Closterman finished cutting the peppers into strips. He rinsed the knife, dried it, and put it away.
“I asked around the medical community, to see if anyone might know someone who practices in Santa Fe. This cardiologist friend of mine had a friend from med school who settled in Santa Fe, and he made introductions. Turns out this doctor in Santa Fe actually knew Ahriman when he was out there… and didn’t like him a damn bit more than I do. And then the kicker… there was a big sexual abuse case at a preschool out there, and Ahriman did the interviews of the children, like he did here. Questions were raised then, too, about his techniques.”
Dusty’s stomach had soured, and though he didn’t think that the coffee had anything to do with it, he pushed his cup aside.
“One of the children, a five-year-old girl, committed suicide as the trial was starting,” Roy Closterman said. “A
“Dear God,” Martie said, pushing her chair back from the table. She started to get up, had nowhere to go, and sat down again.
Dusty wondered if the five-year-old girl’s body would flicker through Martie’s mind in grisly detail during her next panic attack.
“The case might as well have gone to jury right then, because the defendants were as good as cooked. The Santa Fe prosecutor obtained convictions across the board.”
The physician took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and twisted off the cap.
“Bad things happen to good people when they’re around Dr. Mark Ahriman, but he always comes out looking like a savior. Until the Pastore murders in Santa Fe. Mrs. Pastore, perfectly nice woman, never known to have a bad word for anyone or a moment of instability in her life, suddenly loads a revolver and decides to kill her family. Starts by blowing away her ten-year-old son.”
This story fed Martie’s fear of her own violent potential, and now she had somewhere to go. She rose from the table, went to the sink, turned on the water, pumped liquid soap from a dispenser, and vigorously washed her hands.
Although Martie hadn’t said a word to Dr. Closterman, he didn’t appear to find her actions either forward or peculiar.
“The boy was a patient of Ahriman’s. He was a severe stutterer. There was some suspicion that Ahriman and the mother had been having an affair. And a witness placed Ahriman at the Pastore house the night of the murders. In fact, standing outside the house, watching the carnage through an open window.”
“Watching?” Martie said, pulling paper towels off a wall-mounted roll. “Just… watching?”
“As if it were a sporting event,” Roy Closterman said. “Like… he went there because he knew it was going to happen.”
Dusty couldn’t sit still, either. Getting to his feet, he said, “I’ve had two beers this evening, but if your offer still stands… “
“Help yourself,” Roy Closterman said. “Talking about Dr. Mark Ahriman doesn’t promote sobriety.”
Tossing the paper towels in the trash can, Martie said, “So this witness saw him there — what came of that?”
“Nothing. The witness wasn’t believed. And the rumored affair couldn’t be proved. Besides, there was absolutely no doubt at all that Mrs. Pastore pulled the trigger. All the forensic evidence in the world. But the Pastores were well-liked, and a lot of people believed that Ahriman was in the background of the tragedy
Returning to the table with his beer, Dusty said, “So he didn’t like the atmosphere in Santa Fe anymore, and he moved to Scottsdale.”
“Where more bad things happened to more good people,” Closterman said, stirring the meatballs and sausage in the pot of sauce. “I’ve got a file on all this. I’ll give it to you before you leave.”
Roy Closterman returned to a seat at the table again, and so did Martie. The doctor said, “No.”
Surprised, Dusty said, “But surely the other preschool case was enough, by itself, to —”
“I never used it.”
The physician’s deeply tanned face darkened further with anger, grew stormy and empurpled under the sun-browned surface.
Closterman cleared his throat and continued: “Someone discovered I was phoning around to people in Santa Fe and Scottsdale, asking about Ahriman. One evening, I came home from the office, and two men were here in the kitchen, sitting where the two of you are sitting. Dark suits, ties, well-groomed. But they were strangers — and when I turned around to get the hell out of the house, there was a third one behind me.”
Of all the places Dusty had expected to follow Closterman, this wasn’t on the list of itineraries. He didn’t want to go here, because it seemed to be a highway to hopelessness for him and Martie.
If Dr. Ahriman was their enemy, he was enemy enough. Only in the Bible could David win against Goliath. Only in the movies did the little guy have a chance against leviathan.
