Sam left a note propped against the saltshaker telling Maggie he was at Danny’s and would see her later. At a quarter to six he stepped into the warm, spilled-beer smell of the neighborhood bar and greeted the bartender.
“Bring my bourbon to a booth,” he said, motioning to the rear of the room. Few people were in the bar.
One man perched on a bar stool staring into the depths of his draft beer. A couple hiding in the corner were into the second phase of heavy passion. Two pool hustlers played each other on the table in the back, waiting for the action to come in. Sam sipped his bourbon and watched the door for a government employee type with a cigar in his mouth.
At six-thirty Sam ordered a hamburger and fries from the kitchen. Danny’s wife came down from their upstairs apartment to cook the food orders. Sam suspected she was not fond of the job; the hamburgers were always half raw and cold in the middle. The French fried potatoes were overcooked and almost inedible.
As he ate around the edges of the hamburger, Sam saw a man smoking a cigar enter the bar. He wore a rumpled brown suit with dark stains on the lapels and pockets. He looked like an encyclopedia salesman who had wandered into the wrong place.
Sam raised his hand and caught the man’s eye. As he approached, Sam wondered what kind of doctor he was at the V.A. His bedside manner was no doubt on the skids.
“Detective Bartholomew?” Rubens extended a grubby hand. “I’m Rubens. Glad to meet you. I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”
Sam put down the hamburger, wiped his hands on the napkin, and shook hands. “What’s this all about?” he asked, offering the basket of hard fries to Rubens.
The doctor stuck two of the fries into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m a psychiatrist,” he began. “I’ve been working with returned Vietnam veterans. First of all you’ll have to understand that what I say to you will be in broad, ah… perhaps vague terms. I’m bound by an oath of confidentiality and the reason I’ve come to you at all is because of my conscience. You might guess, and correctly, that I suffer from a moral stance in a world too progressive and violent for my tastes.”
Sam grunted and mistakenly bit the hamburger in the center. Raw meat made him sick. It was a real chore to swallow. He pushed the brown plastic plate aside and quickly downed the remainder of his bourbon.
“You want a drink?” he asked the psychiatrist.
Rubens looked relieved at the offer. “Sure, why not? I’ll I take a double bourbon. ”
Sam got Danny’s attention. “Two double bourbons,” he called across the room. He turned back to Rubens.
“Don’t order a hamburger here unless you want ptomaine,” he said. “They leave the horse meat on the hoof.”
Rubens smiled and munched fries until their drinks were served.
“Now what does all this have to do with the Wireman case?” Sam asked. “Make it as general as you want.”
“It may have absolutely nothing to do with your case…”
Sam held up his hand. “Not my case,” he corrected. “I’m a consultant. My retirement was official eight months ago.”
“Whatever,” Rubens said, clearly not interested in such technicalities. “What I have to say might be worthless to you, but morally speaking, I feel obligated to the city, and not incidentally, to the bereaved families of the victims of this killer.” He took a big gulp from his drink.
“I have a patient…” He hesitated and started over again. “I had a patient until today, who is mentally disturbed. Disturbed enough to have committed these crimes you’re investigating. I haven’t any confession—I want to impress that fact strongly. No confession. Although if I did have one, I couldn’t tell you of it anyway.”
“Can you tell me his name?”
Rubens shook his head and drew the basket of fries closer to him. “Unfortunately I can’t do that. My hands are tied by the office of my profession. I shouldn’t be here now either, discussing the patient at all.”
Rubens ate more of the fries and chased them down with the rest of his bourbon. Sam noticed the cigar still smoldered in the ashtray and had not been put out. A frugal psychiatrist, and a freeloader to boot. If that did not beat all. Despite the seediness of the man, Sam rather liked him. He could see the struggle going on inside Rubens and appreciated his position. That he had come forward at all was surprising.
“What can you tell me then?” Sam asked.
“Very little, I’m afraid. In fact, it was probably foolish of me to ask for your time. I haven’t the right to give you specifics so I’ve made a blunder by bringing it out into the open.” Sam realized the psychiatrist’s oath of silence was making the man nervous about his decision. The interview would have to be conducted by sniffing around the edges, like a hound trying to find a trail.
“Let’s just take it slow and easy,” Sam advised. “You had a patient, a Vietnam veteran, I presume…”
Rubens nodded.
“Until today. Something he told you makes you think he might be connected to or have committed the Wireman murders. ”
“Correct.” Rubens sat back and relaxed. It was easier to let the detective do the work.
“Okay. I’ll throw out some statements and you can either nod or shake your head, and if you can’t answer, don’t. What about it?”
Rubens nodded agreeably. He stuck the cigar in his mouth, and signaled for another round of drinks.
“This man killed in Vietnam.”
Rubens nodded a shade too emphatically. Sam pondered the reaction before forming his next statement.
“It wasn’t the normal, run-of-the-mill kind of killing.”
A shake of the head.
“He killed above and beyond the call of duty.”
Rubens shrugged.
Perplexed, Sam searched for alternative statements that might link a vet with the killer. What was so unusual about this series of murders? The method of murder. Decapitation. He glanced up to the psychiatrist’s face once more.
“He decapitated someone over there.”
Rubens avoided Sam’s stare and seemed to be having a hard time wrestling with himself. Finally he nodded.
Sam felt a chill go up his spine. “Is there more?” he asked, his excitement rising.
Rubens nodded unhappily and almost grabbed the bourbon when Danny brought their drinks.
“Can’t you tell me? Christ, this is important!”
“I’m afraid I’ve told you too much already, Detective. I have to leave now.”
Rubens finished his drink and stood to go. It was clear he was upset with himself. Already he had violated his professional ethics.
Sam grabbed his arm. “Hold on one goddamned minute. How is this supposed to help me? If he’s no longer your patient… if you can’t tell me his name or where he lives…?”
“I’m sorry, I really am. I see now I can’t help and this meeting was a mistake.”
Sam stood and faced Rubens. He stared into the psychiatrist’s eyes and saw the pain. It was the pain that kept him from losing his temper on the spot. “Just tell me one more thing,” Sam pleaded.
Rubens sighed.
“What kind of weapon did your patient use in the decapitations?”
Rubens shook his head sadly and turned to leave again.
“Was it a wire?” Sam shouted at his back. “Was it a garrote?” People in the bar turned at the raised voice and the mention of a garrote.
Sam thought he saw a small nod of Sidney Rubens’s head as he went out the door into the early night. He was not one hundred percent sure, he could not swear on it, but he thought he saw the bedraggled psychiatrist nod his head.