The Perfect Marriage(37)

“I really don’t want to debate this with you, Haley,” he said, a trace of anger in his voice that contrasted sharply with the soothing way he normally addressed the issues in her life. “There are lines in the doctor-patient relationship that I will not cross. I’m sorry, but this is my call to make, based on my interpretation of my ethical obligations. I’m not going to be talked out of it by you. If you would like, I can refer you to another therapist, and perhaps he or she will have a different interpretation than I do.”

The last thing Haley wanted was a new therapist. It had taken so long for her to get to this point with Dr. Rubenstein. He knew her backstory and her secrets, at least most of them. The idea of reestablishing that intimacy with another person seemed impossible.

On the other hand, she knew that when a relationship was over, there was no point in pretending otherwise. At least the good doctor had been helpful in that regard.

“That’s what I’m going to do, then,” she said. “And I don’t expect to be billed for this session either.”



From Gabriel’s vantage point on the street, the eighteen stories of prewar limestone and brick before him looked like just another Upper East Side apartment building. The one difference was the lack of a doorman. A keyed door, which could be opened remotely by tenants to allow guests entry, was the only security.

The directory revealed that many of the residents used their units for business purposes. The apartment they were going to—7E—was listed under the name Prestige Art LLC.

Gabriel and Asra arrived to a flutter of activity. The crime scene unit techs in their windbreakers doing their thing, and half a dozen uniformed police officers milling around. A photographer was on his knees, memorializing it all.

The living room was set up like an office. A desk sat under the window on the opposite side from the front door but faced into the room, two guest chairs on the other side of it. A second seating area was in the corner, comprised of four leather club chairs surrounding a large square coffee table, which had seen better days. Its glass surface was completely shattered, and its many shards were stained with blood, as was the expensive Persian rug beneath it.

The walls were stark white, the furniture all dark. The room’s only splashes of color were provided by framed works of art on the walls. Gabriel was hardly a connoisseur, but he didn’t recognize any of the pieces. Ironically, that almost surely meant that they were valuable.

The main point of interest, of course, was the dead body lying facedown on the floor between the seating area and the desk. The male figure was clad in a white terry-cloth robe. Even from across the room, the pool of dark crimson blood around the man’s head was jolting.

A CSU tech was dusting for prints. The medical examiner, a woman named Erica Thompson, crouched by the body. She looked up and nodded toward Gabriel, and he returned the gesture.

“Why don’t you look at the body and talk to the medical examiner to find out what she knows so far,” Gabriel said to Asra. “I’m going to look around the place a little.”

Gabriel began his investigation in the kitchen. Despite its small size, it was obviously high end. The cabinetry looked custom-made, the appliances were Sub-Zero stainless steel, and the countertop was granite.

The counter was barren, aside from an older-model microwave and a state-of-the-art coffee/cappuccino machine like Gabriel had seen in high-end restaurants. He opened the fridge. It was mostly empty. Four bottles of champagne and a bottle of white wine were lying on their sides, with a few cans of Diet Dr. Pepper beside them. No perishables other than a container of half-and-half. The butter compartment and the crispers were empty. The only item that appeared to have been put there in the last few days was a container of Chinese food. General Tso’s chicken, if Gabriel had to guess from the orangey color.

The silverware drawer likewise revealed that the apartment’s occupant didn’t have people over for meals. There was a hodgepodge of utensils made out of cheap metal. The kind of spoons that would bend if you stuck them in frozen ice cream. That thought prompted Gabriel to open the freezer, which was even more barren than the refrigerator. A pint of H?agen-Dazs vanilla, a bottle of vodka, and nothing else but ice cubes.

On his way to the second room, Gabriel stopped in front of a credenza against the wall. It was wood but sleek, undoubtedly purchased more for aesthetics than security. He pulled on the door. Locked. It would have been the first place a burglar would have tried, and the lock was flimsy enough that anyone who was there to steal would have been able to pry off the door easily.

That meant that whoever did this wasn’t trying to get rich. Their one and only objective had seemingly been accomplished when the dead man hit the floor.

Despite the fact that the living space was set up like an office, the second room had a king bed against the main wall. Apart from that, however, it was empty, giving off the vibe of a hotel room.

Gabriel’s first thought was that their vic was a bachelor. A man who literally lived at his office.

The bed was disheveled. Gabriel leaned over to examine the sheets. You didn’t have to have a degree in forensics to know that a woman had been in them since they’d last been laundered. A high-end man’s timepiece sat on the night table.

The bathroom reminded Gabriel of the kitchen—small but with high-end finishes. The medicine cabinet housed the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, a bottle of aspirin, and dental floss. A single white towel hung on one of the two hooks. The white robe on their vic had most likely resided on the other.