Honeymoon

Chapter 65

AT LUNCHTIME SUSAN walked into Angelo’s, one of the oldest and best restaurants in Little Italy and not that far from the FBI offices. Dr. Donald Marcuse was waiting for her at a secluded booth in back.

“Susan. Such an honor. Imagine, getting you out of the office.”

Susan found herself smiling. Donald Marcuse always knew how to put her at ease: sarcasm. He was mainly a forensic psychiatrist, who often worked with the Bureau, but she’d seen him for about six months after the breakup of her marriage.

“Your hair looks great, by the way,” he said. She was wearing it in a short bob these days and had started to touch up the brown lately, which just killed her, slayed her.

“Just for informational purposes,” Susan said, “not that I really give a shit, but is that considered a sexist remark these days?”

The doctor shrugged. “Here’s my theory: if a woman can say it, then so can a man. I don’t know if the theory holds up to scrutiny.”

“Probably not. It sounds too logical.”

They ordered lunch, then talked about current affairs and the wicked ways of New York until Susan glanced at her watch.

“Enough fun for the day, huh?” Marcuse said, and smiled pleasantly. “What’s really on your mind?”

For the next few minutes, Susan told the psychiatrist what she knew about Nora Sinclair. Then she asked him to fill in as many blanks as he possibly could. She wanted to know what had turned Nora into a killer and what kind of killer she was.

As was her style, Susan took notes as Marcuse talked. She would review the notes back in her office and possibly share them with O’Hara.

According to Marcuse, a “black widow” was a woman who systematically murdered spouses, sexual partners, and occasionally other family members. An alternative to the “widow” was a “for-profit crime” killer. With this type of killer, everything was just business. The primary motive was profit.

“Almost all female serial killers kill for profit,” said Marcuse, and he would know.

The doctor continued, pleasantly and matter-of-factly. Nora probably had a firmly implanted belief that men are not to be trusted. Possibly she was hurt herself.

Even more likely, her mother was hurt by a man, or men, when Nora was young.

“Maybe Nora was abused as a child. Most of my peers would say so. I don’t much care for that kind of easy answer myself. Takes all the fun out of it.”

Donald Marcuse finally stopped talking about Nora and looked at Susan. “She’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? It’s not like you.”

Susan looked up from her notes. “She’s so dangerous, Donald. I don’t give a shit if she was abused. She’s pretty and charming, and she’s a murderer. And she isn’t going to stop.”