I depressed the buzzer, and somewhere deep inside the apartment there was a sound like the swarming of bees. It stopped when I took my finger off the buzzer. I waited, thinking about nothing much. After a little while more, I pressed the bell again. This time, over the muted swarming of bees, there was the sound of softly padding feet coming toward the door.
"Who's there?"
I leaned toward the door. "Police, ma'am. Would you open the door, please."
The door slid back about three inches. Between the end of the door and the doorjamb a woman's face appeared. Her face was tilted sideways, and a rippling wave of shocking red hair tumbled across her pale blue eyes. She pushed the hair away with a nervous snap of her hand.
"What is this all about?" she asked.
"I'm Detective Malachi Browne," I said, showing her my I.D. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, Miss Poirot. It won't take long."
"But – what is this about?"
"It would be easier to talk inside," I suggested.
"You can't come in now. I'm right in the middle of – something."
"Well, Miss Poirot, it's about Effie Spade…"
"Oh, for Christ's sakes!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so in the first place! You had me scared to death. Jesus."
"Ma'am?"
"I couldn't figure out what I did wrong! I was wondering what the hell you wanted to speak to me for?" The door began to slide back, revealing the rest of Miss Poirot. She was stark naked. "Come on in!"
I stared in at her incredulously. She was standing squarely in the doorway, her thighs spread wide apart, and she was fingering her red-haired cunt. With the other hand she was cupping her pert apple breast, tweaking the pink nipple between her thumb and index fingers. Sloppy and wet was the sound coming from between her thighs as her middle finger slipped from her cunthole and began to vigorously massage the swollen bud of her clitoris.
Seeing her as she was, I said the first logical thing that came to my mind. "Oh, you're busy. I can come back a little later…"
"Don't you dare!" she cried, groaning softly at the end of her words as her hips ground tightly around. Her finger slipped and pressed, twirling rapidly the ruby-tipped bud nuzzled between the lips of her cunt. "You come right in here now this minute!"
"But…"
"No excuses…" She moaned again, closing her eyes as she masturbated. "When you rang the bell I was just about to get off – and you made me lose it. I'm hotter than a bitch in heat and I need desperately to come. So don't leave me like this – you owe me at least a quick fuck to put me out of my misery. Then I'll tell you anything you want to know about poor Effie. But me first… oooohhh!"
The combination of her offer, and the promise of what would come afterwards was too much to resist. I was inside in less than ten seconds, and in less than ten seconds more, I was inside of Miss Michelle Poirot. She came a couple of times from fucking, and then she came twice more while I was eating her. By then I was really in the mood for coming, and I told her so.
"Oh; I know," she moaned, almost delirious with simultaneously subsiding and erupting orgasms, "fuck me up the ass. Fuck me up my ass… God, I just love that! Oh, God."
"Yes… yes," I grunted, getting ready to mount her again. My cock was dripping wet, both from her cunt and mouth, easily lubricated enough to slip effortlessly up her ass. I pressed the burning tip of my swollen shaft between the cheeks of her ass.
"No – wait!" she cried, pushing me away: "Not yet. I'm too sensitive now from coming so much. I've got to come down a bit. Let me rest a second and then I'll let you fuck my ass."
My cock was throbbing, I was impatient to come, but what could I do? I stepped back away from the bed.
"All right… I guess," I said, shrugging stoically. I gripped my cock and began to pump it. "But don't take too long. I don't want to make myself come from just jerking off. I want to fuck your ass."
"Oh, yes – do that!" Michelle cried, pointing to my pumping hand. "Do that… jerk off while I watch you. That'll turn me on great! I'll watch you, and I do it to myself while you watch me. Then I want you to fuck my ass good and hard!"
I staggered back two feet more, cock in hand, and I watched Michelle as she masturbated. She leaned back on the bed and spread her thighs. Her cunt was very wet and wide open. I could see the ring of pink muscles at the opening of the hole screwing open and closed, as if it were an eye winking obscenely at me. She placed her hand on her cunt, and she began to masturbate, using her index and middle fingers. Her hand rolled swiftly, touching the spot just above her clitoris, and from the moans that oozed past her convulsed lips, it was evident that she was giving herself pleasure. I saw her thighs quiver once, and her body stiffened. She pressed her cunt forward, obviously experiencing a sudden swell of excitation.
"I like that," I said, pulling on my rigid cock. "Talk to me while you're masturbating. Tell me how it feels."
"It feels… good!" Michelle said, her voice colored with emotion. "Hot and wet – very wet. My fingers keep on slipping off the clit. Ohhh… that felt good. A very powerful wave of pleasure. I've… I'm very close to coming again. I can feel the sensations building in my cunt… all wet and tingly!"
My cock was hot and swollen, and still very wet from the combined juices of Michelle's cunt and mouth. The cool air in the apartment made it prickle sensually.
I walked over to the bed; I could hear the wet movement of Michelle's fingers as she worked them between the lips of her cunt. It was a gummy, swishing sound.
"Turn over," I said. "Get on your hands and knees." Obscene excitement worked into the look on her face, and Michelle obeyed quickly, turning over and elevating her ass. She leaned forward and cushioned herself in her folded arms so that her back sloped down on a decline.
I put my hands between her thighs. "Spread your legs more. And move back toward me so that your ass hangs over the edge of the mattress."
Michelle did as I asked, turning her head and looking back at me. "Are you going to – fuck my ass?"
"Yes," I said slowly. "I'm going to fuck your ass until you beg me to stop."
"Good," she moaned, and her body trembled with excitement.
With little more build-up or preparation, I bent forward, taking the cheeks of her ass in my hands, and I began to lick my tongue up and down the crack of her ass.
"Oh… yes!" Michelle moaned, squirming the moment my tongue touched her flesh. She trembled fitfully, almost a violent, uncontrolled quaking of her muscles. "Oh, yes, do that… do that!"
I held the cheeks of her ass in my hands, pulling the delicately curved mounds of flesh apart with my straining finger. I watched as the tight brown circle of her anus stretched under the pressure of my hands, pulling the rubbery orifice open so that at the center of her flesh was a tiny black hole. I slid my tongue into that hole, prodding it with the wet, licking tip, trying to stuff the full-length of my tongue up inside of her.
"Oh Jesus!" Michelle cried, screwing her ass back in my face. "Eat it! Oh, please; God – eat it!"
As I brought my face closer to her ass, I could smell the musky odor of her runt. My chin rubbed against the uppermost edge of its lips as my tongue sunk into her anus. The lips fluttered against me, rubbing me with its slimy wetness. Both sides of my face touched the straining muscles of her ass, and my lips were pressed wetly around the puckered mouth of her anus.
Michelle began to rock back and forth on her knees, banging her ass into my face almost as if she were trying to impale herself on my tongue. She screwed her hips around in a tight circle, as though she were fucking with me and she was trying for a deeper penetration.
"Stick it in me!" she cried, trying to knock me down with the powerful thrusts of her ass. "Oh God! It's driving me crazy! It's like a fire inside of me! Stick it in… harder!"
I tried to accommodate her passion: I pulled at the cheeks of her ass with all my might, spreading them as far apart as I could. Stiffening my tongue, I jabbed it forward, into her, until I could feel the clutching spasms of her sphincter as it tried to close around my tongue.
"Ohhhhh!" she cried.
The tight walls of her anal canal pressed against the thrusting wedge of my tongue as I slid wetly into her, lubricating the passageway. My chin was jammed fiat against her crotch, with my nose pushed painfully flat in order for me to penetrate her as deeply as I could. I wiggled my tongue around inside of her, and Michelle danced in pleasure, responding to the flicks of my tongue as if it were a whip, and I were beating her with it.
The canal was as wet as I could make it, and I quickly withdrew my tongue. Michelle followed the movement out, trying to recapture the flitting sting of my tongue, but I moved too suddenly. Turning my head slightly, I wet my index finger in my mouth. I thrust the finger into the open hole of her anus.
"Oh – it hurts!" Michelle moaned, moving her ass away from the swift penetration. "Oh!"
I followed her attempted withdrawal closely, thrusting in hard, almost viciously, until my finger was enclosed in the warm grip of her anus, pushed all the way in, right down to the curl of my fist. The muscles of her ass clenched shut, as if she were trying to expel me in a spasm of downward pressure.
"Oh, my God!" she moaned, her legs trembling. "It feels like you're all the way up into my stomach. God, you're in so deep!"
I began to rotate the finger, turning it slowly to the right, and then slowly to the left. Her muscles tightened, then relaxed, and the movement of my rolling finger became easy and free. I began to push in and out, pulling my finger almost to the rim of her canal, then thrusting it in again until my finger had returned to its original position all the way up her asshole.
"Fuck me, please," Michelle begged. The lips of her cunt were quivering as she tried to rub her swollen clitoris against my other dangling fingers. "Fuck me, Mr. Cop… fuck me before I explode!"
I pulled the finger out, it made a wet, popping sound. For a moment I thought she was going to collapse. I put both my hands under the cheeks of her ass, shoring them up so that she was high and spread wide open for my penetration. The twin pink hills were covered with a greasy film of perspiration, and a river of sweat oozed down into the valley just below her ass, trickling between the lips of her wet, open cunt.
My cock was still wet from her cunt and mouth, but I spit into my hands and rubbed the spittle all over my rigid prick. Once wet, I moved in closer to her, until the tip of my organ was pressed firmly against the small brown hole of her anus. I gripped the cheeks of her ass tightly in my fingers, and in a single fluid motion, I pulled them even further apart and I thrust in simultaneously.
"Oh, my God!" Michelle screamed. "Oh, my God! It's too big… it hurts!"
But I was in: just the tip of my cock, but I was in her asshole. I had to lean forward, pressing my weight into her, just to keep Michelle from expelling me. Her anal muscles screwed down, crushing the tip of my blunted cock, as if she were trying to squeeze the life out of it.
"Loosen up," I instructed. "Relax…"
But the grip of her muscles was vise-like, and Michelle began to press her legs together. I realized there was only one way to overcome it, and that was by thrusting forward into her. Once the pleasure of fucking began, she would loosen up naturally.
I leaned forward and wrapped my hands around Michelle's thighs. My fingers dug into her pale flesh, and I propelled my hips forward, thrusting as hard as I could. Michelle screamed in agony, but I felt something give. I slid into her ass.
"Aagggghh!" she moaned. "Oh, please… I've changed my mind. Don't… no! It hurts… it hurts!"
Michelle continued to crush down with her anal muscles, but I was all the way up inside of her. I began to move slowly in and out, rocking back and forth as my cock tunneled up into her rectum. She squeezed and ground her hips back, but I continued to thrust in and out, and after a few more moments her cries of pain had become pleas for continuance.
"Oh, it hurts… nice!" Michelle moaned. "Oh, don't stop – don't! It feels so good… it hurts so good! Oh Jesus! My insides are on fire! You're in so deep. Your cock is so thick and hard!"
Michelle was pressing back to meet me now, rocking on her knees like a dog in heat. Her anal canal was incredibly tight, but greasy and slippery. My cock sawed in and out with an insistent rhythm. My balls swung like dead weight, banging into her wet oozy cunt like the clappers of some fleshy bell.
My back strained to maintain my rocking tempo, and my cock felt as if it were literally on fire. Michelle tightened her muscles and rolled her ass, rotating my cock as though it were a crank and she were winding it. She screwed her empty cunt against the hard muscles of my thighs, trying to rub out the fire that had transformed her body into a package of raw nerve endings.
"Oh, baby… baby, it's coming… it's…"
I released her thighs and stood more erect. I put my hands on top of her back, and, bending my knees, I pushed my cock in and out of Michelle's ass. I could feel my orgasm also beginning to mount. My balls were tensing, expanding, getting ready to explode. I thrust in with all my might, watching as the thick shaft of my cock disappeared into the tiny opening between the cheeks of Michelle's ass.
"Oh Jesus!" she screamed, sounding surprised. "I'm coming! Oh, God – I'm coming. Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard!"
In a chain reaction, Michelle's orgasm set mine off. I felt my cock rupturing inside of her ass, the orgasm exploding so forcefully out that it seemed to blow the tip of my cock right off into her. My sperm gushed out, under pressure, spewing into the constricted tunnel of her throbbing rectum. Like a stream of pressurized water, my sperm spit from the end of my cock, splattering like thick hot oil into the lining of her anus. My balls ached from keeping up with the steady flow of swirling hot blobs of sticky white substance. Michelle screwed her ass back, swallowing my cock once more, trying to suck from it even more of the precious fluid.
My hips pounded against her ass so steadily that the dull slapping sound of sweaty flesh stung the air around us. Even though my cock had clearly met its match, and was now deflating, Michelle didn't slacken her enthusiasm as she tightened the passageway even further to compensate for the loss in size and thickness. She rolled forward and rocked back, grinding her hips around, trying to snap my cock off inside of her.
"Fuck me!" Michelle screamed, her voice shrill in the ringing ecstasy of her orgasm. "Fuck my ass!"
I tried to, I really did, but my cock was limp and floppy and felt as if it were broken. Michelle continued to squeeze it regardless, massaging it in long rippling waves, until it was all wet and pulpy. Finally my cock slipped out of her anus, now all wide and gaping, and afterward, a milky white ooze leaked out, almost like pale blood from an open wound.
Michelle fell forward on the bed, face down and spread-eagled. Weakened, I staggered back a few feet to observe my handiwork. It was then that I noticed Michelle had managed to bury two fingers down to the knuckle of her hand between the lips of her cunt. Sperm trickled down from her ass, sliding like loose gelatin around her finger-engorged cunt.
I sat on the bed next to her. My cock ached and it was completely flaccid. Even more than that it seemed shrunken and deflated. My whole crotch was smeared with now cold sperm that dripped down between my thighs and got all over my balls.
I put my hand on Michelle's ass and I patted it. "All right," I said, wheezing breathlessly, "now tell me all about Effie Spade."
"Jesus, you don't give a woman much time, do you?"
"This is official now, ma'am."
"Oh, I see. What is it you'd like to know?"
"Anything… everything. What she was like, what she felt; what she thought about, who her friends were, her lovers – everything."
"Well," she whined, turning slowly over, "I really don't know that much about her. Effie was kind of a private person, you know."
I gave Miss Poirot a hard stare.
"I really don't know! Ask somebody else who knew her better. I only made love to her once in a while, that's all. Ask her friends, ask that doctor of hers."
"Her doctor? Was she ill?"
"No, not that kind of doctor." Miss Poirot tapped the side of her head. "A psychiatrist."
"Do you know his name?"
"Oh… yes, I do. I remember I have it written down somewhere. I'll find it when I get up."
"What was she seeing the doctor for?"
"She was trying to cure her problem."
"Her problem?"
"She was a lesbian. Didn't you know that? Effie Spade was a lesbian."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A Visit With A Psychiatrist
It was an opaque pebbled glass door, and stenciled on it in bold black letters was: Dr. C. Auguste Gideon. A little lower, in smaller letters, was: By Appointment Only. There was a bell on the jamb of the door, and I rang it. At the same time I put my hand on the doorknob, twisted my wrist, and stepped into his office.
Quaint, I thought. An old fashioned door that doen't open by itself. I wonder if they're going to come back into vogue?
"Ah, there you are Mr. Fell," a young and pretty nurse said. She was sitting behind a low dark green desk that curved around toward her in a lazy but graceful arc. She had long blonde hair, and it tumbled like loose sunshine across her shoulders. She smiled with all her teeth flashing. "The doctor has been waiting for you. You're very late."
"I think there's some mistake…" I began.
"Oh, no." She shook her head certainly admonishing me with her sparkling green eyes. She tapped her finger against the crystal of her wristwatch. "Your appointment was for three o'clock and it's twenty after now."
"Miss… I'm not…"
"Now, now, Mr. Fell," she insisted, refusing to listen, "you know what Doctor Gideon thinks of tardiness. You only get your one hour, and if you fail to get here on time, the loss is yours. There will be no refunds."
I snapped my I.D. open. "My name is Browne, Miss Plain-clothes Detective Malachi Browne. I'm with the Bos-Wash police."
"Oh, then you're not…?"
"No, I'm not."
"Then why did you lead me on?" she accused. She shook her head seriously, making a soft tsking sound with her tongue.
"Miss, I'm in a hurry. I'd like to speak with Dr. Gideon, please."
"In reference to what, sir?"
"Police business, Miss."
When she saw that she wasn't about to get anything further from me, she sat back in her chair, lacing her fingers primly together in the center of the desk. She smiled a bland, professional smile.
"Would you have a seat, please. I'll see if the doctor can speak to you without an appointment. He's a very busy man, you know."
"I thought you said he was free? Didn't he have an appointment with Mr. Fell for three o'clock?"
There was an appointment book on her desk, and she glanced at it quickly. When she noticed my eyes following hers, she promptly closed the book. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that type of information, sir." She smiled again. "Would you please have a seat. I'll see if the doctor is in."
Realizing that there was no way I would ever get the best of this woman, I wordlessly withdrew, taking a seat in the totally empty waiting room off to the left of the desk. There were magaview attachments imbedded in the walls at various intervals around the room, and I pulled one down and snapped it over my head. The reel was an old one, almost three months out of date, but I flipped past the images regardless, just trying to kill time.
"The doctor will see you now, Mr. Fell."
I snapped up the viewer and smiled at the nurse. As the attachment slid silently back into its housing in the wall, I found myself thanking God she was the good doctor's secretary and not mine.
Dr. Gideon was a young man, much younger than I had expected, and I was surprised. In his middle thirties, he was trim, healthy-looking and handsome. He had a thin, almost aesthetic face with large round sad brown eyes and a quick easy smile. He was confident and quite sure of himself, and his grip was like iron when he shook my hand.
"Please be seated," he said, his voice a warm reassuring baritone. "I'm sorry, but I don't think Miss Gethryn gave me your name."
"Browne," I said, showing him my I.D. "Malachi Browne."
Dr. Gideon settled himself in his chair. "How can I help you, Detective Browne?"
"I'd like to ask you a few questions about a patient of yours. Miss Effie Spade."
Doctor Gideon frowned thoughtfully. "Spade… Effie Spade. And you say she was a patient of mine?"
"Come off it Gideon," I snapped. "I have it on good authority that she was your patient. Besides, you gave yourself away by asking about her in the past tense. You should have said is and not was a patient. If you didn't know her you wouldn't have known she was dead. Try again, Gideon."
He was unruffled. "So she was a patient of mine." He swiveled from side to side in his chair. "So I knew she had died. What does that mean?"
"It means you know something about her, and you're keeping it to yourself. I've a curious man: I want to know why."
"Surely you're aware that doctor-patient confidences are privileged. By all rights I shouldn't even be talking to you."
"Are those confidences binding even after death?" I asked. He was a cocky son of a bitch. I wanted to cut him down to size and cut him down quick.
"Of course…"
"Even in a case of murder?"
Dr. Gideon fell forward a fraction of an inch, then caught himself. But it was too late: his mask had slipped just enough.
"Murder. Who said her death had anything to do with murder?" He settled back in his chair, all the ruffles carefully smoothed out.
"I say it was murder."
"But the newspapers… her friends and neighbors – they all said Effie… Miss Spade had died of natural causes. A genetic defect of her heart."
"That was the story we gave out. The first murder in over two hundred years isn't something we like to brag about."
He studied me for a long while. "You're telling the truth, aren't you? Effie Spade was murdered, wasn't she?"
"She was shot at point-blank range with a blaster set at maximum strength. Believe me it's not a pretty sight."
"No, I imagine that it wasn't." For a moment he seemed distracted. "I know what those things can do they're terrible weapons."
"You know about blasters?" I asked softly.
Anger flashed in his brown eyes. "Now, wait a minute! Don't you go putting two and two together and come up with me. Sure I know about blasters – and in anticipation of your next question, yes I do own one."
"Oh?"
"It's all perfectly legal. I'm a collector of rare weapons, and I have a very large collection. And among them is a blaster, but I can assure you right now it is not the weapon that murdered Effie Spade. The blaster I have is in mint condition. It's never even been fired."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"And, to show you that I'm anxious to help you in every way possible," he said, nodding calmly, "I'll drop my blaster off at police headquarters for your science laboratories to check. You'll see that my weapon has never been discharged."
"Dr. Gideon, if you know so much about guns, as, you imply you do, surely you must know that in this day and age there is no definitive test for establishing whether or not your particular blaster has been fired. There are certain ways in which a blaster can be 'cleaned'."
Gideon glared at me. "I don't like what you seem to be implying. I'm a respectable psychiatrist, with quite a considerable standing in my community. If you think…"
"I don't think anything. All I do is ask questions. It's the answers that make the difference."
His lower lip quivered, and he pulled it taut by grimacing at me through his clenched teeth. "All right, Cop, what is it you want from me?"
"I want to know about Effie Spade."
"I've already explained that to you: I can't divulge that information to you, murder or not." When I didn't say anything, he went on. "I have a Code of Ethics, man! I could lose my license…"
"Effie Spade lost her life."
"Dammit, man, I want to cooperate!" he shouted. "Isn't it clear to you that I can't? My hands are tied! I simply can't tell you the things you want to know."
Again I didn't say anything, aware that not asking questions sometimes gets you the best answers. I glared at Dr. Gideon as he floundered. Sometimes when you let a man talk he forgets when to stop.
"Look dammit. I have a lot to lose in this! I can't afford to be touched by scandal: it would ruin my practice. If people found out that Effie was murdered by a, blaster, and that I had a blaster – well, they might… would… Oh, Jesus."
"You're good, Doctor," I said softly. "You're really good. You're either lying through your teeth or telling the truth. I can't be sure which it is yet. But I'll bet that being a psychiatrist must give you something of an edge, right?"
He sighed and seemed to slump in his chair. "All right, ask your questions. I'll answer what I can but nothing more. I'll bend the rules but I won't break them. That's my last concession."
"Fair enough." I sat up in my, chair. "Was Effie Spade your patient?"
"Yes."
"Why was she seeing you?"
"I-I can't answer that."
"Did it have anything to do with her being a lesbian? Answer only yes or no. I can figure out the rest by myself."
"Yes, it did."
"Tell me this: was she at all interested in men?"
"In what way?"
I glared at him. "No, not at all."
"Would Effie Spade have allowed a man – any man to fuck her? To make love to her in any way?"
"No, never. Absolutely not. It would have been literally impossible for her to do so willfully."
I considered his answer and what it implied. "What kind of a person was she?"
"She was a nice person, a kind person. She didn't have an enemy in the world. Outside of the lesbianism, Effie Spade was a very well adjusted young woman. She was liked by everyone in the group…"
"What? Hold on."
"What's wrong?"
"You said group. What group? What are you talking about?"
"The therapy group of which Effie Spade was a member. There are six – five now – in the group. Didn't you know?"
"No, I didn't. I thought she was seeing you privately."
"I do see some patients privately, and others on a group basis. It just depends upon the particular case."
"Tell me about the others in the group."
"I – no, I can't." He shook his head firmly. "I cannot do that. I have a responsibility to them as much as I had to Effie. More so, because they're still alive. I cannot tell you anything at all about them."
"All right, then generalize: what kind of people are they? Psychotics? Neurotics? Just tell me what kind of problems they might have had – no names."
"I cannot do that, don't you see? And don't try and weasel it out of me, because I won't tell you."
"Tell me about the composition of the group. Was it a mixed group? Were they all women?"
He shook his head, dropping his eyes. "I cannot even tell you that."
"Jesus!" I exploded. I was frustrated beyond belief. Sitting in front of me was a man who just possibly might hold the solution right in the palm of his hand, and there was no way I could get him to answer my questions. To be this close and know I could get no close: was agonizing.
Dr. Gideon shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry," he apologized meekly.
I scratched my head. "All right, tell me this then: could one of your group members have murdered Effie Spade? Just tell me that."
"Oh, my God – you can't be serious! Of all the questions you've asked me, that is…"
"Just give me a yes or a no, for Chrissakes!" I slapped the top of his desk sharply out of frustration. "That's all – a yes or a no!"
"I will not – I will not…"
"For God's sakes," I cried. "Think of what you're doing! There's a murderer loose in this city. He's raped three women and killed one. He'll do it again, just as sure as you're sitting there so complacently, if we don't stop him. He will murder another human being… and that death, that poor dead woman, will be on your head because you wouldn't say yes or no!"
"Oh my God…"
"Look: if you say no, I'll drop it. I won't ask you another question. Nothing. And – if you say yes, then I'll find out that person's identity some other way. You won't be responsible."
"Christ…"
"Tell me!" I demanded.
"All right!" he cried sharply. Then a moment later, after a loud silence, he said it again, softer, in a whisper. "All right. I'll tell you. Yes: the answer is yes. But remember this – it's a qualified yes. Qualified in that many people could have killed Effie Spade: you, perhaps, me, some member of my group, some member of some other group somewhere, some person but there in the world who isn't a member of any group, but who is nevertheless very sick! I say yes to an infinite number of possibilities!"
Softly I said: "But you still said yes."
Something flickered in his eyes, and an imperceptible change altered the expression on Gideon's face.
"I'll be going now, Doctor," I said. I stood up and began to walk toward the door. "And thank you; despite all your efforts to the contrary, you have been a help."
I decided to take the elevator down so that I'd have some privacy. The moment the elevator doors closed, I snapped open my communicator to Commissioner Moran.
"Spens, I think I have something. Effie Spade was a lesbian. She was also a member of a psychotherapy group guided by a Dr. Gideon. And there is a good possibility that one of the group members might be our murderer."
"Mal, I don't quite know how to tell you this…" His voice was soft, almost sad. "There has been another rape and – another murder. I guess I don't have to tell you what that means."
He didn't have to tell me: I knew what it meant. It meant that my theory about Dr. Gideon's group just went right out the window.