Loving Time

fifty-nine

There was a message from Clara on Jason’s machine on Monday morning when he came into the office at eight A.M. She said she needed to talk to him right away. He didn’t return the call. At one P.M. he had a cancellation and let Emma persuade him to take a break and go out for lunch with her. As they left, he heard the phone stop ringing and Clara’s voice talking to his answering machine. He didn’t stop to find out what she wanted.

He was moody and distracted as he and Emma left the building. They turned east, away from the sharp wind off Riverside Drive, their breath making steam in the cold, wintry air. Emma bounced along, puffing the clouds happily, her hands plunged deep in her pockets, excited by her future.

Jason brooded quietly about his. He was losing time on all sides. He’d had to juggle patient appointments to carry out Dickey’s teaching duties. He had spent many hours on the Cowles file. He now knew that Clara had given him the file because she wanted him to back up her story that she hadn’t been responsible for the direction of Ray’s treatment; her supervisor had betrayed both her trust and that of her patient. It was a nasty story that she was counting on him, the hospital, and its various committees not to reveal, for it would discredit them all. Unfortunately, the supervisor in question happened to die under suspicious circumstances in his office while Clara was with him.

Jason was shocked by Clara’s arrogance. She seemed to believe that nothing could touch her. Never mind the suicide of her patient Ray Cowles and her six minutes of conversation with him before his death. Never mind her presence in Dickey’s office when he died. Clara was going to rely on her position to stonewall her way through it all. She intended to come out of it unscathed, and Jason knew that she would sacrifice anyone and anything to accomplish her goal. There were some very good reasons not to get into a confrontation with her. Jason didn’t want to discredit the Centre. On the other hand, he didn’t want Clara to get away with murder by blackmailing the institution, either. He was torn, overworked, and overtired. And now he was taking the time to be with Emma and have lunch.

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this,” Emma said happily.

“What—winter, homicide, Clara Treadwell, or you?” Jason grumped.

“Thanks, that’s lovely. I could have left you there and gone out to a fancy lunch, or gone shopping. Could have gone to the gym. Lot of things I could have done, you know.”

“Sorry. Except for Clara, I’m having a ball, really.”

“What’s going on, Jason?” Emma asked, suddenly serious.

“I don’t know, Em. I really don’t.”

“Oh, come on, you’re a shrink. What’s your theory?”

Jason inhaled on the question. His breath caught on the cold air, and he coughed.

“It’s hard to imagine Clara a murderer,” Emma mused when he didn’t answer.

“There are other possibilities.” Jason sighed, scratching his beard. “I really hate getting sucked into this.”

“What are you going to do, baby?” Emma tucked a hand in his pocket, found some fingers. “You’re rich. You don’t have to put up with it.”

They speeded up to cross West End Avenue before the yellow traffic light turned to red.

“Darling, you’re rich. I’m not. I still have to put up with it.”

“What does that mean? If you made lots of money, wouldn’t you share it with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He fell silent, not wanting to seem churlish by pointing out that he couldn’t exactly count on her good fortune since she’d only just returned from leaving him for six months. She might take off again at any time. And having a big earner for a wife would not be a complete joy to him in any case.

“Sexist,” she muttered.

They got to their favorite place, the Lantern Coffee Shop, where they used to go years ago when they first met. At the door, Emma tugged at his arm.

“Look, there are those cops and that FBI guy.” She turned away. “I can’t go in there.”

Jason peered through the dirty glass door. April Woo, Mike Sanchez, and Special Agent Daveys were sitting at a table in the back. As if she sensed Jason’s presence, April suddenly glanced up. She saw Jason and smiled.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked, her eyes troubled at seeing the two detectives who’d saved her life.

“We could go in and find out,” Jason proposed.

Emma withdrew her hand from his pocket. “You’re really into this crime thing, aren’t you?”

“I thought you were interested.”

She turned south on Broadway, forcing him to follow. “I was interested in the FBI. They need spook shrinks. You’d be perfect. Shave off your beard and let’s go to Washington. But what’s this thing with New York street cops? Why can’t you stay away from them?”

“Emma, cops come in handy sometimes.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.” She kept walking fast. Jason had to trot to catch up with her. He was dying to know what was going on. He wished he and Emma could sit down and join the law-enforcement party. But he knew from long experience that Emma did what she wanted and wouldn’t be budged. She had to deal with things her own way. If she didn’t want to be reminded of what it felt like to be a victim, fair enough.

Jason decided he’d put in a call to April and ask her if she’d drop by to update him on the case later. His breath frosted the air as he jogged to catch up with his wife.