In the Flesh. Rita Herron

quiet demeanor reminded him of his mother, and a pang of guilt hit him that he hadn’t talked to his family in weeks, hardly at all since his wife had died.

      He folded the fragile woman into his arms and let her cry her anguish and shock. Though Judy had been missing for days, her mother had held out hope until the end. Most families did.

      Until they received the final word that their loved one was dead.

      Finally Judy’s mother’s sobs settled into a low sniffle, and she wiped at her face. He handed her a handkerchief and allowed her a moment to dry her eyes.

      “Do you know who killed her?” she asked in a tortured whisper.

      “I’m afraid not, not yet.” He inhaled and forged on. “I promise you I will find the guy, Mrs. Benson.”

      She nodded, although grief strained her features. “I…I don’t know what to do now.” She gave him a helpless look, and he squeezed her hands.

      “You have some time. Is there any other family you want to call?”

      “My sister, I suppose. Judy’s dad…he died a few years ago. And there’s no other children.

      “Did you talk to her roommate?” Mrs. Benson asked.

      “Did she know who Judy went out with that night?”

      “We did talk to her,” he said quietly. “But she said she left the bar before Judy. She had a test the next morning, but Judy wanted to stay.”

      “She shouldn’t have left her alone,” Mrs. Benson murmured.

      “No, and she’s beating herself up over that,” he said. She’d been practically incoherent with guilt when he’d first interrogated her.

      Her expression turned contrite. “I…I guess that was a mean thing to say.”

      He smiled. “You’re grieving, Mrs. Benson. It’s allowed.”

      A small smile broke through her grief, then, as if she remembered the circumstances, immediately wiped it off.

      “It will be a couple of days before the medical examiner releases Judy’s body,” he said. “During that time, you can talk to your sister, start making arrangements.”

      She nodded, and more tears trickled down her cheek. “There’s so much to do….” Her gaze lifted to his. “You’ll let me know when you find the monster who did this?”

      “Absolutely. Now I’ll have an officer take you wherever you want to go.” He guided her to the door, watching as she slowly wove her way through the precinct beside the officer.

      His promise to find the killer echoed in his head, and he strode out the door and headed back to the bar where Judy had last been seen. He’d questioned everyone there before, but he’d do so again. Then he’d beat the streets for a witness as to who she’d hooked up with that night.

      Maybe he’d find a clue, and he wouldn’t have to drop those files off at Dr. Madden’s.

      J ENNY BREWED a pot of coffee, then accessed her work files and skimmed through them.

      She had several seriously disturbed patients, and two weekly group therapy sessions—the first, a group of obsessive-compulsives; the second, a group of sex addicts. She combed through the members of the sex addicts group, but nothing stuck out as suspicious. One man was addicted to porn, and had sought therapy because his boss had threatened to fire him for viewing it at work. One female was a nymphomaniac, one man was obsessed with having sex in public, and two others had various fetishes.

      Moving on, she looked through the other patient files, studying the notes she’d taken during their private sessions. Two names tickled her conscience.

      Clyde Anson and Jamal Rakely.

      Clyde was a masochist and had been forced into therapy by the courts for assaulting a woman. His preference toward asphyxiation sex made her uneasy—the killer had strangled his victims. He fit the profile in other ways, as well—he was in his mid-twenties, had been raised in an overly religious home by an overbearing mother and had been abused.

      Jamal Rakely also raised her suspicion. During a domestic incident he’d turned violent, had lost control and strangled his wife, but his attorney had pled him out on an insanity charge. His history: Jamal had witnessed his father murder his mother when he was five.

      Her cell phone rang, and she startled, sloshing coffee on her skirt. She yelped, grabbed a napkin and dabbed at it, then jumped up and retrieved the phone. A check of the caller ID box showed Dr. Solaris, her mother’s doctor at CIRP. A knot tightened in her stomach.

      “Dr. Solaris, this is Jenny Madden.”

      “Hi, Jenny. You visited your mother this morning?”

      “Yes, I always do on Sunday. Is she all right?”

      “Yes, she’s resting now.”

      Jenny frowned. “Are you sure? Sometimes after I visit she becomes agitated.”

      “Actually she’s been sleeping all afternoon. But the reason I called is that I’ve phoned Dr. Zovall several times requesting he fax me your mother’s files, and he hasn’t sent them yet. Have you spoken with him recently?”

      That was odd. “No, but I can give him a call. Have you tried his cell number?”

      “Yes. I’ve left messages. Anyway, he’s probably tied up with another patient, but I wanted you to know that I’m going to proceed and conduct a full and extensive evaluation this week. It’ll include a gambit of tests, complete blood work, tests for physiological conditions, chemical imbalances, MRI, cat scans and neurological tests.”

      “Good. I expected you would want to conduct your own tests. And frankly, after all these years and her lack of progress, I think it’s time.”

      “You voiced your concerns to Dr. Zovall?”

      “Yes.”

      “I don’t imagine he was happy about you pulling her from his treatment.”

      “No, not at first. But he cares for my mother and wants what’s best for her, so he finally agreed that she should see someone else. I think he feels guilty for her lack of progress.”

      A noise outside jarred her, and she peeked out the window but saw nothing suspicious. Antsy, she walked through the den to the kitchen and checked the back door. A stray cat slithered through the yard, jumped on the trash can and the lid rattled.

      Sighing, she silently chided herself.

      “I’ll call you when we learn the results.”

      “Good. And if you need me at any time, you have my number.” She hesitated. “I understand this change may be unsettling for Mom.”

      “Don’t worry,” Dr. Solaris said. “I’ll take good care of her. We have some new treatments that are working well with other patients. Hopefully your mother will respond positively, as well.”

      “I hope so, Doctor.”

      She hung up the phone, but another noise out back startled her, and when she glanced through the window her heart raced. A man was skulking across the backyard, his face hidden in the shadows.

      F RUSTRATION TIGHTENED every nerve in Raul’s body as he parked in front of Dr. Madden’s house. He’d spent hours requestioning everyone in the bars along River Street and turned up nothing. No one remembered Judy Benson. No one had seen her abduction.

      Scrubbing a hand over his bleary eyes, he studied the doctor’s house. Evening shades of gray cloaked her blue Victorian. The traditional lines, and the fact that it needed painting and new shutters shook his preconceived image—he’d expected her to own one of the new modern lofts or a mansion on Skidaway Island, not this fixer-upper.

      Not that he gave a damn. The less he knew