S.V. Redkin – The Great Conductor (страница 13)

Christine liked O’Hara even less and often felt that these two wanted her out of the picture. Some macho bullshit certain types of men have when they feel threatened by a woman. Christine felt sorry for the therapists those guys went to, if there were any at all.

It was time to go anyway. She would keep an eye on this case, just like she paid attention to all hit-and-run incidents.

She had a busy day ahead of her: two new cases that needed her immediate attention and her weekly session with Dr. Korpacheff in the afternoon. She did not know what she was looking forward to less: interviewing suspects or being interviewed herself.

Getting into her car, she decided not to think about it just yet and went to get some breakfast. There was another thing she could ponder while eating—her possible second date with Victor. She had promised her grandparents she would send a follow-up message to him. He had replied to her text saying that he wanted to meet her again. Maybe she could use her time more productively with the doctor today and find out how she felt about it.

***

“How does it make you feel?” Dr. Korpacheff asked, slowly flipping a Swarovski crystal pen with her fingers, making the little pink crystals inside it sparkle.

Christine had told her about the lack of any confrontations and animosity at work, mentioning her brief interaction with Detective Kozminsky that had not resulted in a fight, and had shared the news of the upcoming date.

“Knowing that someone wants to meet with me?” Christine was sitting in the same chair across from the doctor, playing with her beads and watching the crystals in the pen. They looked beautiful. How much would a pen like that cost?

She had finished a long and unpleasant interview with a forty-seven-year-old unemployed white man who, if she could prove it, would be better off without contact with the outside world for a couple of decades until he rots in prison for what he did to his sixteen-year-old stepdaughter. He claimed he had no memory of what happened in his apartment and found the girl’s body shot in the bathroom after waking up from a night of drinking with “future business associates.” The poor girl’s mother, a forty-three-year-old nurse, worked the night shift at the hospital and was notified of her daughter’s death after treating patients overnight. Christine could not imagine how sorry that woman must feel about the choices she made about men in her life.

What was more important: to have a body to hug in bed or the well-being and safety of one’s own child? The woman could probably have saved her daughter’s life if she had left the man—her third husband—after the first signs of sexual harassment that, according to neighbors and a few remaining friends, had happened on several occasions. Never underestimate the power of denial but be prepared to pay the price for the consequences. The pictures of bruise marks on the girl’s body would definitely be haunting the woman for the rest of her life.

“I feel . . . I want to talk to someone—you know, besides my friends—normal . . . hopefully,” Christine said after giving it some thought.

“Normal?” Dr. Korpacheff looked at her.

“Yeah, you know, someone I don’t meet in my line of work.”

“It sounds like having a connection outside of your professional roles is really important to you.”

Christine gave it some thought. “I think so. Yes.”

For once, it felt nice to be sitting in the doctor’s office, looking at this well-dressed woman, whom Christine wouldn’t mind making friends with outside of the office, and being away from the unspeakably violent people that she had to deal with every day. It was like a glimpse into the life that Christine might have had if she hadn’t decided to become a police officer. Suddenly, she felt a little excitement about the dinner that she was going to have with Victor that night.

“You’re smiling.” Dr. Korpacheff’s voice brought her back from her thoughts.

“Am I? Well . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I’m excited about the date or . . . I’m just too tired to think about it.”

“The desire to be normal is normal, Christine. It’s good to channel your thoughts of normality in such a healthy way. We still need to work on finding the object of your anger, though, but . . .” Dr. Korpacheff put away her notebook, her sparkling pen, and took off her glasses. “We’ll talk about it in our next session.”

Christine got up and suddenly felt like hugging the doctor. It felt like she had just had a nice conversation with a friend. Is that what they call a breakthrough in therapy? she thought. She smiled instead and left the office to deal with yet another case that was waiting for her—a thirty-three-year-old man killed by a gunshot to the head during an attempted robbery. The victim’s family suspected his ex-wife’s boyfriend, who had a serious and unsavory past.

***

“Sorry, I don’t have time to change, and I don’t want to be late.” Christine was driving and recording a voice message to Victor, who was waiting for her at the seafood restaurant they had chosen for their second date. “Will it be terribly rude of me to show up in my work clothes?” She released her finger from the screen, sent the message to her date, and shook her head. She hated being late and wondered if her message was too familiar for a second date.

As she was about to make a turn, she saw an incoming voice message from Victor. She pressed the little triangle to listen to it.

“What a coincidence!” Victor’s voice sounded cheery. “I didn’t have time to change either and was wondering the same thing. So I guess both of us will be in the ‘after work’ mode for this one.”

Christine smiled, deciding that it sounded reassuring. She was two blocks away from the place and started looking for a parking spot.

Ten minutes later, she was seated at a table by the window opposite Victor. He was smiling, and it did not seem like he had just had a long day. His shirt was wrinkle-free, and his suede loafers were spotless, as if he had spent the entire day indoors. In fact, he smelled as if he’d just taken a shower using some herbal oils or something similar. It was a welcoming sight for Christine, who had spent her day with people who could have used a shower (excluding Dr. Korpacheff) and who had just realized what she must have smelled like to Victor.

“I’ll just . . . go to the ladies’ room for a bit and you can . . . order us drinks.” She got up and then remembered something. “Wait, I can’t have anything with alcohol.”

“Will an alcohol-free mojito work for you?”

“Perfect,” she said and hurried to the bathroom, wondering if they had some fancy hand cream inside she could use as a deodorant and remembering that one could use baking soda and coconut oil to make a pretty decent deodorant as well. Under the circumstances, it was a pretty useless piece of information, but it made her smile. She had a feeling that this was already shaping up to be a good evening.

Chapter 13

Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op. 43 was playing in the back of his mind. Sebastian was making breakfast: organic turkey sausages, pieces of broccoli, carrots, an omelet made from free-range eggs, toasted whole-grain rye bread with a thin layer of honey, and a cup of organic, dark-roasted coffee. He was particular about what he ate, just like his father. Martha had bought everything he needed in advance. She told him she could still come and help until he adjusted to life without Lydia—the organization she worked for had allowed her to do this because, technically speaking, Sebastian was also a musician, though not yet retired.

As he was checking the color of the omelet—the French style had to be very pale yellow and just barely cooked on the inside—he caught himself thinking that he didn’t really need to eat healthily anymore. He could go get a McMuffin and hash browns at McDonald’s; it was something he had dreamed about when he was little. When he had an “unhealthy” craving as a boy, his dad would secretly take him for a burger and a milkshake. Stephen understood that kids would always be kids and allowed these occasional outings when Lydia wasn’t around. He would sit across from Sebastian at Wendy’s and ask with a smile, “How can you possibly like that?” Sebastian did not know why he enjoyed those trips. Was it the greasy food, or the time spent with his father? Perhaps a combination of both?

After Stephen’s death, eating fast food—or anything from street vendors—was considered a treacherous and punishable act. But . . . Lydia wasn’t around anymore, and Paul, who was also a health foodie, couldn’t tell him what to eat.

Sebastian paused for a second, considering a rather rebellious plan to throw away all this fancy stuff and run to a fast-food restaurant just because he could do what he wanted. He shook his head and continued checking the omelet. After all, it was a silly idea, and there was no point wasting perfectly good food when some people couldn’t afford to buy it. Perhaps he would go out for a burger and a shake when his piece was ready and well-rehearsed—a celebration where he would imagine his father sitting next to him and smiling. That would be nice.