Prodigy Read online

  “Yes.”

  “It was him.”

  “He’s good,” Ed admitted.

  “Really good. Like concert-stage good.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I think so. In another life that was where I was heading.”

  “Music?”

  “Yeah, I’ve played piano ever since I was little.” As she spoke, she pictured Sophie, and the back room of the used bookstore where she’d have her daily lessons, and would then spend hours practicing.

  “No kidding. Why’d you switch? Leave that and become a shrink?”

  “It’s funny, but when I was applying for medical school that was the question I always got asked. Not, ‘Why do you want to be a doctor?’ or ‘How do you feel about working with sick people?’ It was always something about music.”

  “So what’s the answer?”

  “You know, I had a lot of pat answers. And looking back, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I had this amazing piano teacher.” She looked up at Hobbs, “This is boring, isn’t it?”

  “Hell, no,” he said. “Let me hear this. Who’s this teacher?”

  “She was incredible, both of them … Sophie and Max. They’re both gone now. They kind of adopted us, my mother, sister, and me. We landed on their doorstep and they just happened to have an empty apartment over their bookstore; my mom still lives there. … I don’t want to go into the details, but when I was real little we had to get out of Georgia in a hurry and these two Polish refugees we’d never met let us stay with them. I don’t think they even charged rent for the first year, and every day when mom was out working they’d look after us in the store, and somehow I started fooling around with this big old piano in the back, and Sophie decided that I had some talent. She was a concert pianist in Poland, both she and Max were Jewish; their families killed by the Nazis, but they survived and came to New York. Some of the stories they’d tell … just amazing.” Her eyes misted.

  “They sound like good people.”

  “You have no idea. And the way she taught … every piece of music was a story, every composer laying down his life in the notes and the melodies. I became obsessed with playing, and I got really good. So she started entering me into these competitions, and we’d go together, and my mom and sister would be in the audience. And you see, I’ve got this little competitive streak.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I know; it’s really bad.”

  “It’s not; it’s cute.”

  It felt like flirting, and Barrett wondered how Ralph would feel if the shoe were on the other foot.

  “So how’d you do?” Hobbs asked. “Although I think I know.”

  “At first, not so good, but it just made me determined. The first time I won, the look on Sophie’s face, and seeing how proud my mother was; I was hooked. And as I got better, music became this wonderful world where I’d lose myself for hours.”

  “I’d like to hear you sometime.”

  “I don’t play much anymore … at least not in front of people,” she said, feeling a familiar pang.

  “So why did you switch? It sounds like something you really loved.”

  “I had to be practical. Although I never told my mother this, or Sophie.”

  “I don’t get it,” Hobbs said.

  “My mom’s spent her entire life taking care of me and Justine, she was a waitress forever, and now she tends bar. She has no benefits, and I had to beg her not to take out a mortgage on her apartment—Sophie and Max left it to her—she wanted the money to help pay for college for us … Very few make money as concert pianists. It’s an incredible risk, and the further I got with the competitions, I knew there would always be people better than me. Medicine was a sure thing; it meant that at least one of us would have a steady income. So instead of Juilliard, I went premed.”

  “That must have hurt.”

  “Yeah … and that’s another odd thing with Jimmy.”

  “Yes?”

  “You know when I said I’d met him only the one time, it’s not true. I’d actually seen him and his sister growing up. They were four years older than me, and very much the stars of the competition circuit. They were these two ethereal blond twins who would make the most amazing music. I made the connection with Ellen, we kind of recognized each other, but didn’t know from where. When I interviewed him at Croton, I would never have put it together.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was huge, grotesque. He told me that he’s lost over a hundred pounds since then. There’s no way I would have ever connected the beautiful boy I saw playing the cello with the man I met at Croton. And it’s not just the weight, but the younger Jimmy was dazzling.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve been to Croton,” Ed commented. “It’s not that different from prison, and pretty boys in prison have real problems.”

  “I hadn’t considered that. Maybe that’s why he gained the weight.”

  “It’s been known. Doesn’t necessarily make the problem go away, but it might decrease it.”

  “And here I’d just written it off to the medication. Which, by the way, I don’t think he’s taking. So all of this could wind up being for nothing. If he’s not taking his pills, I have to report that to the board, and chances are they’ll lock him up.”

  “Goodbye, golden goose … although, everything you’re telling me is that the man is not stupid.”

  “True.”

  “But if he’s really this brilliant cello-playing prodigy, then I don’t think he’s going down without a fight. That is unless getting shower-raped in prison is how he gets his jollies. And one thing you taught me is that the minute you have a sociopath with an IQ above 120, you’ve got a serious predator on your hands.”

  “Also true,” she said, remembering the feral and dangerous look in Jimmy’s eyes.

  “I don’t like you being in that room alone with him. Any chance I could talk you into having someone else take his case?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ve got to wear a wire.”

  “You think you can get a warrant for one?”

  He leaned across and whispered, “I wasn’t going to try.”

  EIGHT

  Grabbing the banister, Jimmy raced up two flights of stairs and ran into Mother’s room. Peering through Brussels lace, he glared down at Barrett Conyors as she conversed with the two cops. They were talking in front of what was obviously an unmarked police car, as if the neighbors didn’t have enough to talk about. His pulse raced as he devoured details of the woman who’d just interrogated him. She was more perfect than he’d remembered, from her swan-like throat and pointed chin to the high arch of her brows and the willowy grace of her body that not even her off-the-rack suit could conceal. But it was her eyes that held him, dark and stormy gray. Why, he pouted, did she have to be like that?

  “No,” he told himself, knowing that she loved him. “She’s just doing her job.” But Dr. Kravitz had been doing his job, at least the job that Jimmy and Ellen had wanted him to do. Ellen had warned him, not about Barrett, but about all the shrinks who would do whatever they could to see him locked up again. They’d pick at his brain until there was nothing left, and then throw him back into stinking Croton where the others would come for him, wanting to use him like a twenty-dollar whore.

  He stared at Barrett as she laughed with the cops. “What are you saying?” he needed to know. She was laughing. What words were coming out of her painted lips? She looked back at the house, but he knew she couldn’t see him. He lifted up the lid of the window seat and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He focused on her as she hid her eyes behind rimless sunglasses.

  “So pretty,” he murmured, wondering what it would feel like to stroke her cheek or to touch her hair. Like a princess, like Sleeping Beauty. He blinked.

  “Mustn’t touch, Jimbo,” Father’s voice chided. “Mustn’t ever, ever touch.”

  “Shut up.” He saw Dr. Conyors was
saying something to the taller guy with the moustache. Jimmy focused on him, wanting him gone, wishing that he wouldn’t talk with Barrett. “What are you saying?”

  She was turning away now, heading east, probably back to her office. He watched as she stopped and pulled out a tiny cell phone. He needed to know who was on the other end.

  She clicked it closed, and was nearly out of view when the tall cop called out to her. Even through the closed windows, Jimmy could hear him use her first name. Such disrespect, surely she’d ignore him, or at the very least inform him that she was to be referred to as doctor. But that’s not what happened. She just turned and smiled as the dark-suited man jogged toward her. He waved back to his partner, and to Jimmy’s horror, he and Dr. Conyors walked off together and disappeared from view.

  “No!”

  “Stupid boy,” Father needled in his ear. “Such a stupid boy. But don’t worry, she’ll see you get nicely tucked away.”

  “Shut up!” Jimmy shouted into Mother’s empty boudoir.

  “What’s the matter? Can’t deal with a little competition?”

  “She doesn’t like him. How could she?”

  “I bet he has a nice big cock. Perhaps if you asked him, he’d show it to you.”

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

  Father’s voice sang inside his head. “Stupid boy, stupid boy. Jimbo is a stupid boy.”

  Jimmy pictured Ellen, she’d know what to do; she always did. He had to think, to plan. He had to find a way to get through this. Dr. Conyors had caught him off guard; she knew that he wasn’t taking the medication.

  “But if she loved you, Jimbo, why would she care?”

  As always, Father found the thing that hurt most. “She loves me,” he said, but felt a horrible uncertainty.

  “She’ll send you back.”

  Jimmy turned frantic. That couldn’t happen. He couldn’t go back to Croton; he’d never survive. Needing to calm himself, he tried to retrieve his earlier fantasy of he and Barrett on stage. They’d make music, he’d take her in his arms, his lips would find hers, and love’s first kiss; it would be perfect.

  Father’s hissing laughter surrounded him, fueling his fear. “You wouldn’t know what to do with her. Mustn’t touch. Mustn’t ever touch.”

  She’d said she was going to check his blood; she’d know that he’d not been taking his pills. She didn’t trust him.

  Now he almost regretted what had happened to Dr. Kravitz—what he’d done. Not that he felt remorse, but a sort of dull reflection of that emotion. Kravitz too had wanted to check his blood.

  He ran down to the kitchen and into the pantry. There, surrounded by glass-fronted cabinets filled with priceless dinner services, sterling silver tureens, and the Bennington ironstone that Mother had purchased during a Vermont retreat with one of her drivers, he reached up and into a pink-and-gold Meissen teapot. His long fingers fished inside and pulled out a handful of blue and white pills. Selecting four rhomboid-shaped lithium and three tiny white Risperdal, he poured himself a glass of water, and one by one swallowed his emergency stash. Her threat was now a hollow one; by the time Hector arrived in the morning his lithium level would be normal.

  He stared out the back window, still trying to calm himself, watching a crow hop on the edge of the muck-filled fountain. And suddenly, he realized what she was doing. It was obvious; she was testing him, wanting him to prove his love. She was a prize worth fighting for, and she knew it. Like the fairy tales Maylene would read to him in her warm Southern drawl, like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty waiting for the prince who could prove himself worthy of love’s first kiss. It had to be earned, had to be fought for.

  He headed out the back door, through the courtyard and into the carriage house. In the sound-proofed upstairs, he went to the phone, and used a line that the review board did not know existed. The entire world of the carriage house had been concealed from them. The phone lines, the cable for the computer were all registered through a subsidiary of Martin Industries. The board had never thought to ask if the fabulous mansion in Gramercy was connected to a separate property. After all, the carriage house had its own 19th Street address, and why tell them more than they demanded to know. The psychiatric review board had total control over his life—at least it was supposed to. They could tap his phone, search his home, and had explicit directions to audit any computer in his house.

  He dialed Ellen’s direct office number—she didn’t like him to do that, but he had to.

  She picked up on the third ring.

  “Ellen.”

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, keying in to his anxiety.

  “It didn’t go right.”

  She paused, “What do you mean, Jimmy?”

  “She’s testing me. I need you to help me.”

  “I see...Were you careful?”

  “I don’t know. I think so,” he felt lost and exposed. “Help me, Ellen.”

  “I like her, Jimmy,” Ellen said, as she carefully chose her words. “But one slip and you’re back there. You have to listen to me. She’s much smarter than the other one. You’re certain that you want to go through with this?”

  “I have to see her,” he said, barreling over his sister’s caution. “I need to get inside, to know what she’s doing. You have to help me.”

  “And you’ll do as I say?”

  He pictured Ellen in Father’s old office. He hadn’t been there since his release, but could easily imagine how all traces of dear old dad had been replaced with slick Italian modern. “Yes.”

  “And Father? Can you control him? Can you keep him from fucking things up again?”

  “Yes, yes, please … and I need you to bring me a new key for my bracelet, the old one broke.”

  “You’re not being careful,” she said. “What happened to the old one? And I don’t have to do anything. What if I refuse? I’ve done enough.”

  “No,” he said, suddenly mad at her, she shouldn’t play with him like this; it wasn’t nice. “If I go down, this time you’ll come with me. I know what you did. I’ve been in the basement. I know everything.”

  “You’re bluffing, Jimmy.”

  He said nothing, sensing her uncertainty, knowing that he was right; she’d played Hansel and Gretel without him. He waited, letting the seconds stretch into a full minute of silence.

  Finally, she spoke, “No sense arguing. There’s work to be done. But keep Father out of this, Jimmy.”

  “I’ll try, Ellen. Shit!” His eye caught a movement in the front door monitor.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Hector and he’s with someone at the door. I’ve got to go.” Without saying goodbye, he raced down the stairs. There was no mistaking the persistent clang of the doorbell.

  As he cleared the dining hall he heard the added banging of the brass door knocker.

  “Coming!” he shouted, wanting the noise to stop, frightened by this unexpected intrusion. “I’m coming.” He peered through the glass fisheye and saw his case worker and a young black woman he’d never met.

  “Jimmy, man,” Hector said, as the door opened, “what took you so long?”

  “I was taking a nap,” he said letting them in. “Why are you here?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, while seething at this violation of his privacy.

  “Doctor’s orders,” Hector said, as Fred sniffed at the woman’s ankles.

  “What a pretty kitty,” she said, setting her heavy shoulder pack on the floor.

  “I don’t understand,” Jimmy was freaking. “What orders?”

  “Dr. Conyors asked for some bloodwork, said it couldn’t wait. This is Veronica.”

  “Hi,” she picked up Fred and scratched the side of his head with her forefinger.

  “Now?” Jimmy frantically wondered if the lithium and Risperdal he’d swallowed after the session had had enough time to make it into his bloodstream. He tried to control his breathing, to not let them see how freaked out he was.

  “That’s the
order. Do it in the kitchen?”

  “Sure,” he said, trying to think of a way to buy time.

  “Just show me where to set up,” Veronica cheerfully went on, setting down Fred and hefting her bag. “Just three tubes and then we’ll be out of here. God,” she said, looking around and gushing as Jimmy slowly led them back through the immense front hall, “What a fantastic house! Hector says you’ve got it all to yourself. Man, I’d kill for a place like this!”

  NINE

  After leaving Hobbs, Barrett returned to the office and her paperwork. She’d promised herself to be out of there no later than six, which would give her time to run home, get in an hour on the piano, wolf down supper, and make it to kung fu by eight.

  She was also hoping to hear from the lab, to know if her gravy train with Jimmy was about to get derailed. With that plan, she clicked the hand control for the dictaphone. Halfway through her report on a mentally retarded man who’d shoplifted cheap toys from department stores, the phone rang. Hoping it would be the lab, she picked up.

  “Dr. Conyors,” Marla whispered, “there’s an Ellen Martin here who’s insisting that she needs to see you right away.”

  “What’s she doing here? ... Never mind.” Barrett could easily imagine that Jimmy had called his twin right after the session; clearly she’d struck a chord. “Marla, give me a couple minutes, then send her down.”

  There was a pause on the line, “ … Very good, doctor.”

  Barrett scanned her desk and locked away any confidential material. She then opened her door and looked down the hall as Ellen, dressed in a dark-green suit, with a gorgeous amber and gold necklace around her throat, quickly approached.

  “Dr. Conyors,” she said, closing the distance, “I’m so sorry to interrupt this way, but I got a call from Jimmy, and he’s freaking out.”

  “Come in,” Barrett stepped back to let Ellen into her modest office. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thank you,” Ellen said, clutching a russet-colored bag in her lap. “And thank you for seeing me on absolutely no notice. I’m so sorry. I was heading downtown when the call came; I had the driver double back. I’ve been parked outside … I know,” she said, catching Barrett’s eye, “I must sound like a stalker, but it seems like half my life is spent looking after Jimmy. Could you tell me what he did?”