The Delilah Complex

Twenty

The call came the next day at exactly 6:47 p.m. She obviously had been to therapy or knew enough about therapists to know that patients always left at forty-five minutes past the hour. She identified herself as Betsy Young and said she was a reporter for the New York Times. I recognized her name from her byline on the story about the event that had brought the Scarlet Society to me.

“How can I help you, Ms. Young?”

“I was wondering if you could answer a few questions.” Her voice was low and intimate and just slightly familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“In reference to what?”

“The Philip Maur murder. Did you see the photograph that ran in the paper when we broke the story?”

Could it be a coincidence that the New York Times was calling me-the therapist working with the Scarlet Society-for comment? Of course not, but who had leaked my involvement?

Shelby Rush had sent out a memo to everyone connected with the society, introducing me and the Butterfield Institute, and suggesting that anyone in need of grief counseling could contact me. Was it possible that a member of the society had sent that memo to this reporter and that was why she was calling?

Of course. Anything was possible, but I could hardly ask Ms. Young without possibly breaking confidence.

“I did see the photograph and read the story, but I don’t know why you are calling me for comment.”

“Based on photographs that we received but didn’t run in the story, there are suggestions this was a sex crime and-”

“You’d have to talk to the police about that, Ms. Young.”

“I have. They, too, believe it’s a sexual crime based on those details. Can I tell you the indicators?”

“I really don’t think I’m in a position to-”

She interrupted me, launching into a description of Maur’s body. “The corpse had bruises around his wrists and ankles as well as bruising on his testicles. In addition, another shot completely emphasized the man’s genitals. Do you think that is important?”

“I can’t comment. I haven’t see the photos.”

“If I had a set sent over to you, would you study them?”

“No, I’m sorry-I don’t think so.”

“Detective Jordain suggested I get a second opinion.”

“From me?” Hearing his name unnerved me. I had to force myself to focus on what the reporter was saying, not on what had happened four months earlier.

“You worked with the detective on the Magdalene Murders, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I can’t discuss those cases.”

I didn’t want to think about the murders or the detective who’d handled them. Especially not while I was talking to a reporter on the phone. Dealing with her required all my concentration; I couldn’t afford any missteps. “Ms. Young, did the detective suggest you call me? I don’t think you told me that.”

I heard her let out an annoyed breath. “It was reported that you had worked with the only survivor of the murders. There were even rumors that you saved her life and helped lead the police to the killer. And since you are a sex therapist and this new case suggests some sexual abuse of some kind, I thought you’d be a great place to start. So, Doctor, can I ask you two questions?”

“You can ask but I can’t promise that I’ll answer.”

“In the article that ran in the Times, did you notice that Mr. Maur had the number 1 written on the soles of his feet?”

“Yes, I saw that.”

“Would that suggest, from a therapist’s point of view, that there are going to be more victims? A number 2, 3 and so on?”

“Yes. But not from a therapist’s point of view-from common sense the numbers suggest that.”

“And can I quote you on that?”

“If you want to, I suppose that you can.”

“Thank you. Now, can you give me an idea of what kind of sex play might be involved if there is bruising on a man’s wrists, ankles and testicles?”

“Black-and-blue discoloration often indicates S & M. Restraints can heighten both the sense of control and submission in sex play. But you know, there could be other reasons for Mr. Maur to have been restrained that would have nothing to do with S & M.”

“Thank you, Dr. Snow,” she said, and hung up, leaving me sitting by the phone. My thoughts zigzagged from Betsy Young and her motivations to Noah Jordain, and as soon as that happened, I stood up suddenly and pushed back my chair.

I needed to talk to Simon Weiss, I decided. About a patient I wanted to refer to him. I knew he’d be in his office; I’d just seen him walk by. It was important. To get away from my desk, my papers, my phone. To stop my thinking from going where it was headed. To do anything to keep my mind off the detective and the time I’d spent with him.

It didn’t occur to me to wonder why Betsy Young was doing another story on Philip Maur. But I’d be finding out soon enough.