The Blue Journal (17 page)

“Don't you? Isn't this an opportunity for you? For both of us?”

Randi began to stand up, but Elizabeth reached out and touched her arm. “Don't run away,” she said teasingly. “Stay with me.”

Randi sat down, slowly pulling her arm back, now looking directly at Elizabeth. She said, “Whatever you think you're playing at, Elizabeth, this is not a game. This is not a game,” she repeated.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “No,” she said, displaying as warm a smile as Randi had ever seen her manage. “It's not a game, Doctor.” Then Elizabeth stood up and, without another word, left the office.

Randi rubbed her eyes, picked up the phone, and called Stratford.

CHAPTER 19

Elizabeth's murderer was faced with a problem, and her name was Randi Conway.

It had always been an issue, the existence of a psychologist with intimate knowledge of Elizabeth Knoebel, as well as some of the critical players involved in the drama Elizabeth had created. The detective in charge of the investigation would conclude the same thing, and it was inevitable that he would begin pressuring Randi Conway for information.

The built-in firewall was Dr. Conway's obligation to protect the confidences of her patients, especially those who were most troubled, those most in need of her care. Leaving the anonymous notes was intended to reinforce the therapist's commitment to her patients and to send her in the wrong direction.

Now it was time to intensify the effort, to add a measure of fear to the equation.

It would be a shame to have to kill her, but whatever needed to be done, it was a decision that would have to be made soon.

That Saturday afternoon, as Elizabeth's murderer pondered the next move, Walker and Kovacevic were alone in the squad room, mulling over the various notes, papers and photographs on the case. Walker tossed a folder on the desk, looked up, and asked, “So, what have we got here?”

“Sir?”

“We've got this coded list of names from her computer, some of which seem to match the names of the women in her therapy group and their husbands. The contents are a lot of sexy stories about men. And women.”

Kovacevic nodded.

“One of the unidentified files is probably about the Sisson woman. A couple of the others are wild cards, at least so far. And the files that appear to be named for the good Doctor Knoebel and our friend Randi Conway are blank.”

“What about those?”

“Teddy says if anything had been erased since her death, he would have found it,” Walker said. “Something about checking the backup and the hard drive and all that other cyber-talk.”

“That's right,” Kovacevic said. “Even if they were erased, he could go back and see when they were last edited.”

“Okay, so we've got a murdered woman who was some sort of sexual predator, at least according to what's in here.” He pointed to the pages of the journal. “And the way she manipulated these people, any one of them who read this might have wanted to blow her brains out.”

“Even if they hadn't read it. Maybe even if they just knew she was writing it.”

“Good point. Or if they knew what she was up to.”

“Especially her husband?”

Walker grinned. “The thought has crossed my mind. But it raises another question.”

Kovacevic waited.

“What if the murderer had no idea about her journal? I mean, whoever shot her was right there, inside her house. They could have taken the laptop. Or Teddy would have found evidence that someone tampered with it.”

The young officer nodded again.

“Or there would have been some indication the house was searched for a hard copy, a printed version.”

“Good point.”

“If I'm going to kill her because her memoirs are going to embarrass me, why wouldn't I try and find the damn thing and take it with me?”

“So you think the murderer had no idea she was writing about all of this.”

“That's my best guess. There was no indication in the house of any kind of search. No one's fingerprints on the computer except the victim's.”

Kovacevic nodded. “So we're back to the question of motive.”

“The murderer might have figured out what she was up to. Could have been jealous. Or angry over being played. Or concerned she might start talking.”

“Assuming it was not her husband.”

“Even if it was,” Walker sighed. “We'll have to start by checking out Knoebel's alibi in New York. I'll handle that. And we'll need to speak with Nettie Sisson again.”

“Want me to set that up?”

“No, let's surprise her.”

“Right.”

“Then there's this list of people we need to check out.” He shook his head. “We have to run down every one of these leads without ruining a dozen lives and disrupting the whole community in the process.”

“You sound like the chief.”

“Heaven forbid. I just don't want to kick up a lot of dirt unnecessarily.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

Walker thought it over. “We've got to figure a way to determine which of these people knew what Elizabeth Knoebel was doing, and that's going to be tricky. Let me meet with Randi first, see what she has to say.”

“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.”