Chicago University. Oxford University. Clinical psychiatry. Masters. PhD. New Haven Literary Award. They were all printed boldly on the certificates on the wall behind the desk and it looked like the frames enjoyed a regular dusting and polish. Each one bore the name Zulma Pei. And the eyes peering at Nashy and Furn from the button leather chair was a similar deep black ink. Pei’s olive skin was unblemished bar the creases around the corners of her eyes, which looked like ladders in a stocking. Her tightly bunned black hair may have been pulling back other wrinkles to the far side of her head. Her thick, glossy lips looked more like they had been treated by a taxidermist than a beautician. She wore a green suede jacket and a pink blouse, apparently as carefully coordinated and smoothed out as her professional tone of voice. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Dr Pei, I’m so pleased to finally meet you,’ said Nashy. ‘I read your biography a couple of years ago. The way you overcame your abusive upbringing in Chicago, being raised amidst so much violence and death and having the courage to break away from it, I must say was very inspiring to me.’
Pei’s eyes settled on Furn then. Apparently, it wasn’t her admirers she worried about.
‘Thank you, Federal Agent Nashy.I have come to believe that the greatest lesson in my childhood was that just as love can be one-way, sometimes so must reconciliation.’ Her eyes tip-toed back to Nashy. ‘It was with a heavy heart I heard the news of Nikki Savva’s shooting. I assume that’s why you’re here.’
Her voice was deep and slow and somehow unconvincing - like an actor a take or two away from nailing the scene.Brilliant, educated, disowned and displaced. And now she had this office which afforded visitors, especially a couple of nosy cops, few distractions. There was a bookcase, where the books seemed to have been arranged according to height. On the top shelf was one cover facing copy of her bestselling memoir “The Gangster At Father’s Day” and one back facing copy, her earnest, contemplative photographic portrait representation of the real person. Perhaps it wasn’t blatant self-promotion. Perhaps, a patient with all his or her misgivings, apprehension, doubt, trauma and confusion could actually feel privileged to be here. A relief that kindred spirits wore one thousand dollar suits.
‘To phrase it bluntly,’ Nashy eventually said, ‘did you see it coming?’
Zulmei Pei sucked her cheeks into a pucker. ‘If a patient had disclosed an intention to commit murder, I would have been legally bound to report it to the authorities. I will provide the applicable session notes on production of the appropriate warrant. However, as friends of the alleged victim I would think carefully about such a request.’
‘Why do you think he was a friend?’
‘He was a cop. In my experience the cops with grudges come out first and the objective cops come out second. Sometimes unfortunately by then the case has been irreparably compromised.’
‘With Breeze you won’t find too many objective cops anyway,’ said Furn. ‘That is part of his appeal. Now how about a preview of those notes? Give us a hint at least.’
‘Detective Sergeant Maroon,’ came the haughty reply, ‘normally I’d suggest you get your fix of previews at the cinema. In this situation, however, we are going to have the posthumous rantings of a disturbed woman against a man who, due to the horrific nature of his injuries, will be in no state to adequately defend himself. That is if we are to take the trouble of presuming innocence.’
‘You’re saying that Nikki Savva made some allegations against Detective Sergeant Burres?’ interjected Nashy.
‘She claimed he was stalking her. And sexually harassing her.’
‘And you know the details of her allegations?’
Pei sucked in a deep breath and held it as though the conversation was a bout of hiccups. She released it with a sympathetic gaze. ‘I have many patients who are members of your profession and I understand you are at the epicentre of the terrible human paradox: the truth that is known will never compensate for the truth that is not.’
Furn flicked his eyes at the memoir. ‘Does that mean you specialise in dragging things up?’
Nashy slipped a hand under the table and squeezed a pressure point on his thigh. Furn took the hint and did not say anything more. Nashy took over. ‘What Detective Sergeant Maroon was getting at was there might not be anything to be gained by bringing your session notes out into the light of day. Cops shooting cops is a touchy subject. The Department will treat the case like a death in a fishbowl – I mean, they will try to flush it down the toilet. Burres’s family is estranged and living in France. They will not likely involve themselves, whether or not he survives his wounds. What about Savva’s family?’
Dr Pei shook her head, satisfied that she had successfully herded the discussion into her own pending yard. ‘There were significant issues with her family.’ She looked to the gold hands of her Bvulgari watch that had been innocuously marking time under a shirt sleeve. ‘I must apologise but I’m afraid my patients can’t flick through magazines waiting for my help like they were getting a new hair-do.’
‘Of course.’ Nashy sprung out of her chair and shook hands with Pei, who momentarily savoured the newly empty chair. ‘We appreciate your frankness. The matter will require serious internal consideration.’
‘I hope your friend pulls through. Such a tragic incident.’
She released her hand and paused. This was probably the point when the average visitor would usually be granted an autographed copy of her book. Furn was already by the door. He noted that the waiting room’s plush sofa chairs were all empty. The glossy magazines on the glass topped coffee table were neatly arranged, most likely by the personal assistant, but in a place like this there were probably some tidiness freaks who could be relied on to do just as good a job.
Nashy may have had an inkling of what was going through his head and grabbed him by another pressure point. The way her own lips were trawled together it was obvious she had something on her mind too.
Down on street level she was the first to exhale it.
‘Breeze was too fast to be stalking someone like Savva. He’d be out in front the whole time. She shot him in the back and still came out second best.’
Furn smirked. This was the Nashy he used to know. Before the Force made an honest woman of her.
‘All psychiatrists are screwy,’ he replied. ‘How else could they relate to their patients?’
‘She was trying to manipulate us.’
‘Maybe she’s worried a patient going around shooting people could be construed as bad publicity. Or maybe she’s just trying to keep it under wraps for a second book.’
‘Or maybe we just walked into the heart of the Sapien empire.’
‘Is that what you believe?’
‘Cops shouldn’t believe anything a judge can’t. But when I was talking to her I had more goose bumps than a skinny dipper in a glacial pond.’
As they went off to retrieve the Executive from the half-car-length of street it had been crudely wedged into, Nashy called Riley. ‘We might be on to something with Zelma Pei. She was plainly hiding something. We need to get into her patient lists, phone records, everything. If we’re lucky, Barry Jewel’s name might come up. Or even a certain Wragg Dokomad. Lord knows between them there’d be a mental health issue or two worthy of a professional consultation.’
Furn kept one ear on the call as he edgily checked over his shoulders. It was probably no coincidence Dr Pei’s suite was only a kilometre down St. Kilda Road from Police HQ: head-twisted cops could slip out for a quick dose of therapy just as easily as they might a pack of cigarettes. There was no one behind them, at least no one sneaking up behind them - but Furn had the unnerving sensation of being watched.
Nashy’s call had descended into nods and affirmations and then she closed up the phone with a vague smile.
‘What is it?’ Furn queried. ‘Has he given us the afternoon off?’
‘Better than that. He’s given us a target.’
‘Who?
’
‘We’re getting a briefing at Crown Casino in twenty minutes. He hasn’t been completely forthcoming, but I have an inkling it’s the human statue.’
‘The casino sounds promising as a meeting point at any rate. We’re moving back down off the rooftops.’