The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (37 page)

An early lunch crowd was wandering in. Two eye-catching Gen Xer’s took a nearby table and Sky eavesdropped, glad for the distraction. The women gossiped about their most recent dates, complained about their bosses, argued over a Facebook remark, made plans to go to the gym together after work.

Sky listened to their girlish chatter with a growing sense of bewilderment.

These women were her contemporaries. So why did she feel a thousand years old? Something had gone terribly wrong.

Sky left a generous tip on the bar and limped past the beautiful Gen Xer’s on her way out. Which didn’t help her mood a bit.

The elevator at William James Hall opened and Sky followed whacking sounds to Room 740.

Peeking in the open doorway, she spied Alexei Gudzenko, dressed in his signature gray suit, hammering a nail into his office wall. Tiffany yipped at the commotion and Alexei’s gray head shot up.

“
Zvezdochka
? You look terrible.” He tugged at his vest. “What is wrong?”

“Another panic attack.” Sky stepped inside. “I was hoping you could write me a prescription.”

Alexei pointed to a chair. “You and small friend will sit.”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Sky protested.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Sky sat. Tiffany sighed and curled up on her lap.

Alexei delivered two more serious whacks to the nail before picking up a picture that was propped against his desk.

“B.F. Skinner,” he announced, hanging the picture over the freshly pounded nail. “September 1971.” He stepped away from the wall and admired his handiwork.

It was a
Time
magazine cover, triple-matted in a red metal frame. A detailed sketch of the famous behaviorist covered most of the page, Skinner’s pensive face gazed unhappily toward some unseen vanishing point. Although the magazine cover was nearly forty years old, it struck an oddly modern note among Alexei’s collection of antiquities and Egyptian artifacts.

“Premier psychologist of twentieth century.” Alexei took a seat at his desk. “Possibly of any century. Fred, to his friends.” His brow furrowed. “I tell you, Sky, twenty years he is gone and I miss him still. Fred was genius. And decent bridge player.” Alexei leaned back and crossed his stout legs at the knee. “Such a mind this world does not often see. Though Fred would argue: ‘Mind’ is not scientific term!’”

Sky had to smile. Skinnerian theory was a specialty of hers. As a graduate student, she’d penned a paper entitled “
Zen and the Art of Verbal Behavior.
” It was a tongue-in-cheek treatise pointing out certain commonalties between Skinner’s analysis of language and the Zen Buddhist approach to mind. Sky was about to mention the paper when she noticed a change in Alexei’s expression, a disturbing intensity in the therapist’s eyes.

“Of course, we studied and managed human behavior in Motherland,” he said. “Regrettably, other branches of knowledge competed with psychology.” He jabbed at the air with a finger. “Marxist theory, foundation of Soviet Union! Unfortunately for psychology, Marxist theory included human behavior in its domain.”

Marxist theory held little interest for Sky, she had her own issues. But she said nothing. There was no rushing Alexei, once he got started.

“Being superior to any other branch of science, naturally, Marx’s theory suppressed all others. Academic freedom did not exist.” Alexei gestured to the newly hung picture. “
Time Magazine
issue was secret treasure smuggled into Moscow. Read alone, at night, in kitchen. Shades drawn. Embedded in
Pravda
.” Alexei pointed to the magazine cover. “Fred’s signature, bottom right corner, do you see?”

Sky could just make out the dedication:
To Alexei, warm regards, Fred Skinner

“You must understand,
Zvezdochka
. I obtained doctorate from Moscow State University under Luria’s tutelage. Then to Moscow’s Serbsky Institute for Social and Forensic Psychiatry. Fred found these two facts intriguing.”

“You studied with Alexander Luria?” Sky was impressed. Luria was the most frequently cited Russian scholar in the psychology literature. Some considered Luria the first neuropsychologist.

“Indeed, I had that privilege.” Alexei stroked his trim gray beard. “It was sixties, hypnosis was popular treatment for various psychological problems. As one of Luria’s favored students, I moved up quickly through ranks.” Alexei palmed an object from his desktop and held it up. “Paperweight,” he said. “Made in 1870 by Boston and Sandwich Glass Company. Look carefully. You can just make out wild flowers. See millefiori centers?”

Sky saw a gnarl of blue and white stripes among ugly globs of green.

“The artist intended to create double flower,” he explained. “But design exploded in making. A mistake, you see.”

Alexei turned the paperweight in his hand as he spoke. “Have you ever heard term Psikhushka? No matter. A colloquialism for psychiatric hospital. Soviet authorities used Psikhushka in war against dissidents. Logic being that no sane person would declaim against Soviet government! I am sorry to report our Serbsky Institute participated in such activities. To isolate, to discredit, to break physically and emotionally. We were very creative group.” Alexei’s voice wavered, the Russian accent thickened. “You cannot imagine the horrors. Radiation torture. Electric shock. Insulin injection. Lumbar puncture …” His voice trailed off and he set the paperweight down.

“Did you know I was married? Yes, beautiful Anna. Black hair and sparkling eyes. We worked together, fell in love. Had daughter, Galina. So like her mother.”

Sky was too shocked to say anything. Until this moment, Alexei had never spoken of his old life, even when she’d prodded.

“Anna believed in Communist Party. I did not.” Alexei jabbed at the paperweight with an index finger. “September, 1979. I attended symposium in Boston. Forensic Psychology and Psychiatry. Alexei Vladislav Gudzenko, honored guest speaker!” He sighed. “I applied for asylum. I have never looked back.”

“What happened to your wife?”

“Anna? She divorced me. Remarried. With embarrassing speed, I must add. One of Andropov’s toadies.” He shrugged. “I never stopped loving her. But I had to live with myself, did I not?”

“And your daughter?”

“She is doctor of forensic science, like yourself!” His eyes narrowed. “Two summers ago I returned to Moscow. First trip in thirty years. Galina refused to see me.”

Alexei’s confession was so unexpected, Sky scarcely knew how to respond. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Ah! Why do I tell you these things? You did not come here to listen to old man’s tale of woe.” Alexei gestured toward the sketch of Skinner. “Something in Fred’s face brings memories.”

Sky studied a new cluster of antiquities that Alexei had arranged on a Persian rug in the corner. A Greek vase dominated the grouping, the bell-shaped body decorated with palmettes, tendrils, and a figure in a baggy tunic holding a grotesque comic mask. Next to the vase, an intricate head of Buddha, a statue of the Egyptian goddess Isis with a lunar orb atop her head, and a dozen ancient bronze figurines.

She’d failed her friend.

All the lunches through the years, the rambling conversations – how could Sky have missed the pain? She considered the ancient artifacts from a new perspective and decided that Alexei’s obsessive collection was born of immense loss.

“Enough!” Alexei seemed to read her thoughts. He raised a hand, an indication that the subject was closed. Leaning back in the chair, he stared intently at Sky. “Tell me,
Zvezdochka
. What is happening in your life that you are having panic attack? I seem to recall last one had something to do with your detective?”

“Yes. At the crime scene.”

“Continue.”

Sky rearranged Tiffany on her lap and began a halting account of events: Theresa Piranesi’s shocking declaration of love for Jake and the detective’s midnight visit to Sky’s office.

“Jake and I …” she paused, embarrassed.

“Reconciled?” Alexei suggested.

“Yes … well, no …” Sky stumbled over her words. “I saw him with Theresa the next day.” Sky ran her fingers along Tiffany’s swollen belly. “Jake says Theresa is pregnant. He says it was a moment of weakness. Theresa’s uncle says Theresa and Jake are getting married.”

“And you,
Zvezdochka
. What do you say?”

“I hate him.”

“Oh yes, is very apparent.” Alexei jumped up and moved around the desk to give the red frame a slight adjustment. “I saw your detective on television this morning,” he said. “Heartbreak Hill killer apprehended. Good work.”

“Not good,” Sky said.

“Your detective appeared quite confident.”

“Jake’s wrong.” Sky explained the working relationship between Porter Manville and the research lab at Boston University. “It’s Professor Fisk’s lab, he thinks Manville is some kind of visionary. So does the research fellow that worked with Nicolette. But something didn’t feel right. I had to check him out.”

Sky flashed her gold-tipped fingernails and told Alexei about the elaborate preparations at Francois Duquette’s salon, the Four Seasons set-up, Manville’s arrogance and his dismissive attitude at the mention of Primil’s dangerous side effects. “I beat him at chess,” she added, describing the game’s highlights and the amused gallery.

Alexei scowled. “Is this man aware you are forensic psychologist?”

Sky nodded. “There’s more.” She recounted her midnight run to the crime scene, the gunfire at Bullough’s Pond, the CEO’s rescue. “At least, I think it was a rescue. He pushed me down and I blacked out. I guess he drove me to the hospital. When I came to, he ignored me. But he sucked up to Jake and Kyle, big time.”

“He was deferential to detectives?” Alexei’s frown deepened.

“Manville knows I’m onto him,” Sky confided. “But Jake and Kyle think he’s some kind of hero. They think he saved my life. He was awarded Humanitarian of the Year, at the Diamond Ball, so …” She tried to explain the dynamic. “It was sickening to watch. Jake and Kyle were so easily manipulated. That’s never happened before.”

Alexei bolted to his feet. “You must cease all interaction with this man. Immediately.” His delivery turned staccato. “Do you understand?”

“He’s the one, Alexei. Manville’s the killer.”

“I believe you,
Zvezdochka
. But you must leave him to men of homicide.”

Sky tried pointing out the tricky facts of her relationship with Ellery. “It’s been ten years since I dated him but Jake is still blind with jealousy.”

“To be honest?” Alexei shrugged. “I could kill husband of ex-wife with bare hands and not think twice. Love is love. That is not point.”

“The Chief threatened Jake, said if we didn’t solve the case he’d bring in the FBI.” Sky could hear the edge to her voice. “I can’t leave this to the men of homicide. The men of homicide are fucking up.”

“No matter. You are simply not equipped to deal with such a personality!” Alexei slapped the desk for emphasis. “Everything you tell me about this man, carefully crafted image, manipulation –”

Sky interrupted, “This isn’t my first homicide investigation, Alexei.”

A shadow crossed the therapist’s lined face. “Listen carefully to me,
Zvezdochka
. Malignant narcissism. You are familiar with diagnosis?”

“Of course. Malignant narcissists tend to be charismatic, arrogant, predatory.” Sky recited the descriptors learned like a litany from Monk. Serial killer characteristics.

“So you are aware,” Alexei said, “malignant narcissists suffer intense need for control. Complete control! This type responds badly when challenged. And they carry a grudge like you would not believe.”

“What explains that kind of behavior?”

“Etiology of narcissism? Infant’s lack of early attachment to mother.” Alexei shrugged, as though this were obvious. “Maternal attachment is vital. Any disruption may result in severe psychological disturbance later in life.”

Sky didn’t say anything but Alexei seemed to read the look on her face.

“Excuse me, Miss Behaviorist. I will not bore you further with Freudian claptrap.” He offered a tolerant grin. “Many roads lead to same truth,
Zvezdochka
.” Alexei gestured toward the picture of Skinner. “Little known fact: Skinner was surprisingly sympathetic to Freudian mechanisms.”

He studied Sky for a reaction.

When none came, Alexei threw up his hands in frustration. “Look it up!
Science and Human Behavior
, 1953! Freud was only psychologist Skinner referenced.” He shrugged and put a finger to his lips. “You say you beat this man at chess? In front of audience?” He shook his head. “I must inform you, that alone could bring retaliation.”

“Manville won’t hurt me.”

Not yet, she thought. Attraction brings distraction. She still had time.

“What craziness do you talk?” Alexei bristled. “Why would he not hurt you?”

“He’s a raging sexist, for starters. And pathologically self-confident.” Sky pictured Manville in Professor Fisk’s lab, holding the hunting knife. “From his perspective, I pose no threat. I’m female. Therefore, I’m harmless.”

“Please enlighten me. How are you not threat to this man? You work for Homicide.”

“Not any more.” Sky looked down at Tiffany and her voice grew small. “Jake fired me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jake fired me.”

“So! You do not even have protection afforded by police? Absurd!” He shook his head harder. “I can not allow it!”

“I have to go.” Alexei’s tone was making the lump above Sky’s ear throb. She stood to leave but the room tilted in a sickening spiral and she braced herself against the chair. “Do you have something for the panic attacks or not?”

“Stubborn,” Alexei muttered. He pulled a pad from his desk drawer and scribbled something. “Alprazolam,” he said, handing her the prescription.

“Xanax?”

“Just so. Benzodiazepine. Smallest dosage. Take one when panic comes. Two, if absolutely necessary.”

Sky slipped the prescription in her pocket and waited for the dizziness to pass.

Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe she had a concussion.

“Drug is temporary measure,” Alexei’s voice turned gruff. “No substitute for therapy. You look terrible. Go home. Sleep.”