One Good Turn 2 / 2
One of my clients had been having a bad time at work. Matters got out of hand at one of his regular appointments with me. I pride myself on the control I can exert and ability to gauge, within a few pulses, what a client needs – the manner and degree of chastisement they want at any particular time. On this one occasion he asked me if he could lick some juices off my fingers. I was feeling sorry for him and he bit into three of my fingers and then attacked as my Papa had, with his fists, to my stomach. He tried to stamp on me. Fortunately my heels were strapped around my ankles. I kicked the shit out of him as my Pa had done to me.
He was a mess when he left.
Dr Lecter asked me about my bandaged fingers in the morning and insisted on redressing them. He had very fine hands. I was moving awkwardly because of the bruising. I was not myself. Nothing like this had happened to me before and at first I couldn't figure out what had triggered the attack.
Dr Lecter asked me to stay a little longer at the end of the day on some pretext or other. We sat in his office and he just asked me what had happened, as if I had lost my purse. I simply unburdened myself. I guess part of the problem was I hadn't had a vacation for 18 months and I hadn't seen or talked to Madame for about 6 months. Although I have worked on my own for a while it's still good to share, experiences, observations, information about clients with someone you trust and who knows the business.
He was a good listener. In my profession, you have to be a good listener, in every sense of the word, if you are to survive and do well, so I know the real McCoy when I see it. We talked a little about my Daddy and what he had done to me. I cried some. He asked me what I wanted. I said revenge although that's impossible when someone is dead and anyway it's not a Christian impulse.
"It depends upon which God you rely" was his reply at the time. "And this man who attacked you?"
I said that I felt betrayed and angry and afraid. My services are based on mutual trust – a contract if you will, which may evolve over time but has some basic precepts set in stone – who is the boss, the conductor of the proceedings. I was also frightened as to what this man would do next and frightened that I had lost my touch, that I had missed something. I was concerned that I had lost control – that I was turning into my Daddy.
"Why shouldn't you feel angry Deborah? You were the one that was beaten. Why shouldn't you exact some payment? Your religion preaches that vengeance falls to the Lord – human beings shouldn't endanger their souls by indulging in direct retribution shouldn't presume that they can judge. Remember, all organisations have a vested interest in keeping their flocks submissive. Chaos appals them. They don't have the equipment to survive in a Dionysian world. They don't understand that an individual can be an agent of the Lord's justice just as effectively as a sanctimonious and imperfect human institution. Everyone is open to divine guidance Deborah, isn't that one of the fundamental differences between the Catholic and Protestant views of the world?"
"You should trust your impulses Deborah. Women like you have infallible intuition."
He cocked his head to one side and then asked "And did it feel good when you let loose?"
I had to reply 'Yes'.
"Then you are concerned that you are no better than your Father? How so? This man attacked you. You responded appropriately given your rather vulnerable situation. Usual social norms don't apply here. Besides your normal work involves exquisite control, I would imagine. A complete antithesis to your Daddy."
We spent about half an hour dissecting the encounter and I identified the mistake I had made – acquiescing to his particular request – an inappropriate shift of power in that situation. It's a question of concentration – not allowing the persona to slip, playing the script exactly. Clients expect you to act a certain way. If you don't they can feel let down or disappointed or angry or confused
"You shouldn't confuse empathy with pity Deborah. Pity is the angel with the drooping eyes and accusing fingers over the altar – saccharine and superiority. Nature doesn't recognise pity and aren't we all children of nature? I can help you if you wish to exact suitable recompense from this man, to make yourself safe."
He didn't look at me when he said this - just crossed one impeccably creased trouser leg over the other and swept the back of his hand down the grey cashmere crease. Then he calmly folded his hands together, and looked up.
My Daddy had warned me about such men – his eyes glowed and spun like molten lava. I know the Gates of Hell when I see them. I thanked him but said I felt that I could deal with this myself, now, having talked to him. He graced me with an almost innocent smile.
"I'm sure you can Deborah"
That was it. Our one and only encounter outside of work. I thought about what he said. Distance is everything in my business. Perspective. From the high ground.
Dr Lecter did ask for Madame's telephone number – he was writing a paper at the time on paraphilia related disorders and subjugation schema so it was kind of fortuitous. Madame told me later that they had just met a couple of times – he wanted some anecdotal, background information. He was very good at adding apposite examples to his papers.
The client never called again. Madame told me that he had left the East coast. She booked someone else to take his place.
I thought Dr Lecter might dig and delve some more about my family but he didn't. Dr Lecter was a great respecter of personal space.
There was a change of temperature in the room. Officer Petrie leaned forward
"Do you remember a patient of Dr Lecter's a Mr Benjamin Raspail?"
Sure I remember him. Slimy, like an overdressed scallop. A flute player in the Boston Philharmonic in love with his own embellishments and an over inflated idea of his own importance. He used to come early for his appointments and make a great song and dance afterwards with his diary (pale calf, with his initials embossed in gold) trying to find a time for his next session with Dr Lecter in between all his other "commitments". He would run his fingers over the furniture and the shelving in the waiting room – "I enjoy the ambience here Deborah" he would say "Oh this wasn't here last time – how exquisite – it's Italian isn't it?"
"Etruscan. Dr Lecter purchased it at an auction last week. It is quite delicate Mr Raspail"
"Oh of course – see I'm putting it back in exactly the same spot - I wouldn't want to get you into any sort of trouble with the good Doctor." He would giggle " Well I must love you and leave you my delectable Deborah. Be sure to call and remind me of my appointment – I simply won't remember otherwise – the rehearsal schedule over the next 10 days is impossible - you have no idea " and he would roll his eyes, toss his pink cashmere scarf over his shoulder and sweep out like some fifth rate impresario. Being charitable, he was clearly a seriously inadequate musician.
"Yes I do. "
"Did Dr Lecter treat Mr Raspail in any way differently from his other patients?"
"Certainly not within my hearing"
Not strictly true. He always bestowed a special smile towards Mr Benjamin Raspail's back as he left
"Do you remember Mr Raspail's last appointment with Dr Lecter it was on Friday 21st March?"
"May I check my diary – it may help me to remember?"
"Please, go right ahead" This was Officer Petrie at his most courteous. This one I should watch. He is perceptive.
I didn't need to check, but I did anyway.
"Dr Lecter allowed me to leave early that day. I had to deliver an urgent package direct to UPS"
"Why not get them to collect?"
"Dr Lecter asked me specifically to deliver it by hand. We had had problems in the past with them collecting and delivering on time"
"What time did you leave?"
"About 3.30"
"So about half an hour after Mr Raspail's scheduled appointment time with Dr Lecter"
"Yes"
"Can anyone verify you leaving at that time?"
"Yes the doorman – he keeps a log"
Officer Berlusconi heaved himself out of his chair and came to stand behind my right shoulder. He bent down and breathed coffee fumes across my face.
"Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary occurring in Dr Lecter's office during that half hour?" I kept straight backed in my chair and looked directly at Officer Petrie
"No. The door is heavy and well fitting for a reason – Dr Lecter's consultations are … were confidential"
Hrrumph. Officer Berlusconi snorted. I felt the spray hit the back of my neck.
"You didn't go into the room while Mr Raspail was there?"
Think carefully now Deborah.
"Yes. Mr Raspail asked for some fruit tea. I went into Dr Lecter's office and gave it to him before the consultation got started."
"Did you notice anything unusual when you went into the office?" - this with Officer Berlusconi leaning right in to my face. He had some lunch around his teeth.
"No"
"Was that unusual – Dr Lecter letting you go early?"
"Not so unusual – I quite often ran errands for him on a Friday"
Officer Berlusconi peered at the two-way mirror.
"I need a leak. Stop the tape will ya Nathan" He left the room. As Officer Petrie murmured the details of the pause in the proceedings into the tape recorder I remembered
Mr Raspail had splashed on way too much Halston aftershave. I had to open the window when he went in to Dr Lecter's office to air out the waiting area.
"Aaaah my dear Hannibal" he said "I have the most fabulous gossip to lavish upon you regarding our esteemed, guest conductor with the stiff dick and starched shirt front. Deborah, would you be an absolute sweetie and fix me a camomile tea? so very, very kind" and then he swept into Dr Lecter's office, as if he was a tin pot diva.
I tapped on the door a couple of minutes later with the tea. Benjamin Raspail was leaning over the desk towards Dr Lecter with his tongue hanging out – an extraordinary pose I thought, even for him. Dr Lecter was pouring himself some water into a glass, ignoring Mr Raspail, as far as I could see. Mr Raspail sprang back from the desk as soon as I appeared. I put the tea down and left.
About half an hour later Dr Lecter came out of the room with an addressed envelope and asked me to go to the UPS Office straight away – he had forgotten to send this report the previous day and it was urgent. It was addressed to one of the district courts in Virginia. He told me not to bother to come back – he would close everything down. So I left for the day.
As Dr Lecter shut the door I caught a glimpse of Mr Raspail on the couch. He had the stiletto letter opener embedded in his chest. It didn't come as a surprise.
So why not tell them?
A couple of reasons I guess.
I believe Dr Lecter sent me to UPS so that I would have a kind of alibi – even if I had been present at the murder and it had happened as soon as Mr Raspail had arrived, it would have taken two of us longer than half an hour to clear up the mess. So he was trying to make sure that I wouldn't be implicated, if he were found out. Plain good southern manners.
And the second reason? Well that's pretty plain too – good old-fashioned fear.
Officer Berlusconi returned.
"Thank you Miss Reece. We appreciate your co-operation. I need to have you go to our forensic people now so that they can take prints. Don't leave Baltimore – we'll need to talk to you again"
He looked bad tempered and disappointed. I felt a small triumph, but reined it in. Officer Petrie was watching.
They didn't call me in again – I think they had their hands full and I heard that a large number of Dr Lecter's patients and their relatives, refused to release their medical records to the police, so I didn't even have to go through the diaries with them. I never saw Officer Berlusconi outside in his car nor anyone from Vice.
AFTERWARDS
In September, after Dr Lecter had been committed an envelope containing $50,000 arrived for me via a remailing service with a letter from Dr Lecter
My dear Deborah
I must apologise unreservedly for the manner in which your employment was terminated so abruptly which, I am sure must have caused you considerable inconvenience.
It has been a very great pleasure working with you over the last 2 years. I'm only sorry that we didn't have more time to explore and expand on your unique experiences.
I value discretion very highly and you clearly have this in abundance and intelligence enough to know when to use it. This is one of your finest qualities. It engenders great trust.
You could leverage this skill in order to wield much power, if you so desired.
There are many flavours of revenge, some much sweeter than others. I would strongly recommend that you take steps to broaden your palate. You are wasting your evident talents in the world of finely tuned physical discomfort and cheap ceran wrap.
May I also suggest that you take up jazz? I think it would appeal to your natural anarchic instincts. Bach, Handel and hymns are fine for instilling discipline but now and then we need to let loose for the good of our souls.
May I wish you Bon Voyage. I trust the enclosed will go some way to launching you on your new career.
Kind regards
Hannibal Lecter MD
When I read the letter I was surprised – he never struck me as a believer in souls good or bad.
I sit now in a Congressman's office exercising tact and discretion and dispensing carefully measured phrases in the right places. My knowledge of the unspoken sides of human behaviour is invaluable. I sing with a jazz quartet a couple of times per week in a hazy basement. Dr Lecter was right of course – the club and the company appeal to my edgy side – the side my Daddy would have consigned to the devil.
Looking back, I think I had been aware, every time Dr Lecter had swept the Augean stables clean. He would come in the day after refreshed. As if he had had great sex the night before with an invigorating cold shower in the morning. My Father had been the same way after inflicting pain of one sort or another. Pleased with himself and the world at large. The family would praise the Lord when he was in that mood.
I haven't corresponded with Dr Lecter since his committal. As a connoisseur of secrets I'm sure he understands. If he ever entered the free world once more I wouldn't have a great problem offering him succour, temporarily. The Lord would approve, I am sure
After all, one good turn deserves another.