The Empathic Detective: A Mystery Thriller Page 6

  They both laughed again.

  Bryce smiled at them, but then caught an undercurrent they were not expressing. Fresh wounds from a recent argument festered under the surface. Someone had recently escalated a disagreement. They had made up, but the argument was too fresh to completely cover some lingering emotional wounds.

  Emily caught his eye. He smiled, then looked away, sipping his iced tea.

  Later, about the time they finished their meal, the phone implanted under Bryce’s ear vibrated. He touched it, and its virtual screen appeared in the air at arm’s length in front of his face.

  Emily’s phone went off a few seconds later. She read the same text message. They both pushed their chairs back and stood up.

  “Dan, dear, we’ve got to go.”

  “Okay, no problem. I’ll take care of the bill.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” Bryce shook his hand. “It was good meeting you.”

  The two detectives rushed out the door to Bryce’s car.

  -+-

  “The receptionist wasn’t going to come in today, because it’s a holiday. But she did after lunch, to try and catch up on some paperwork. That’s when she discovered the body and called nine-one-one.”

  Bryce and Parker nodded, listening to Jenkins.

  “She said she left late yesterday, and he was still here. Dr. Maldonado planned on staying through the night. Apparently he lives at a place way out in the Hill Country so he stays overnight in the office on a regular basis.”

  The doctor’s office was messy, equipment scattered about. An examining table looked like it had been used recently. A medical kit lay open, with needle, thread, and topical anesthetic nearby.

  The doctor himself swung slowly in circles, a makeshift rope fashioned out of patient gowns tied around his neck.

  “Surveillance unit has been damaged beyond repair. It’s an older model, set to send video to the cloud in bursts at regular intervals. It was destroyed before sending its latest dataset.”

  Jenkins pointed out a tangle of electronics spilling out of a storage closet.

  “There’s no suicide note. We checked everywhere. Forensics is just about finished with the DNA scan. What you got, Jimmy?”

  James Ramos flicked a switch on his portable scanner, turning it off, and placed the wand back on its rack. He was a tall, skinny and downright wiry young man. Dark hair and eyes. Fresh out of college with a forensic science degree. A degree he received from A&M, Bryce thought absently, thinking back to lunch.

  “There’s DNA traces from all numbers of people who’ve been in the office recently, Detective. But the blood on the examining table matches Desiree Lamont’s.”

  Bryce and Parker exchanged glances.

  “Well, at least we know where she went last night,” Parker said.

  “What about the body, Jimmy? Any of her DNA on it? Any signs of a struggle?”

  “Other than traces of blood on his gloves, it doesn’t look like they touched. I’d say he sewed her up, but other than that there’s no sign of physical contact.”

  “It makes sense he treated her,” Parker said. “She was shot and needed medical attention. But, can she control someone so much they would actually take their own life?”

  Bryce frowned in thought.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go talk to that receptionist.”

  They discovered the doctor had indeed been feeling somewhat depressed the last couple of years. The receptionist tearfully told stories of finding him morose at times, taking extended days of absence, discussing the futility of practicing medicine, complaining about government regulations, and sharing with her the many troubles in his marriage.

  She never thought he was suicidal, though.

  “I mean, everybody knows this is a stressful environment. I just thought he was dealing with things like we all do, and going through the problems doctors have to deal with. But I never thought he’d end his own life like that.”

  Parker nodded sympathetically.

  “Did you have any indication he was feeling particularly low yesterday?”

  “No. It was just a normal day at the office.”

  -+-

  Bryce and Parker flew back toward headquarters in silence, the doctor’s body still fresh in their minds.

  Finally, Parker spoke up.

  “How can she do that? How can she convince a normal person to kill himself?”

  “Same way she can turn her gardener into a killer. I think she finds the emotions we all have buried inside us, and amplifies the ones she wants to use. It turns people into puppets on a string for her.”

  “Were you able to resist her last night? I couldn’t tell if you were headed toward her out of your own free will or not before I started shooting.”

  “For a moment, she had me. It was a similar mix of emotions I felt when I first met her, at the mansion after she killed her husband. It’s a combination of lust, desire, and a strong need for acceptance. Most of all, she makes me feel like I’m not alone in the world. And that’s my deepest emotional need, I guess. Or at least, the one I most desperately want to feel. Or, maybe it’s my strongest negative emotion and the one I most want to relieve.”

  He glanced over at her with an apologetic grin.

  “It’s kind of complicated.”

  She smiled back, and he felt a pang of sympathy from her.

  They lapsed back into silence as the car approached downtown. It threaded its way through traffic, flying toward headquarters on autopilot. As they neared the station, Bryce grabbed the controls, and parked the car neatly on top of the building.

  He reached for the door, but Parker’s question stopped him.

  “You noticed Dan and I had an argument this morning, didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  She’s very perceptive, he thought.

  Then he shrugged.

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “I don’t mind sharing. You can probably figure out what’s going on anyway.”

  She looked out the window, facing away from him.

  “He wants a baby. I do too, someday. I just don’t know if I’m ready. I mean, I know I’m getting older. I know it’s better to have them when you’re younger. But I just don’t know if I’m ready to have one right this moment.”

  She turned back to face him, eyes probing his to see if he understood.

  He nodded.

  “Sure, I can see that. You just moved, after all. You haven’t even settled in yet.”

  Something in her relaxed, grateful to find a kindred spirit. Or, at least a lack of condemnation.

  She looked away again, this time out the front windshield.

  “It’s not just that. It’s not just that we’re in a new place and everything. I don’t know if I’m ready for one. I mean, really ready. You know?”

  She faced him again, probing his eyes.

  He nodded again.

  “Things have a way of working out, Parker. And he seems like a reasonable guy. I can tell you truly love him. I can also tell he truly loves you. I bet he’s willing to wait until you’re ready. He may throw some hissy fits about it . . .”

  She smiled, reflecting on their fight earlier in the day.

  “But in the end, I’m sure he’ll be willing to wait until you’re ready and you both can enter that phase of life together, as a couple.”

  Parker smiled again. He could tell she felt better. They exited the car and walked toward the entrance together.

  He felt a fresh stab of loneliness and regret, thinking of his own divorce and the fact they’d never had children.

  -+-

  Bryce took off work early and flew north along the old I-35 route toward Round Rock. At U.S. 79, he turned right and headed east, leaving the city behind. Soon he came to the town of Rockdale and floated his car down near a building close to the intersection of U.S. 79 and U.S. 77.

  The sign out front read, “Shady Grove Loving Care Nursing Facility.” He walked through the door and signed in with the AI
receptionist.

  He wound his way through wide corridors with open doors fronting large, private rooms. The halls and rooms looked neat and tidy. Everything smelled fresh, recently cleaned with fruit-scented antiseptic.

  He found the room he sought, and turned into it. A frail old woman lay on a hospital bed, propped up by pillows and an inclined mattress. He grasped her hand lightly, gaining her attention. She turned cloudy eyes toward his.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  The woman smiled, her thin lips crinkling the wrinkles in her face. She kept a grip on his hand, albeit a weak one, as he reached for a chair and pulled it over to sit down.

  “You’re looking good, Mom. Are they taking good care of you?”

  She nodded slightly, and kept smiling, but her eyes started to drift, focusing on a different time and place.

  Finally she spoke, the words soft and strained.

  “I’m waiting for my son, Gerald.”

  He squeezed her hand gently.

  “Mom, I’m Gerald. It’s me. I’m here.”

  She turned back to him and the cloudiness in her eyes dissipated for a moment as she focused on him and the present. Then she turned away again.

  “No. I’m waiting for young Gerald. It’s his senior year in high school. I don’t know what I’m going to do when he’s gone. He grew up so fast.”

  Bryce sighed. He hated this. He never knew how she’d be when visiting her. Some days were better than others. On days like this, when she seemed to be stuck twenty years in the past, he hated it most of all. She would not talk much with him unless he pretended to be “young” Gerald.

  He had tried various approaches over the years. He argued with her about himself, about the fact there was no young Gerald, only the Gerald in front of her. One time he felt like he actually won, when he dragged her back into the present and she admitted he was indeed her son. Then she stubbornly said she’d wait for her other son, young Gerald, to show up too.

  It frustrated him. He felt like he was lying when he pretended to be young Gerald. At the very least it felt like he was playing some convoluted game, in which he did not know or understand all the rules. But today he pushed down his negative emotions.

  Her condition fell under the broad diagnosis of dementia. A couple years after his father passed away, Gerald’s mother had a stroke. A neighbor saw her passed out in her garden and called for an ambulance.

  The stroke robbed Ashley Bryce of her personality as well her mental capacity. The doctors treating her explained that while great strides had been made in treating afflictions like Alzheimer’s Disease, the brain remained something of a medical mystery. Strokes sometimes shut down different parts of the brain, they told him, and that is what happened to her.

  They went into more detail about which parts of her brain had suffered damage in the stroke, but the gist of it was the mother he knew and loved was gone. She would never again be her old self. Besides robbing her personality, the stroke left her unable to take care of herself anymore. She had become an invalid, mentally and physically.

  Fortunately, the Bryces had taken out an insurance policy that provided for just such a situation. Gerald found an opening in the Rockdale nursing home, which had a sterling reputation for quality care. The enormous price tag for the private facility was covered by the insurance policy.

  With few friends at work, he simply hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. His wife Melody had known, of course, but she didn’t visit Ashley even while they were still married. Bryce decided to make his mother disappear, so that no perp he had a hand in convicting would come back and seek vengeance on him through his mother. Anyone looking through the public records would see a death certificate on file for both his parents. So his mother had become something of a secret, stored away in the Rockdale nursing home.

  He sighed, reflecting over that fact, and felt grateful that Jenkins hadn’t known about Ashley Bryce. Jenkins couldn’t have spilled the fact his mother still lived to Desiree Lamont when she pumped him for information.

  He hated visiting his mother like this. And the fact he hated visiting her wracked him with guilt. He felt no good emotions coming into Shady Grove and spending time with his mother. She was nothing like the warm, loving, vibrant woman she had been before the stroke, and it pained him to see her like this.

  And he always felt he never visited her enough. Rockdale was only 50 miles away, a short car flight. When he first admitted her to Shady Grove, he tried to go every weekend. Soon, he found reasons to not go and submit himself to all the grief and pain that visiting her induced. But guilt always brought him back, and in recent years he made himself visit at least once a month.

  He watched her condition deteriorate over time, slowly but steadily. She used a walker when he first admitted her. Then she moved to a wheelchair, except for short exercise sessions. But mostly these days she stayed in bed.

  Ashley’s eyes drifted back to the vid screen on the wall. The nurses left it on a calming channel, showing scenes of nature with gentle music playing. At the moment it displayed a waterfall scene, with butterflies and bumblebees gently dancing on flowers near the water’s edge.

  Bryce sighed in guilt and frustration. He hated the “lying” part, but he needed to talk with his mother.

  He squeezed her hand again. He spoke in a slightly higher pitch.

  “Mom? It’s me, Jerry.”

  She turned toward him and her eyes cleared again.

  “Gerald?”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m here.”

  He gave a bright smile, the same one he used to give yearbook photographers.

  “Oh, it is you. I’ve been waiting so long to see you, sweetie!”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner, Mom. I’ve been really busy.”

  She began talking, a light but steady stream of insignificant chatter. She mentioned nurses, daily routines, cafeteria food, the physical therapist who worked with her and the various exercises he put her through. Her eyes stayed clear, and she kept her strength up.

  Then she turned her attention toward him and steered the conversation his way.

  “What instrument are you going to choose for band this year, Gerald? Are you going to stay with the trombone? Your father will be happy; he doesn’t like buying new instruments. They’re always so expensive.”

  Bryce held his breath, making a decision. He decided to move her forward a few years. He wondered how she would take it. He needed a more mature, a wiser Ashley. Even if only by a few years. He needed her to respond to him as a young adult rather than as a teenager.

  “Now, Mom. You know I’m in college now.”

  Her pale blue eyes held his for a moment. They remained clear. She squinted a bit at him, as if gauging his sincerity. Then she nodded, slowly.

  “That’s right. I remember. We sent you off to UNT. I told Roger, ‘Thank the Lord he’s staying in Texas and my baby isn’t going very far.’ But it’s still a few hours away. I miss you so much, dear.”

  Bryce smiled, squeezed her hand again, and gently let out his breath. So far, so good.

  “How are you doing there, sweetie? Are your grades okay? You’re not staying up too late, are you? Have you found a girlfriend?”

  Bryce steeled himself for the next part. It was trickier, even, than moving her mental timeline forward. Now he would try to get some useful information from her.

  “Actually, I’m having troubles with a girl, Mom. She’s like me. Like us. Only . . . different.”

  Ashley’s eyes squinted again, as she stared into his.

  “Most empaths are women, sweetie. I’m not surprised you found one. But how is she different, Gerald? What do you mean?”

  Bryce glanced over his shoulder through the open door into the hallway. He’d checked out the facility thoroughly before admitting his mother, and he knew the rooms weren’t monitored for sound. The lone vid cam provided staff a picture only.

  Still, this would sound crazy to somebody overhearing it, and he wanted to make sure they
were alone.

  “She can control people, Mom. She can manipulate their feelings. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Ashley nodded, as if soaking in the information. Her eyes turned back to the vid screen. The scene changed to a beautiful mountain range, with clouds and a full rainbow across the sky. Birds drifted through the air in the distance.

  She nodded again, as if taking the scene as a sign, and spoke a word so softly that Bryce could not hear it. He moved closer, putting his ear near her mouth.

  “What? What was that, Mom?”

  “Harpy. She’s a harpy.”

  He leaned back, and it was his turn to squint. He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

  “Aren’t harpies from the Greek myths?”

  He struggled to remember where he had heard the term before. Jason and the Argonauts?

  She nodded. When she spoke, her voice remained soft and slow. He leaned forward again to hear better.

  “Originally, originally. But later, in Europe, it became the term for a highly controlling woman. Especially one with . . . extraordinary powers of persuasion to bend the will of others. There weren’t many who were extremely powerful like that, but there were a few. They gravitated toward wealth and power, money and influence . . . killing their enemies along the way. They worked in the shadows, manipulating some, destroying others, bending the will of kings, rulers, and wealthy men.

  “Fortunately Europe was divided into so many kingdoms and principalities, their influence was mostly localized. But if you go back to the causes of many big wars in Europe you’ll likely find a harpy at the roots.

  “They were few in number, but their influence remained strong for centuries until the great kingdoms were broken up. You still see the old symbol of a harpy, a winged woman or a bird with a woman’s head, on the coats of arms for Lichtenstein and elsewhere.”

  She stopped to catch her breath, the conversation draining her. She looked at him again, this time with alarm in her eyes. He felt a cold, clammy fear stirring up within her.

  “Your grandmother talked about them, Gerald. They’re very rare, and thank the Lord for that. She told me they only crop up once every other generation or so, and strong ones less often.”

  She gripped his hand harder, pulling him toward her.