Dante's Dilemma (28 page)

“She was clearly in pain—almost white-faced with it,” Amanda told us. “I thought she might be going into shock. So I suggested driving to the emergency room at the university hospital. At that, Olivia started shaking even more, and I realized she was badly frightened. Eventually, I talked her into seeing my general practitioner—I go to a doctor outside the university system for privacy reasons—where she could be treated quietly with no questions asked.”

“What was wrong with her?” Hallie asked.

“Dislocated shoulder. But that wasn't the only thing. Her entire upper arm was purple with bruises—really shocking in appearance—and there were also bruises on her rib cage. My doctor gave her pain medication and put the arm in a sling and took me aside to discuss the situation. We were both convinced that Olivia was the victim of an assault and should report the matter at once. She—my doctor that is—also wanted to do a vaginal exam, but Olivia swore to us that she hadn't been raped. She also refused to say who had done it to her.”

“Who did you suspect?”

“At the time, a boyfriend. I pointed out to Olivia that the abuse was unlikely to stop and might even escalate. That if she wasn't up to pressing charges, she should stop seeing the young man at once. And that she should take advantage of the Student Counseling Center, where she could discuss what had happened on a confidential basis. I stressed how important it was for victims of assault to receive early counseling. Olivia said she would think about it.”

“And that satisfied you?”

“No more than it would have satisfied you, I think. I knew Olivia's mother worked on campus as an administrative assistant. I looked Rachel up in the directory and a few days later went to see her. I told Rachel what happened and relayed my concerns about the boyfriend. I didn't mention the possibility of rape because I didn't want to upset her, but I thought she should know about the shoulder and the bruising.”

“How did she react?”

“She seemed . . . unconcerned, almost nonchalant about it, actually. She confirmed that Olivia had recently started dating a graduate student a few years older than she. Rachel had a bad feeling about the relationship but didn't think it was her place to interfere. When I suggested reporting the boyfriend, she told me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business.”

“Did you?”

“Not entirely. I called Peter Crow at the counseling center.” Amanda turned to me. “I suspect you remember him from that party. The fellow who—”

I put up a hand to stop her. “I remember.”

“Peter and I were graduate students at the university at the same time and were involved in a few causes together. I called him to alert him to what I had seen. He confided—I suppose he shouldn't have, but it gave me some peace of mind—that Olivia had followed my advice and was receiving counseling. Over the next few weeks, I kept a close eye on Olivia in class, but she seemed well and was even speaking up more, so I had reason to hope for the best. Then, at the end of the spring quarter, when she was no longer my student, her father was killed.

“Like the rest of the world, I was sure the killer must have been one of Westlake's ideological opponents. Then they arrested Rachel, and I thought back on the whole episode. Olivia's insistence that she hadn't been raped, Rachel's apparent complacency. That's when I finally understood: the two of them had been through this before.”

I nodded in comprehension. “And were covering for Westlake.”

“Exactly. To be frank, I wasn't sure what to do about it. And until the press conference, I felt I should respect Rachel's wish for privacy. But once Rachel's lawyers announced the Battered Woman's defense, it was no longer a secret, so I contacted the public defender's office, thinking I might be useful as a witness. It was hard to get through to the lead attorney handling the case. It took weeks. I suppose it's because they're so overwhelmed. However, when the lawyer finally called me back, she seemed excited by what I had to say. We made arrangements for me to come in and give a statement the following week.”

“Why am I only hearing about this now?” Hallie said.

“Because it never happened. The day before I was scheduled to meet with her, the lawyer called me to say that my testimony wasn't needed. ‘Cumulative' was the legal term she used. The lawyer didn't say it, but I had the distinct impression it wasn't her decision.”

“Was that the end of the matter?” I asked.

“No. A week or so later, not long after you and I met at the dean's party, the lawyer called again, saying that Rachel had asked her to deliver a message. The gist of it was that Rachel appreciated my concern in the past and was hoping I would do her another favor.”

“Which was?”

“Watching out for Olivia during the trial. Rachel believed her daughter was in a very fragile state and had to be kept away from the legal proceedings at all costs. The lawyer explained that Rachel had no family she could call on. I was the only person she could think of who might help. I arranged for Olivia to move out of her dorm and into her mother's apartment and did everything else I could to ensure her privacy, including hiring a private security guard to accompany her to and from campus. I also set up the support group Taylor mentioned to you and made sure Olivia wasn't left alone for more than a few hours at a time while the trial was ongoing. I believed—I hoped—I was doing the right thing.”

I felt the same way.

Now, en route to the Student Counseling Center, Hallie was expressing doubts about our next move.

“Crow won't tell us anything. He can't.”

“You're lecturing a psychiatrist about confidentiality?”

“That and what talking to him will get us.”

“The more we find out, the better,” I pointed out reasonably. “I'm going to try something and see how he reacts. Your job is to pay attention to his body language. Be my eyes, to use a silly expression.”

“Oh, all right,” Hallie said with a tug on my sleeve. “But I bet we won't even be able to get in.”

“Don't worry. I have a plan.”

We located the counseling center in yet another building topped with leering gargoyles—Hallie said there were enough of them around campus to start a drinking game—and handed our cards to the receptionist.

“What is it you want to see Dr. Crow about?” she asked. “I don't see your names among his appointments this afternoon.”

“If he's not with somebody right now, tell him we want to see him about a suit.”

“A suit?”

“That's right. Tell him I think he owes me a new set of clothes. And that my lawyer here”—I gestured at Hallie—“has advised me to take the matter to court if we can't reach an appropriate settlement.”

“What is this all about?” Hallie whispered urgently to me while the receptionist was passing my message on.

“A little matter of a lost supper. Just follow my lead and look threatening.”

Moments later, we were being ushered into an office where Peter Crow rose nervously from his desk to greet us. I noticed he didn't offer to shake our hands. “I was worried that I'd be hearing from you,” he said immediately. “I should have tried to find you myself. But I wasn't thinking clearly the next day and, well, I'm ashamed to say I hoped I'd just dreamed the whole thing up. Please, please have a seat.”

I took the chair Hallie steered me to and assumed an air of righteous indignation. “You were drunk.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Crow said in an anxious accent.

“And threw up all over me.”

“I'm terribly, terribly sorry.”

“And ruined all my clothes.”

“Just tell me what you paid for them and I'll write a check.”

“A written apology also seems in order.”

“Whatever you need.”

I turned to Hallie and asked, “Is there anything else I should ask for?”

“Well, damages for emotional distress,” she said. “And reimbursement for the extra therapy bills. Oh, and don't forget about the lost wages.”

I knew I could count on her.

I pretended to smack myself on the forehead. “How could I forget about the lost wages? It was weeks before I was able to leave the house again. You see, I have emetophobia. As a psychologist, you must know of it—an irrational fear of being vomited on. It's become even worse since I lost my sight. Not knowing when it might be coming, etcetera. Completely crippling at times.” I turned to Hallie again. “What do you think? Would six figures be reasonable?”

Crow was evidently taking all this seriously. “Please,” he pleaded. “I don't make nearly as much money as you think. And half of it goes to my ex in alimony.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I said.

“Believe me I am. Thoroughly and completely ashamed.”

Having extracted this pound of flesh, I decided it was time to move on. “But that's not why we're here.”

“Huh?” Crow uttered in confusion.

“I'm surprised that you don't recognize us.”

“Is there a reason I should, apart from the, uh . . . party?”

“Well, you must have been following the trial.”

“What trial?”

“The trial of Rachel Lazarus.”

In an instant, Crow's begging tone turned. “Wait a minute. Now that you say it, I do know who you are. What do you mean by coming here and pretending to want money? I should have you thrown out!”

I said, “Now that would truly be adding insult to injury. You're right. We're not here to hold you up. We're here about Rachel's daughter, Olivia. We know you've been counseling her. We were hoping you might answer a few questions. As a professional courtesy if nothing else.”

According to Hallie, Crow looked at the window and scratched his head, as though he wasn't sure his leg was being pulled again. After some thought, he said, “What kind of questions?”

“We have reason to believe Olivia knows something about her father's death. Something that might prove her mother innocent. We were wondering if the subject had come up in one of your sessions.”

“You know I can't discuss that—even as a professional courtesy.”

I nodded sagely. “The therapist-client privilege.”

“Exactly.”

“Though there are exceptions,” I pointed out. “The
Tarasoff
rule, for instance.” I nudged Hallie's foot to be sure she was paying close attention to Crow's face.

Crow's spoken reaction was instantaneous. “You must be joking.”

“I wish I wasn't.” I turned to Hallie and explained. “
Tarasoff
is a landmark case holding that a therapist has a duty to notify targeted victims when a client is about to go on a killing spree. It's taught in all the ethics courses. I was just wondering if Dr. Crow had given any thought to it before Olivia's father was killed. And to his potential liability to the Westlake estate if he failed to give a proper warning.”

“I thought you weren't here to threaten me with lawsuits,” Crow said, maintaining his cool—but only just. “What you just said was libelous. And you're barking up the wrong tree. I knew nothing about Westlake's murder beforehand.”

“And you'd be willing to swear to that in a court of law?”

“I would,” Crow said with conviction. “And now I really do have to ask you to get out.”

TWENTY-SIX

“Nice job,” Hallie said as we were slipping and sliding our way back to the Midway to retrieve her car.

“So how
did
he look?”

“Do I really need to tell you? The blood drained from his face the minute we walked in. He's worried about something.”

“That's why I started off pulling his chain about a lawsuit. To see how much groveling he would do to keep me from making a bigger stink.”

“You weren't just trying to get even?”

“I'm not that childish.”

“When did the vomiting thing happen?”

“At the party I told you about. The one I went to with Candace. She was off visiting the restroom and I was sitting alone, minding my own business, when Crow came along and nearly crushed the air from my lungs. Is he as big a man as I think?”

“Huge. When I first saw him, I thought I was looking at the Chief in
One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest
. So he just sat down and puked all over you?”

“I tried to engage him in conversation first. When he didn't respond, I started to worry that he was ill, but then it became clear he was drunk to high heaven. On my suggestion, he got up to get himself a glass of water and . . . well, let's just say I came away from it looking like a bad run-in with a blender.”

“You must have been mortified.”

“‘Mortified' doesn't begin to cover it. But the incident was more comic than anything else. Most people would have laughed off the idea of a lawsuit.”

“Except that as head of campus counseling, he's supposed to be setting an example. I'm sure part of his job is keeping students from drowning themselves in Everclear. Getting blind drunk himself doesn't exactly encourage responsible drinking. Maybe he's been warned about the issue. If so, the last thing he needs is being accused of another lapse. Precisely how does that whatchamacallit rule you brought up work?”

We'd reached Hallie's MG. She fired up the ignition and turned the temperature control to its highest setting. Even the short walk from campus had turned my limbs into Popsicles.

“You can't just have a patient who dislikes someone else. Or has expressed a vague desire to do them harm. They have to say something like ‘I hate So-and-So and I plan on taking them out next Tuesday with my trusty automatic rifle and fifty rounds of ammo.'”

“So by reminding Crow of the rule, you were trying to trick him into an admission.” Hallie stopped abruptly. “But that means you think . . .” She lapsed into uncomfortable silence.