In The Last Analysis Part 9

"Don't begin now. If they'd had enough evidence, they'd have pulled you in as a material witness. I think it's going to be all right, if we just hold on a little longer."

"Where did you learn to talk like that? You sound like one of those authentic precinct novels. It's not me I'm worried about; it's you. I had to go down to see them again today, both Nicola and I did, but it was you they wanted to talk about. In the old days," he added, as the waitress approached, "you used to eat ice cream covered with gooey fudge and nuts. Do you want that now?"

"Just coffee." Emanuel gave the order to the waitress. "Look, Emanuel, I'll tell you this, but I'm not supposed to know it, and you're not supposed to know it, so don't mention it to the police or Nicola. They've got an anonymous letter accusing me. I'm supposed to have murdered her because I'm in love with you and jealous of Nicola. The police have to follow it up. After all, if it turned out in the end I'd done it, they'd look pretty silly if they hadn't followed up a lead like that. And to give them their due, I'm not a bad suspect, as I think I pointed out before."

"This has happened because you tried to help me."

"This has happened because I sent you the girl who was murdered. Emanuel, I've been wondering, why did she come to me for the name of a psychiatrist? I can't help feeling that there's something important about the fact that she did."

"I've been over and over that fact in my mind. But after all, she had to ask someone. You'd be surprised at the abandon with which most people pick a psychiatrist-never bothering to discover if he's properly qualified, a doctor, or anything else. To ask an intelligent, educated person for the name of a psychiatrist is not the worst way to go about finding one."

"But you're thinking that if you'd never backed onto the Merritt Parkway none of this would have happened."

"That's nonsense. The one thing a psychiatrist knows is that things don't *happen.' "

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten. If you break your leg it means you wanted to, deep down."

"What's worrying me, Kate, is that the detective's questions about you disturbed me, and I talked a lot more than I've talked up to now. I've been rather reticent about my patients, but I wasn't reticent about you. I tried to explain our relationship. I told them, if they wanted a psychiatrist's opinion, you were incapable of murder, and incapable of stealing pieces on Henry James. I realize now, somewhat too late, that they have probably mistaken my vehemence for personal pa.s.sion, and will now decide that we planned it together."

"And if we are seen here, they will be certain we are now plotting further."

Emanuel looked horrified. "I hadn't thought of that. I only wanted to ..."

"It was a joke, Emanuel. When I first heard they were accusing me, I was terrified, with the feeling of panic a small child has when he's lost his parents in a crowd. But I don't feel that way anymore. I didn't do it, and the evidence that I did is nonsense. Actually, I think we may be getting near the end of this horror. I have that feeling of events closing in. But I don't want to say any more yet, in case it doesn't work out."

"Kate. Don't get into trouble."

"At least you'll know that if I do, my inner psyche willed it. That's another joke. Try to smile."

"Nicola's beginning to feel the strain. For a while her natural exuberance kept her afloat, but now she's beginning to sink. And my patients are starting to wonder. If I didn't do it, it seems odd that they can't find the person who did. I feel frightened, genuinely frightened, in a small-boy way. Why can't they look elsewhere? Why do they keep walking round and round us?"

"The police have you, or you and Nicola, or you and me, and that's the case they're trying to prove. To them, the fact that it happened on your couch is a nice, simple, una.s.sailable fact. You can't expect them to look around for evidence that they're wrong. But if we put the evidence right under their noses, they'll have to look at it. That's what I'm trying to do, in my wild and woolly way. Instead of worrying, why don't you try to think of something Janet Harrison said?"

"Freud was interested in puns."

"Was he? I've always agreed with the estimation of them as the lowest form of wit. I remember once, when I was a child, saying *I'm thirsty,' and some odious friend of my father's said, *I'm Joe.' Or isn't that a pun?"

"Janet Harrison had, twice, a disturbing dream about a man who was a lawyer."

"A lawyer. The one thing we don't have in this case is a lawyer. Didn't she have any other dreams? Perhaps the lawyer who made her will ..."

"You see, the censor works even when you dream. It won't present a thought too disturbing, perhaps because you might wake, or because the unconscious won't let it through."

"Oh, yes, Brooks Brothers, and the awful suit. Sorry, go on."

"We pun in our dreams, as well as when we're awake. Sometimes in several languages."

"Sounds like Joyce."

"Very like Joyce. He understood all about it. I'm wondering if Janet Harrison didn't pun in her dream, not in another language, but in the same language, an ocean away. What is a lawyer, in England?"

"They've got two kinds-solicitors and ... Emanuel! Barrister again!"

"I wondered. Of course, she may just have seen his name outside his door across the hall from me. As evidence, it's worth nothing to a policeman and very little to a psychiatrist, at least by itself. He may just have looked like her father, or someone else; dreams are very involved, and there isn't often a one-to-one relation ..."

"I think she knew him, I'm sure she did, and before too long I'll prove it. Emanuel, I love you. I hope no policeman can hear me."

"You realize, of course, that Messenger's name is also capable of lots of ..."

"What did she feel about the lawyer, in her dream?"

"I've looked up my notes: fear, mainly. Fear, and hate."

"Not love?"

"That's very hard to distinguish from hate in a dream, and frequently in life. But speaking of patients' dreams, I'd better get back to the next set."

"She never mentioned Cary Grant, did she?"

"No. Kate, you will be careful, won't you?"

"Psychiatrists are so illogical. They tell you nothing happens by accident, and then they tell you to be careful. No, don't drive me home. It will make you late, and G.o.d knows what it would suggest to a lurking detective, if any."

It was Kate's day for walking in on ringing phones. The one in her apartment had the angry sound of a phone that has been ringing for a long time.

"Miss Kate Fansler, please."

"Speaking."

"Chicago calling. One moment, please. Go ahead, please. Here is your party."

"Well, I've seen him," Jerry said, "and I'm afraid we've wasted your money; my time isn't worth much. My impression, for what it's worth, is that he didn't do it. His impression, for what it's worth, is that Barrister didn't do it. Our conversation was full of literary allusions-your influence, he seemed to think-perhaps they are right about E.S.P. Who said *greetings where no kindness is'?"

"Wordsworth."

"Kate, you should have gone on one of those quiz shows."

"Nope. They wanted me to split with the director, and I refused."

"Do you want me to tell you what he said? It's your money."

"No, don't tell me-write it down. Get down every bit of it you can remember. Somewhere, somehow, there's one little straw of a fact that is going to break the back of this case, and it may be in that interview of yours. All right, I admit it's unlikely; but, as you said, it's my money and your time isn't worth much. Write it all down."

"On little pieces of hotel stationery?"

"Jerry, you must not allow yourself to get discouraged. What did you expect, that Messenger would lock the door and tell you with a glint in his eye that he'd killed Janet Harrison long distance by means of a secret ray gun he'd just developed? We're going to find the answer to this case, but I think the answer will first appear on the horizon as a cloud no bigger than a man's hand. Get the interview written down-rent a typewriter, find a public stenographer, scribble it out on hotel stationery and then get it copied-I don't care. But come home on the first plane you can get out of Chicago. I'll see you in the morning."

Barrister had known Janet Harrison-of this Kate was now convinced. That he had the office across from Emanuel's might be the wildest of coincidences, but it could not be coincidence that he had once known the man to whom Janet Harrison had left her money; it could not be coincidence that he was seen in a restaurant (and Kate was certain he had been) with Janet Harrison; it could not be a coincidence that Janet Harrison had punned so cleverly in her dreams-though she would hate to have to convince Reed, let alone a court of law, of this last one.

Had they met in New York? There was, of course, no evidence at all of this, but the chances were certainly that they had. Probably Barrister had mentioned Messenger, never knowing that Janet Harrison would indulge in the quixotic gesture of making out a will in his favor. Kate didn't remember now where Barrister had come from, but she was fairly certain it was not Michigan-and, of a sudden, something began to root about at the base of Kate's mind. A small disturbing noise it made, like the sound of a mouse behind the wainscoting.

Whatever it was, it evaded her. But wait-if Janet Harrison had met Barrister in New York, she must have met him very soon after his arrival, for the picture she carried was of a younger man. Perhaps it was the only picture Barrister had-perhaps she had stolen it. But why had she hidden it so carefully inside her driver's license? Well, say she had stolen it. I must not, Kate thought, starting going round and round again. Let's stick to the one thing I've established-well, established at any rate to my own satisfaction: Barrister knew Janet Harrison. Of course, they would have to confront the Dribble girl with him, but she, Kate, had no doubts of the result of this.

Kate began to make herself supper, wondering when Reed would call. No doubt he would point out that, as a detective, Kate made an excellent literary critic. Although Reed had always been too polite to say so, at least in so many words, Kate knew he thought of literary critics as operating in a rarefied atmosphere far removed from earthly facts. Highbrow critics, he would probably say ... again Kate was aware of the mouse behind the wainscoting. That same mental disturbance she had just felt when she had thought of ... what? Of where Barrister had come from.

What had he said then, that day in Nicola's apartment? "Aren't you from New York?" Kate had asked him. And he had answered that, as some highbrow critic had said, he was a young man from the provinces. Some highbrow critic who had talked about a certain kind of novel. Well, that highbrow critic had a name: Trilling. But did Barrister know it? Did Barrister read the Partisan Review, or a collection of essays called The Opposing Self? It was not impossible-yet his tone of voice had been that of one who scorns these matters. Where had he heard Trilling's phrase for a certain kind of novel?

He had heard it from her, Kate Fansler, by way of Kate's student, Janet Harrison. Not a doubt in the world. Again, it was not the kind of evidence of which any policeman could be persuaded to take official notice, but to Kate it was unquestionable. Janet Harrison had listened to that phrase used by Kate, had been struck with it, and had repeated it to Barrister. That meant not only that Barrister had known Janet Harrison, but that he had known her (it seemed likely) when she had still been taking a course of Kate's. So Barrister was a young man from the provinces, was he? Well, one thing that marked the young man from the provinces, in literature at least, had been that he, or someone he had been a.s.sociated with, had always come to what an English friend of Kate's called a "sticky end." A young man from the provinces indeed!

When Reed called, Kate was ready for him.

"I've got quite a bit to report," Reed said. "I'll be up to see you in a few hours. Is that too late?"

"No. But, Reed, you might as well be prepared-I'm convinced of one thing anyway. And you needn't laugh uproariously. Barrister knew Janet Harrison."

"I'm not laughing," Reed said. "That's one of the things I'm coming to tell you. He's just admitted it."

Sixteen.

"IT'S a funny thing about the unconscious mind," Kate said to Reed some hours later. "There was no real reason for Barrister to use that phrase about the young man from the provinces when talking to me-I'm certain he had no idea why it came into his head. But he met me, realized who I was, knew about me because Janet Harrison had told him about me, knew he must not on any account reveal that he knew about me, and his unconscious came up with the young man from the provinces."

"Observant chap, Freud. He made a number of suggestions about word tests for suspected criminals-did you know? It's more or less the principle a lie detector works on, or is supposed to work on: the criminal's blood pressure increases when he's faced with a disturbing idea. In Freud's test, he blocks at the disturbing question, or a.s.sociates in a telling way. Anyhow, Barrister, like a good patient on the couch, decided this afternoon to talk to the point. It's amazing how frightened innocent people can get when faced with investigation."

"Are liars innocent-I mean people who lie about important things that entangle other people in meshes of untruth?"

"The truth's a slippery thing. Perhaps that's why only literary people understand it."

"That's what Emanuel would call a provocative remark."

"And he'd be right. I apologize. Except, of course, that the remark is true. You'd figured out Barrister had known her before we did. And your discovery of Miss Dribble convinced me to urge them to put on the pressure sooner than they might have. It was Miss Dribble (since I did not yet know about the young man from the provinces) who encouraged me to go along for the interview, even though I had no official right to do any such thing."

"What did he say? Father, I cannot tell a lie, especially when it looks as though I may be found out?"

"He was quite frank about the whole thing. He didn't think anyone knew they knew each other; and, what with his little trouble about the malpractice suit, he didn't like to risk being entangled with the police. You have to admit he wasn't in an enviable position, the girl killed next door, and he having known her. He quite simply hoped we'd never find out there was any connection between them; and, in fact, if it hadn't been for the will and the picture, we probably never would have. And Miss Dribble, of course."

"Of course. Someone was bound to have seen them, one time or another. If the police had investigated him more, and Emanuel less, they might have found someone else who had seen them by now. Didn't the fact that Miss Dribble had been dug up by me, another suspect, make them suspicious about that evidence?"

"You've more or less been demoted from the list of suspects-the active list, anyway. They did quite a little investigation of you, as you will doubtless be hearing from your friends and a.s.sociates. Your colleagues considered the idea that you would steal a piece of work from a student ridiculous, and they went on to point out, with some heat, I understand, the various complications of scholarly research. Also-please try not to get upset-the idea that you were still in love with Emanuel, if you ever had been, was proved untenable by the fact that you had been, more recently, in love with someone else."

"I see. Did they discover his name?"

"Oh, yes, they saw him. Kate, this is a murder case. I'm sorry to have to mention it-but I'd rather you heard about it first from me, and were prepared. You're not, I understand, at the moment planning to marry? Sorry-I shouldn't have asked that. Anyway, there didn't seem much reason why you should have done it, and, of course, there were other things apart from motive which made you unlikely. You aren't angry, are you?"

"No, not angry, and not planning to be married. Now, don't get all nervous and fumble with your dispatch case. I appreciate your honesty, and I want to hear more about Barrister. What did he say, exactly? Had they been having a grand pa.s.sion?"

"He met her at about the time the picture was taken-he needed it for some official reason or other. I think he would have liked to be vague about when he knew her, but we've had a man working on Janet Harrison's history-you do underestimate the forces of law, my dear-and he discovered that Janet Harrison had gone on an extended trip to the wilds of Canada. I guess Barrister knew that we would soon discover, if we hadn't-and as a matter of fact we hadn't-that he too had been in the same wilds, so he told us they were together there. I gather it was one of those romances, as with people who meet on a cruise or in Italy, lifted out of the daily round of life and unlikely to endure after the return to the daily round. After that Barrister came to New York, and as far as he was concerned it was finished, at least as a serious attachment. But Janet Harrison decided to become a nurse, apparently the better to be a doctor's wife, and then she had to go home when her father died. After one thing and another, and the pa.s.sage of years, even though she hadn't heard from him especially, she came to New York. She needed some sort of excuse, so she decided to study English literature at your university. We don't know why she picked that over history, which had been her college major."

"I can guess at one possible reason, though she may just have thought it was easier to read novels than learn dates. The history department demands that its applicants take something called a Graduate Record Exam; the English department doesn't. Therefore she would have less trouble getting accepted by the graduate English department-her college record would do it."

"You're probably right. At any rate, there she was. She was naturally a most unconfiding sort, he says-which G.o.d knows we've discovered-and he managed to keep the relationship quiet and to see her only occasionally, though she was a nuisance. He admits it. Apparently she decided to go to an a.n.a.lyst in order to get over her infatuation, though Barrister didn't call it that, and the fact that she hit on Emanuel was coincidence-though Barrister did know that she admired you very much, which is why she asked you to recommend someone. He hoped she'd be cured, and even offered, he told us, to help pay the fees. He was very frank, Kate, and, I'm afraid, very believable. Like you, he underestimates the police, and thought, if they had a nice motive like that, he'd be for it. The shock when Nicola called him in to look at the body was considerable-I can well believe it. It's to his credit that he called the police immediately. Incidentally, he could have said he had to examine her, shut the door, and looked through her bag, in which case he might have found that picture. He did no such thing."

"That picture must have given him a jolt."

"No question that the police slipped up there. But of course they thought it was a recent photograph, so I suppose they are to be forgiven. As I say, he told all this quite openly, throwing himself on the mercy of the police. He admitted he was telling it now because the police seemed close to finding it out. He also said that men don't kill women who are inconveniently in love with them, and he hoped we realized it."

"Were they lovers?"

"He was asked that, although the police call it having an intimate relationship. He hesitated over that one-that is, he said *no' at first, and then said they had been, in the wilds of Canada. He smiled and said he supposed she might have told Emanuel that, so he'd better admit it; he was younger, etcetera, etcetera, but he was emphatic that they had not been *intimate' in New York. He said openly he had not the slightest intention of marrying her, and to have made love to her would have made him both a cad and a fool. A fool, because what he wanted was for her to go quietly away."

"What about Messenger?"

"He admitted that puzzled him. He had spoken to her about Messenger, in Canada, with great admiration apparently, but why she should make a will leaving her money to Messenger years later Barrister didn't know. Messenger is going to have to bear a certain amount of looking into, there's no question of that."

"And Barrister didn't steal the porter's uniform and burgle her room?"

"The police asked him about that, in a roundabout way. He threw up his hands and said that if he would lie to the police in order to avoid a scandal, he was certainly not, as a women's doctor, going to get himself caught wandering around a women's dormitory. He admitted to being relieved as h.e.l.l that she lived there, since it meant he didn't have to make excuses for not going to her room, and there's no question he avoided the place like the plague."

"It's still odd their relationship was so secret."

"I know that, and so does he. It's one of the things that puts him on the spot. But, Kate, you'd be amazed the queer things that turn up in people's lives, once you start rooting around. I could many a tale unfold. And when the police start asking questions because someone's been connected with a murder case, at least half the time that someone has something he isn't too proud of, or doesn't want known, and he'll lie and muck up the investigation. For example, Nicola once got fed up enough with her husband to fling off and have an affair with another man-did you know that?"

"No."

"All right, and remember, you don't know it now. Nicola didn't tell us, nor Emanuel. We found it out. Well, Barrister is found out, too. But while it sounds illogical, because he did try to keep the relationship secret after the murder, he still would not necessarily, or even probably, have figured that he could keep it quiet if he were deciding to murder her, at least the way I see it. And the motive just won't do. If you think about it calmly, you'll admit it."

"I've already admitted it, d.a.m.n it!"

"When there's a murder, the police lift up a rock that's been in place a long time. And if you've ever lifted up such a rock, you know that there are all sorts of slimy, crawly things underneath. Human beings, by and large, are not a very commendable lot."

"So we're back with Emanuel?"

"They haven't been able to prove that Emanuel ever saw Janet Harrison outside of the office, but then you see how long they took to establish the connection with Barrister."

"How many men was she supposed to have been seeing, in her quiet way?"

"You never know, with that type. If the police could get one outside witness, one piece of corroborating evidence, I'd think they'd risk an arrest. Of course, the District Attorney's office is not happy to see arrests if they think they'll lose the case when it comes to trial."

"But the way I've heard it, they'll push the case if they've got enough evidence, even when they know in their heart of hearts that the accused is innocent."

"Sometimes. But the police don't have hearts of hearts. They don't work on flair. They work on evidence; the more circ.u.mstantial, the better. As it is, between you and me, I think they might risk it with Emanuel. It was his couch, his knife, his patient, and he was the only one likely to be sitting in his chair, with her lying down. There have been cases with no more evidence than that. But his office was, so to speak, wide open, of which a good defense lawyer could make plenty. If they can establish motive, they've got him, though."