New York. I even met with a police psychologist, who gave me advice
on how to handle him when he called.”
“Actually, Ms. Matlock, the Albany police do believe you are a
liar. At first they didn’t, but that’s what they believe now. But do go
on.”
Just like that? He said everyone believed she was a liar and she
was just to go on? “What do you mean?” she said slowly. “They
never gave me that impression.”
“That’s why our detectives finally sent you to me. They spoke to
their counterparts in Albany. No one could discover any stalker.
They believed you were disturbed about something. Perhaps you
had a crush on the governor and this was your way of getting him
to acknowledge you.”
“Ah, I see. I have, perhaps, a fatal attraction.”
“No, certainly not. You shouldn’t have referred to it like that. It’s
much too soon.”
“Too soon for what? I’m still trying to get the hang of it?”
Anger flashed in his eyes. It made her feel good. “Just go on, Ms.
Matlock. No, don’t argue with me yet. First tell me more. I need
to understand. Then we can determine what’s going on, together.”
In his dreams, she thought. A crush on the governor?Yeah, right.
What a joke that was. Bledsoe was a man who would sleep with a
nun if he could get under her habit. He made Bill Clinton look as
upstanding as Eisenhower, or had Ike had a mistress, too? Men and
power–the two always seemed to go with illicit sex. As for Bledsoe,
he’d been very lucky thus far, he hadn’t yet run into an intern
as voracious as Monica, one who wouldn’t just fade into the
woodwork when he was done with her.
“Very well,” she said. “I came to New York to escape that maniac.
I was–I am–terrified of him and what he’ll do. Also, my
mother lives here and she’s very ill. I wanted to be with her.”
“You’re staying in her apartment, is that right?”
“Yes. She’s in Lenox Hill Hospital.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
Becca looked at him and tried to say the words. They wouldn’t
come out. She cleared her throat and finally managed to say, “She’s
dying of uterine cancer.”
“I’m sorry. You say this man followed you here to New York?”
Becca nodded. “I saw him here for the first time just after I arrived
in New York, on Madison near Fiftieth, weaving in and out
of people to my right. He was wearing a blue windbreaker and a
baseball cap. How do I know it was him? I can’t be specific about
that. I just know. Deep down, I recognized that it was him. He
knew I saw him, I’m sure of that. Unfortunately I couldn’t see him
clearly enough to give more than a general impression of what he
looks like.”
“And that is?”
“He’s tall, slender. Is he young? I just don’t know. The baseball
cap covered his hair and he was wearing aviator glasses, very dark,
opaque. He was wearing generic jeans and that blue windbreaker
that was very loose.” She paused a moment. “I’ve told the police all
of this, many times. Why do you care?”
His look said it all. He wanted to see just how specific, just how
detailed her descriptions were, how much she’d embellished her
fantasy man. And all of the marvelous particulars were from her
imagination, her very sick imagination.
She kept it together. When he hesitated, she said mildly, “He
ducked away when I turned toward him. Then the phone calls
started again. I know he’s keeping close tabs on me. He seems to
know exactly where I am and what I’m doing. I can feel him, you
know?”
“You told the officers that he wouldn’t tell you what he
wanted.”
“No, not really, other than to tell me if I didn’t stop having sex
with the governor, he would kill him. I asked him why he’d do that
and he just said he didn’t want me to have sex with any other man,
that he was my boyfriend. But it sounded funny, like it was just
something he was saying, not something he really meant. So why