Part 8 (1/2)
”You going to tell me?”
”Where to start? I almost don't want to tell you about this first thing, so I'll go with that.” She chuckled, ”Somewhere deep down I have a soft spot for Freud.”
”You've lost me.”
”Resistance, there's something that doesn't want to come out, so that's probably the first thing that needs to ... and it makes no sense. My boss-Anton-gave me Jimmy's case, and it felt like he was doing me a favor.”
”Some favor.”
”No, it really is. This is off-the-clock work, and Jimmy is paying big bucks for door-to-door shrink delivery.”
”And?”
”Well, Jimmy said that he asked for me specifically.”
”Why you?” Ed leaned forward, the banter gone, his expression worried.
”I interviewed him a single time when he was at Croton. I was still a resident and I was working on some research on stalking. I guess he must have liked me. Although his sister sure didn't.” Barrett looked at Ed, ”She threatened to sue the medical school, me, and anyone else her lawyers could think of if I didn't leave her brother alone.”
”Why would she care?”
”You know she took me out to dinner last night?”
”Because?” letting his voice trail.
”She's his conservator. Arranged for his release. So I asked her, and she said she was trying to protect him.”
”Did she tell you why he wanted to meet with you?”
”No, and that feels jagged, too. Why wouldn't she?”
”So what are your options?” he asked.
”About which piece?”
”Why he wants you?”
”I don't know. I don't think I'm so wonderful that after a single visit someone is going to pick me out from all available psychiatrists.”
Ed traced a finger around the rim of his cup. ”There's an obvious reason.”
”Which is?”
”Look in the mirror, Barrett. Maybe the boy has a crush.”
She shuddered, ”Don't even go there.”
”Hey, you want to make the jagged pieces smooth, you got to roll them through the possibilities. And common things are common. Look at it this way, here you've got an inmate living what? Eight, nine years in a maximum security hospital.”
”Longer-by the time I saw him, it would have been fourteen or so.”
”You think he's straight?”
”He's something. Do I think he likes girls? In some fas.h.i.+on and based on what happened to Nicole Foster, I'm not certain that breathing is a prerequisite.”
”Nice. So you've got a perp who's spent eighteen years in the nut house and in comes this hot, twenty-something psychiatrist who's all concerned about his welfare. I bet he can remember everything you wore that day. He probably spent nights ...”
”Stop right there.”
”Tears on his pillow,” Ed chortled.
”Are all men pigs?” Barrett asked.
”It's the hormones.”
”I thought that was the PMS defense.”
”Same idea, different s.e.x.”
”What if he picked me because I was the only name he could think of?”
Ed's head c.o.c.ked slightly as he mulled her suggestion, ”Second choice at best.”
”Why?”
”How many shrinks would he have seen at Croton over the years?”
”Good point. There would have been dozens. But if your answer is the right one, and he's got some sort of crush, why didn't he ask for me at the time of his release?”
”Don't know. Maybe he did. Maybe something changed between then and now. You said his sister didn't want you to see him at Croton, and now she's taking you out to dinner, maybe she had something to do with it.”
”All of which leads me back to the beginning. Who the h.e.l.l is he and what makes him go? You know that music we heard outside his place?”
”Yes.”
”It was him.”
”He's good,” Ed admitted.
”Really good. Like concert-stage good.”
”Seriously?”
”I think so. In another life that was where I was heading.”
”Music?”