The Delilah Complex

Fifty-Five

Nina listened to my explanation of what had happened in the consultation with Paul Lessor. She’d frowned when I described the razor blade and how he had held it up in the light. She’d leaned forward when I explained how he had started to lactate and how I’d put that together with a long-term Thorazine patient and what I knew from Jordain about the victims possibly being drugged with Thorazine before they had died.

Nina’s loyalty to those she loved was legendary. And so was the depth of her anger.

Over the years, everyone who worked with her had seen her go into battle for a patient, oppose interference from outside authorities, fight off family members who were detrimental to the patient’s regaining his or her mental health.

In the past four months, I had seen her angry more often than in the past thirty years. First over my involvement with the police in the Magdalene Murders, and now with the Scarlet Society case.

But that had been nothing compared to this.

What she said after I finished came hurtling out with a suppressed force that surprised me. She didn’t yell; in fact, her voice was like a whisper. But harsh. Her mouth was pursed and the vertical lines above her upper lip-usually almost invisible-were white with rage.

“You do not call the police to come into this institute and take a patient away in cuffs.”

“I explained to you he was not a patient. He was here for a consultation. But that was a ruse. He was here to threaten me, Nina. He had a razor blade. He knew things about the men who have been killed. He was threatening me.”

“How do you know that he was dangerous? How do you know he wasn’t simply delusional? How do you know that razor blade wasn’t only a prop?”

“I don’t, but I couldn’t take a chance. The man had a weapon.”

“You have worked with hardened prisoners. You know karate and self-defense. We all do. You know exactly what to do when someone comes at you. If he had a gun, if you were here alone at night, that might have been different. You weren’t. He didn’t. You were out of line here, Morgan. You were looking for an excuse to call the police. You’ve been looking for an excuse for days.”

“That isn’t true.”

Her well-shaped eyebrows arched high in disbelief. “Isn’t it?”

“Are you insinuating that I’m lying?”

“No. I’m assuming that you are not facing the truth.”

“Have I ever done that before?”

“That doesn’t mean you are not doing it now,” Nina said. “You’re not dealing with how you feel about this detective.”

“I am dealing with what I know about this spate of killings.”

“We’ve been over this before, haven’t we? What you know about the Scarlet Society can’t help the police. But that’s not the issue here. We’re talking about you calling them here.”

“I’m telling you that he was threatening me. That I thought there was a real possibility he is the killer and that he had come to make sure I didn’t help the police figure out who he was. Why he thought I could, I don’t know. Something about what I’d been quoted as saying in the paper. But how much of this matters anymore? They have him in custody. No matter what he did or didn’t do, the man brought what I perceived as a weapon into my office. Nina, what if he had jumped on me and cut me? What if he’d lucked out and slit an artery?”

Something softened in her face. A motherly concern, the reality of what I was saying? “You know, don’t you, that I’m on your side?”

“You have a funny way of showing it. You aren’t looking out for me, Nina, but for the institute.”

She frowned. I could see hurt mixed with returning anger.

I stood up. “I have another patient. And this isn’t going to get us anywhere. You have to trust me on this.”

She stood, too, so we were facing. Neither of us moved to embrace the other. One of us should have.

And then the moment was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Dr. Snow, Detective Jordain is on the phone.”