his wife interrupted, "please! We understand all that, doctor."

"And you wish to continue?"

"Yes."

"If I accept your daughter for psychotherapy, I will inform you as to the frequency of visits I recommend. Once or several times a week. The first regular visit, or sometimes the first two, will be given over to a complete physical examination, conducted by my associate, Doctor Mary Scotsby. There will be additional billing for X-rays and laboratory analyses."

"Now see here," Ronald Bending said, lips pulling tight, "Raskob has been Lucy's doctor since she was born. He has all the tests; he can tell you anything you want to know."

"I prefer to conduct my own examination, sir."

"Oh Jesus!" Bending said disgustedly, and leaned forward to jab out his cigarette butt in the big marble ashtray on the doctor's desk.

"Ronnie," his wife said, her voice strangled, "will you please let me handle this? We understand, doctor, and we'd like to go ahead."

"A moment ... In the psychiatric treatment of a child of—how old is she?"

"Lucy is eight years old."

"In the treatment of a child of eight, it is sometimes necessary to meet also with her parents, siblings, if any, and even, on occasion, her teachers, friends, neighbors, and so forth. These interviews are for the usual professional hour and billed at the usual fee. I want all this to be clearly understood before you decide to continue."

Bending threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes in comical disbelief. "Grace, this could cost a fortune!"

"We want to go ahead, doctor," she insisted.

Levin inspected the husband without expression.

"Sir, if you have any objections, or if you feel you cannot carry the, uh, financial burden, I may be able to recommend agencies that—"

"No!" Bending said at once. "No agencies. We'll go on with this."

"You're certain in your own mind?"

"Hell no, I'm not certain. But I'll go along."

"And you, ma'am?"

"Yes. Positively."

"Very well. Now just one additional fact of which you should be aware . . . This interview—and all interviews in the future, with Lucy, with you, and others—is being recorded on a tape recorder."

Bending blinked with surprise. "What's the point of that, doc?"

"To maintain a history of treatment and provide a handy referral to past interviews. To enable me to review the case when the patient is absent and perhaps discover things that were not immediately apparent during the actual interview."

Bending was back to his lopsided grin. "I hope you keep the tapes locked up!"

"I do indeed. In a fireproof, burglarproof vault. They will be heard only by myself and my associate, Doctor Scotsby. You still wish to continue?"

"Yes, doctor, we do."

"You, sir?"

"Yes."

"Very well. If I agree to accept Lucy as a patient, I will ask both of you to complete questionnaires that will provide me with most of the needed basic information: date and place of birth, family medical history, education, employment, and so forth. At the moment, I think we should concern ourselves solely with the reason for your being here. What, precisely, is Lucy's problem?"

Husband and wife glanced at each other. She fidgeted; he blandly lighted another cigarette, then examined the burning tip.

Silence expanded, filled the room. The doctor waited patiently, squarish hands clasped loosely over his bulging vest. His cigar had gone out; the butt rested on the edge of his scarred desk. He looked calmly at the Bendings, and said nothing. Finally . . .

"Uh, Grace," Ronald Bending said, staring off into space, "you tell him."

She started with a rush: "Doctor, our Lucy is a beautiful little girl. When you see her, I think youTl agree she is just lovely, and very intelligent and—and poised for her age."

"Smart as a whip," Ronald Bending drawled.

"She is very popular with her friends, both girls and boys, and her teachers love her. There is nothing mean or malicious about her. And her brothers just dote on her.''

She stopped. Silence again. Dr. Levin waited a moment, then said, "And . . . ?"

"Well, for the past three years, about, since she was five, she—Ronnie, wouldn't you say it's been for the past three years?"

"Maybe longer. Maybe since she was four."

"Doctor, she has become increasingly, uh, affectionate. Hugging and kissing all the time. Hanging on to people. She's become very, uh, physical, and is always touching and stroking. Sometimes in a vulgar way."

"And . . . ?"

"Well . . . that's it, doctor."

"I see . . ." Levin leaned forward over his desk, looming again, hunched and burly. He spoke to both of them, but he locked stares with Ronald Bending. "You have described to me a very loving, well-adjusted, outgoing little girl. Is that the impression you wish to give me?"

"Grace, for God's sake," Bending burst out,
"tell
him!"

"Doctor, it's . . ." Her voice trailed away.

"Oh Christ!" her husband said furiously. "Doc, it's more than just being affectionate. She's—well, she's always coming on. Not with her kid friends or brothers. But with me and any older men we invite to the house. She's always holding their hands, kissing, and petting them. At first it was cute. Now it's become an embarrassment. She's all over every man like a wet sheet. She wants to sit on their laps. She squirms between their legs. You've seen young hounds that grab your shins in their paws and rub up and down? She's just like that."

"Ronnie!"

"Grace, it's true and you know it. What the hell's the point of paying for professional help if we don't tell the truth? Doc, Lucy is a beautiful, intelligent little girl. That
is
the truth. But she acts like a sex maniac. I mean it. She touches men between their legs—if you know what I mean. She twists around on their laps and strokes their thighs and wants to kiss. Older men. Always older men. Sometimes, I swear to God, she acts like a little hooker. Touching them up, laughing, really trying to excite them. I include myself, except that now I try to hold her off. Not reject her, you understand, but trying to let her know she's doing the wrong thing. But every time we have a male visitor, someone older than, say, eighteen or so, she starts coming on with them. It's so obvious that all our friends know about it. We joked about it at first, but it's gone beyond the joking stage now. Let me tell you what happened when—"