It was so painful to talk about. “Yes. He was on a slope that was supposed to have been closed. The wind blew the sign down.”
“Is this your first encounter with the death of someone close to you?”
How was she supposed to answer that? Oh, no. My husband and his mistress were executed for trying to murder me. Everyone around me dies. That would shake him up. He was sitting there, waiting for an answer, the smug son of a bitch. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Her life was none of his business. I hate him.
Alan Hamilton saw the anger in her face. He deliberately changed the subject. “How’s Wim?” he asked.
The question threw Catherine completely off guard. “Wim? He—he’s fine. Evelyn told me he’s a patient of yours.”
“Yes.”
“Can you explain how he—why he—is like he is?”
“Wim came to me because he kept losing jobs. He’s something very rare—a genuine misanthrope. I can’t go into the reasons why, but basically, he hates people. He is unable to relate to other people.”
Catherine remembered Evelyn’s words. He has no emotions. He’ll never get attached to anyone.
“But Wim is brilliant with mathematics,” Alan Hamilton went on. “He’s in a job now where he can apply that knowledge.”
Catherine nodded. “I’ve never known anyone like him.”
Alan Hamilton leaned forward in his chair. “Miss Alexander,” he said, “what you’re going through is very painful, but I think I might be able to make it easier for you. I’d like to try.”
“I…I don’t know,” Catherine said. “Everything seems so hopeless.”
“As long as you feel that way,” Alan Hamilton smiled, “there’s nowhere to go but up, is there?” His smile was infectious. “Why don’t we set just one more appointment? If at the end of that one you still hate me, we’ll call it quits.”
“I don’t hate you,” Catherine said apologetically. “Well, a little bit maybe.”
Alan Hamilton walked over to his desk and studied his calender. His schedule was completely booked.
“What about Monday?” he asked. “One o’clock?” One o’clock was his lunch hour, but he was willing to forego that. Catherine Alexander was a woman carrying an unbearable burden, and he was determined to do everything he could to help her.
Catherine looked at him a long moment. “All right.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.” He handed her a card. “In the meantime, if you need me, here’s my office number and my home number. I’m a light sleeper, so don’t worry about waking me up.”
“Thank you,” Catherine said. “I’ll be here Monday.”
Dr. Alan Hamilton watched her walk out the door and he thought, She’s so vulnerable, and so beautiful. I have to be careful. He looked at the photograph on his coffee table. I wonder what Angela would think?
The call came in the middle of the night.
Constantin Demiris listened, and when he spoke his voice was filled with surprise. “The Thele sank? I can’t believe it.”
“It’s true, Mr. Demiris. The coast guard found a few pieces of the wreckage.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“No, sir. I’m afraid not. All hands were lost.”
“That’s terrible. Does anyone know how it happened?”
“I’m afraid we’ll never know, sir. All the evidence is at the bottom of the sea.”
“The sea,” Demiris murmured, “the cruel sea.”
“Shall we go ahead and file an insurance claim?”
“It’s hard to worry about things like that when all those brave men have lost their lives—but yes, go ahead and file the claim.” He would keep the vase in his private collection.
Now it was time to punish his brother-in-law.
Chapter Eighteen
Spyros Lambrou was in a frenzy of impatience, waiting for the news of Constantin Demiris’s arrest. He kept the radio on constantly in his office, and scanned every edition of the daily newspapers. I should have heard something by now, Lambrou thought. The police should have arrested Demiris by this time.
The moment Tony Rizzoli had informed Spyros that Demiris was on board the Thele and was about to sail, Lambrou had notified U.S. Customs—anonymously, of course—that the Thele would be carrying a large amount of heroin.
They must have caught him by now. Why haven’t the newspapers picked up the story?