The Soul Catcher (55 page)

G
wen slid into the window seat while Tully shoved their bags into the overhead compartment. During the cab ride to Logan International Airport, they had managed to fill the awkward silences with niceties about the weather and some details about the crime scene. So far they had avoided talking about last night and what Nick Morrelli’s phone call had interrupted. She caught herself thinking that it might be best if they pretended it had never happened. Then she realized how stupid that probably was for a psychologist to even consider. Okay, so she wasn’t good at practicing what she preached.

He took the seat next to her, fumbling with his seat belt and watching the other passengers file onto the plane. It looked like it wouldn’t be a full flight. With no one to occupy the aisle seat there would be more opportunity for them to talk. Oh, wonderful!

Tully mentioned that he hadn’t gotten back to the hotel until almost sunrise. Maybe he would want to sleep. She wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened between them last night.

She knew it wasn’t unusual for two people who had just gone through a crisis to be drawn together in a way they ordinarily would never consider. And yesterday’s attempt on her life could certainly be considered a crisis. Of course that was exactly what had happened.

The flight attendants began the preflight procedure, and Tully watched as though he was captivated and had never flown before, an obvious giveaway that he, too, was uncomfortable. Now Gwen wished she had bought a paperback at the airport bookstore. At this rate, the sixty-minute flight would be excruciatingly long.

Once they were in the air, Tully brought his briefcase out from under the seat. With it in his lap, he suddenly seemed more comfortable, a sort of this-is-strictly-business security blanket.

“I talked to O’Dell,” he said while he flipped through a mess of papers, shoving pens, a day-planner and a clump of paper clips out of the way.

Gwen immediately wondered if he actually used the day-planner. Then she caught herself wondering what Maggie would think when she found out about last night, and about Gwen breaking her own golden rule of not getting involved with a man she worked with. But nothing had happened. They hadn’t had time to get…involved.

Tully brought out some copies of crime scene photos and was pointing out similarities. “O’Dell said that photographer, the one who sold the crime scene photos to the
Enquirer,
has photos of Reverend Everett’s boys mauling women in Boston Common yesterday.”

“You’re kidding. Yesterday?” Now he had her attention. “How did he just happen to be in Boston?”

“Supposedly, he overheard something about an initiation rite when he was shooting photos at the District’s prayer rally. O’Dell said last night’s victim is one of the women, and that it should be easy to identify the young men, too. Several of the boys show up in photos with Everett at the prayer rally, so there’s our connection.”

“This is starting to sound too easy. If Everett’s boys are involved in the murders, why would Everett allow them to be photographed?”

“Maybe he didn’t know they were.”

“How did Maggie manage to get these photos from Garrison?”

Tully shook his head, and Gwen could see a slight smile. “Not sure, and I don’t even want to know.”

Gwen laughed. “So I gather you already know my good friend quite well.”

“Let me just say that sometimes she’s a little more willing than I am to skip over procedure.”

“You’re a by-the-book kind of guy?”

“Yeah, I try to be. Something wrong with that?”

“I didn’t say there was.”

He looked over at her as if he expected more of an explanation, then he said, “It sounded like you wanted to attach a
but
to that.”

“No, not at all. I was just wondering how last night played into your rules-and-procedure book.”

He actually turned a slight shade of red and quickly looked away. Gwen followed his lead and looked in the other direction, out the window. Oh, smooth move, Patterson, she scolded herself. Who would ever guess she had a doctorate in psychology.

“I suppose we should talk about last night,” he finally said.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” she found herself saying, all the while thinking that yes, they did. What was wrong with her? “I just don’t want it to get in the way of us working together.”

God, how pathetic. Where did she come up with this stuff? She should stop and yet she found herself continuing. “It was simply the crisis.”

He was looking at her, waiting. She didn’t think she had to explain it to him, but obviously she would. “A crisis can often make people act in a way they might not normally act.”

“We weren’t in the middle of a crisis then.”

“No, of course not. It doesn’t have to be during the crisis. It’s the effect of the crisis.”

He went back to his computer and punched at a couple of keys to close a file he had just opened. Without looking up at her, he said, “Sounds like you’d rather we pretend it didn’t happen.”

She glanced at him, looking for some sign of what he wanted. But with the computer screen to distract him, he kept his eyes ahead, now watching the flight attendant’s serving cart coming down the aisle as if he couldn’t wait for his beverage and package of pretzels.

“Look, Tully, I have to admit—” She stopped herself, something only now occurring to her. “Should I be calling you R.J.? And what does R.J. stand for?”

He grimaced. Another wrong thing to say. Oh, she was definitely good at this.

“All my friends call me Tully.”

She waited, then realized that was all she was getting. So much for intimacy. Last night had been about sex and nothing more. Why did that suddenly surprise her? Wasn’t that all it had been to her? Thank God for Morrelli’s interruption.

“What were you going to admit?” he asked, looking over at her. “You started to say that you had to admit something?”

“Just that I had to admit I wasn’t quite sure what to call you. That’s all,” she said, while some inner voice told her what a good liar she was.

But how could she admit that last night had been surprising and incredible and then say, So let’s forget it, okay? She had managed to keep her life uncomplicated for years now. Seemed a shame to throw all that away for one surprisingly pleasant encounter.

“So we chalk it up to the crisis of the moment,” Tully said with a casual shrug, not able to hide just a hint of…a hint of what? Disappointment? Sarcasm?

“Yes. I think it’s best that we do that,” she told him.

She imagined Freud would have a perfect word for what she was doing, for what she was telling herself, for how she was handling this situation. Although she couldn’t quite imagine Freud actually saying the word “bullshit” out loud.

G
wen slid into the window seat while Tully shoved their bags into the overhead compartment. During the cab ride to Logan International Airport, they had managed to fill the awkward silences with niceties about the weather and some details about the crime scene. So far they had avoided talking about last night and what Nick Morrelli’s phone call had interrupted. She caught herself thinking that it might be best if they pretended it had never happened. Then she realized how stupid that probably was for a psychologist to even consider. Okay, so she wasn’t good at practicing what she preached.

He took the seat next to her, fumbling with his seat belt and watching the other passengers file onto the plane. It looked like it wouldn’t be a full flight. With no one to occupy the aisle seat there would be more opportunity for them to talk. Oh, wonderful!

Tully mentioned that he hadn’t gotten back to the hotel until almost sunrise. Maybe he would want to sleep. She wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened between them last night.

She knew it wasn’t unusual for two people who had just gone through a crisis to be drawn together in a way they ordinarily would never consider. And yesterday’s attempt on her life could certainly be considered a crisis. Of course that was exactly what had happened.

The flight attendants began the preflight procedure, and Tully watched as though he was captivated and had never flown before, an obvious giveaway that he, too, was uncomfortable. Now Gwen wished she had bought a paperback at the airport bookstore. At this rate, the sixty-minute flight would be excruciatingly long.

Once they were in the air, Tully brought his briefcase out from under the seat. With it in his lap, he suddenly seemed more comfortable, a sort of this-is-strictly-business security blanket.

“I talked to O’Dell,” he said while he flipped through a mess of papers, shoving pens, a day-planner and a clump of paper clips out of the way.

Gwen immediately wondered if he actually used the day-planner. Then she caught herself wondering what Maggie would think when she found out about last night, and about Gwen breaking her own golden rule of not getting involved with a man she worked with. But nothing had happened. They hadn’t had time to get…involved.

Tully brought out some copies of crime scene photos and was pointing out similarities. “O’Dell said that photographer, the one who sold the crime scene photos to the
Enquirer,
has photos of Reverend Everett’s boys mauling women in Boston Common yesterday.”

“You’re kidding. Yesterday?” Now he had her attention. “How did he just happen to be in Boston?”

“Supposedly, he overheard something about an initiation rite when he was shooting photos at the District’s prayer rally. O’Dell said last night’s victim is one of the women, and that it should be easy to identify the young men, too. Several of the boys show up in photos with Everett at the prayer rally, so there’s our connection.”

“This is starting to sound too easy. If Everett’s boys are involved in the murders, why would Everett allow them to be photographed?”

“Maybe he didn’t know they were.”

“How did Maggie manage to get these photos from Garrison?”

Tully shook his head, and Gwen could see a slight smile. “Not sure, and I don’t even want to know.”

Gwen laughed. “So I gather you already know my good friend quite well.”

“Let me just say that sometimes she’s a little more willing than I am to skip over procedure.”

“You’re a by-the-book kind of guy?”

“Yeah, I try to be. Something wrong with that?”

“I didn’t say there was.”

He looked over at her as if he expected more of an explanation, then he said, “It sounded like you wanted to attach a
but
to that.”

“No, not at all. I was just wondering how last night played into your rules-and-procedure book.”

He actually turned a slight shade of red and quickly looked away. Gwen followed his lead and looked in the other direction, out the window. Oh, smooth move, Patterson, she scolded herself. Who would ever guess she had a doctorate in psychology.

“I suppose we should talk about last night,” he finally said.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” she found herself saying, all the while thinking that yes, they did. What was wrong with her? “I just don’t want it to get in the way of us working together.”

God, how pathetic. Where did she come up with this stuff? She should stop and yet she found herself continuing. “It was simply the crisis.”

He was looking at her, waiting. She didn’t think she had to explain it to him, but obviously she would. “A crisis can often make people act in a way they might not normally act.”

“We weren’t in the middle of a crisis then.”

“No, of course not. It doesn’t have to be during the crisis. It’s the effect of the crisis.”

He went back to his computer and punched at a couple of keys to close a file he had just opened. Without looking up at her, he said, “Sounds like you’d rather we pretend it didn’t happen.”

She glanced at him, looking for some sign of what he wanted. But with the computer screen to distract him, he kept his eyes ahead, now watching the flight attendant’s serving cart coming down the aisle as if he couldn’t wait for his beverage and package of pretzels.

“Look, Tully, I have to admit—” She stopped herself, something only now occurring to her. “Should I be calling you R.J.? And what does R.J. stand for?”

He grimaced. Another wrong thing to say. Oh, she was definitely good at this.

“All my friends call me Tully.”

She waited, then realized that was all she was getting. So much for intimacy. Last night had been about sex and nothing more. Why did that suddenly surprise her? Wasn’t that all it had been to her? Thank God for Morrelli’s interruption.

“What were you going to admit?” he asked, looking over at her. “You started to say that you had to admit something?”

“Just that I had to admit I wasn’t quite sure what to call you. That’s all,” she said, while some inner voice told her what a good liar she was.

But how could she admit that last night had been surprising and incredible and then say, So let’s forget it, okay? She had managed to keep her life uncomplicated for years now. Seemed a shame to throw all that away for one surprisingly pleasant encounter.

“So we chalk it up to the crisis of the moment,” Tully said with a casual shrug, not able to hide just a hint of…a hint of what? Disappointment? Sarcasm?

“Yes. I think it’s best that we do that,” she told him.

She imagined Freud would have a perfect word for what she was doing, for what she was telling herself, for how she was handling this situation. Although she couldn’t quite imagine Freud actually saying the word “bullshit” out loud.