“Javier Mantara?” a sharp, strong voice called through the doorway of an office next to the wooden chairs where Javier and Dr. Sabian were having their bout. A small-framed officer peeked around the corner of the office door.
“Sí, Señor?” Javier replied, jolting up to an erect stance reminiscent of his late father’s military parenting.
“You can come in,” the officer told Javier. With a look of raw malice, Madalina’s brother passed the psychologist, who rose from his chair and casually walked off down the polished hallway floor.
“Please, sit down,” the officer said, as he closed the door. He gave the uneasy young man a long scrutinizing stare before he moved away from the door to sit down across from the desk. “I see some tension between you and Dr. Sabian. Mind telling me what that’s about?”
Javier drew in a deep breath and released it in increments before answering. “May I ask why he is here?”
“You may not,” the captain replied, “but I will tell you anyway, since you look very worried about his presence here. After I saw the security camera footage of your sister leaving the motel where the murder occurred, I naturally summoned her psychologist. He was listed on the particulars of our suspect that were uncovered during the initial investigation. We identified her and contacted him. He agreed to furnish us with her records.”
“Of course he did. I thought there was some confidentiality clause about shrinks,” Javier mumbled wearily, wiping his sandy eyes.
“This is a homicide investigation, Señor Mantara,” the police captain reminded him. “All parties involved are under lawful obligation to divulge all relevant information regarding the suspect.”
“I have already told you everything. Look at my statement. It’s all there. Please, let me see if I can find her without interference, sir,” Javier implored. “I know how she thinks. I used to know her as well as I knew myself.”
“Knew,” the officer scoffed. “And now? I bet you don’t know her as well as you thought, eh?” The captain felt sorry for Javier, but he was bound by the law, and his opinion, his agreement that the young man should look for his sister, meant nothing in this regard.
“Even though she has changed slightly, sir, you have to understand that I am still the one person who knows her best,” Javier defended, clasping his hands nervously on the desk. “I am sure Dr. Sabian would never tell you this about my sister, but her marriage was an exercise in emotional abuse that turned to physical abuse…”
“I was told, yes,” the captain cut him short.
“Well then, it is only natural that she would have done things to defend herself eventually, right?” Madalina’s brother reasoned. “I mean, during the divorce proceedings alone, my sister was subjected to such wicked treatment that I thought she was going to kill herself. Please, Capt. Sanchez, you have to understand that her husband used Dr. Sabian not only to make my her look unstable enough to have her committed, but also to corrupt her through the ruse of psychiatric therapy.”
The police captain raised an eyebrow and shifted closer to the edge of the desk in interest. “My, my, that is an accusation I had not heard before.”
Javier felt so helpless against the ignorance and sarcasm of the authorities, yet he knew that throwing a tantrum would be the worst move right now. It would not only prove the doctor’s point about Javier, but it would support Paulo’s claims that Madalina’s mental problems were inherent. He tried again. “I know this sounds like desperate ravings, sir, but I am a cogent and intelligent man. Also, I am a psychology student, and I know manipulation when I see it. Dr. Sabian is not what he seems. Of that I am sure.”
“Do you have proof?” the officer asked quickly.
Javier sighed and sank back in his chair. He shook his head, “No, sir. All I know is that she gradually grew worse after Sabian began treating her for depression and the emotional abuse Paulo had inflicted on her.”
“You say the doctor corrupted her,” Capt. Sanchez said, giving Javier the benefit of the doubt. “Why do you say this? You make this claim with much confidence, my friend. Off the record, what is your real problem with this man?”
Javier appreciated the officer’s willingness to hear him out, but he still didn’t trust the gesture. He feared that it was a trap, or that perhaps it was just another reason to ridicule him. “You would never believe me if I told you my theory, but I am grateful for your audience.”
“Javier, try me,” Capt. Sanchez challenged. “None of what you say will go on the record for this brief discussion, alright? I am not playing you, my boy. You can trust me.”
Javier knew he had to tell someone eventually. He reckoned that telling the officer would not amount to anything except, at worse, hearsay. If the officer turned out to be genuine, Javier would have an ally, at least to a mild degree. Reluctantly, the psych student said, “What do you know of obscure religions? Or,” he re-formulated, “maybe not obscure, but what do you know of the less known religions?”
“Are you saying she was brainwashed? Are you insinuating that Dr. Sabian is some kind of cult member?” the police captain asked, but Javier immediately started waving his hand profusely, negating the guess.
“No, no, that is not what I’m playing at, sir,” he explained. “You are right in one respect, though, that I think she was brainwashed, but not in the way you think at all.”
“Then what? What religions are you referring to?” Capt. Sanchez pushed.
“Wait, you’re charging ahead of what I’m trying to say,” Javier said hastily. He looked at the officer with urgency, but paused to allow the man to pay attention to what he was about to say. “I believe that Dr. Sabian is an Oloricha, a Santero, and that he used his modern mental profession to influence my sister in some nefarious manner through every session she thought was therapy.”
The police captain sat astonished at the first clout of information that slammed his logic like a granite battering ram. “A what?”
“Santero,” Javier repeated, waiting for the first retort, but the captain’s silence implied that he was ready for more, as long as it came in small amounts. “It’s a kind of priest or initiate of an old slave religion. Long story short, I believe that Sabian influenced Madalina into something she is not, sir.”
“And what would that be?” Capt. Sanchez asked evenly.
Javier had no idea how to answer, but he tried. “I don’t know if there is a name for it, sir, but I believe he was using hypnosis to instill psychosis into her psyche, which ultimately turned her into something…,” he paused again, unable to sound sane, until he just came out and said it, “…I believe he turned my sister into a bruja, sir.”
7
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cleave”
Bored beyond tears, Sam huffed, chewing on the end of his Biro. Before him, on his lap, his empty notepad awaited his wisdom, which would come in elegant scribbling only pharmacists could decipher. Something itched in Sam. Something probed to be put to ink, yet he had absolutely no idea what it was that the barren paper wanted from him.
The plastic of the cheap pen squished between his teeth as he tried to write a suitable opening segment for the cover he was going to do on Purdue’s find. Even though the discovery was still off the record until Purdue’s lawyers confirmed that he could claim it, Sam thought it would be a good time to start working, as he had no doubt Purdue’s claim would be approved. He knew that Purdue could practically convince any authority to let him have his way, either by charm or with money. Sam had faith in the insanely wealthy explorer to get what he wanted, legitimately or otherwise.