Chapter 7

Eva Martinez is also known as Eve. But I learned that she prefers Eva. Her first baby couldn’t say both syllables so at home she’s known as Eve.

Eva told me, “Another man fucked me. There’s three of them now.”

Dr. Freddie, Roper Daniels and a guy Cathy identified as Mike Ralston. Ad agency. Drives that Hummer. Freddie, Roper and Mike.

I didn’t tell Eva that I already knew. That I’d observed her arrival and departure.

“Does he ... does Freddie still administer a shot?”

“Yes.” She was silent, an interior monologue playing. I waited. “He likes me, Freddie likes me ... compliant. He told his two friends, ‘She can’t move. We can do anything we like to her. That’s how much Eva trusts me. She gives me complete control over her.’ He brags like that.”

“He uses your name?”

Eva blushed. It was visible even with her dusky skin. Then she looked at me, “I gave him pictures of Frank and the kids. Framed. Freddie puts them out on his desk when they fuck me.”

I knew from Doctor Lindsey Conners that Eva was fully under Freddie’s spell. What seemed voluntary -- driving herself to his office, undressing, letting him render her immobile -- was now beyond her control.

Lindsey told me, “Since he hypnotized her the first few sessions, it’s not unfair to presume he embedded behavioral traits. But the way you describe Martinez, it may not have been necessary.”

Lindsey sighed, “He’s a monster. Has to be stopped.”

I had interviewed three of Dr. Fredrick Schultz’s female patients. And he had only female patients. All in their 20s, 30s, 40s. All married, all reasonably attractive.

I didn’t bother with any more -- the stories were all so similar to Eva’s. Obviously Freddie had perfected the formula, cracked the code, during his years of practice.

None of the three was in love with him. Nor did they think he cared for them other than as patients. And fuck buddies. Each assumed, as did Eva, that he had other women he fucked.

The three of them, one by one, were unable to explain Freddie’s hold on them. One echoed Eva’s phrase, “He got me.”

I agreed with Lindsey, it was time to slam the door on Freddie. And his three buddies. Roper Daniels, Mike Ralston and the latest one, Pete Billings. Stockbroker.

All four successful professionals. Upper middle class. Roper, Mike and Pete were married. Freddie, still a bachelor.

But before I crashed the party, I would have a closer look at Dr. Frederick Schultz.

A poet said, “April is the cruelest month.” In real life, it can be any month, any week, any day. In our case, Walker’s case, it was October.

Looking back, I can tell myself I should have seen it coming. But I’m not sure that’s really true.

Summer over, school back in session, Mindy living at home, except for weekends with us. Then her Wrigley weekends became less frequent.

She had the decency, no surprise there, to tell Walker and me in person.

“I met someone. A guy. We’re dating.”

Walker blinked back some moisture. My heart went out to him, but I didn’t reach for him, didn’t try to hug him. Not yet, that would come when we were alone, just the two of us. As we were before Mindy.

Mindy said, “I love you, Walker, still do. You too, Winter. You saved me. And gave me back my life. No, gave me a new one. A better one.”

I said, “But.”

Mindy nodded, “I feel bad about this. Terrible. Guilty as hell. But I’m ... going to see how ... what happens. His name is Greg. Greg Hollister. He’s a senior. I’m not in love with him, nothing like that.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts, “I’m not sure where it’s going. Where I want it to go. But I hope I can come back here, Walker. Someday.”

He nodded. Noncommittal. Good boy.

Rebecca called Walker after Mindy left. They talked for over half an hour. Rebecca is a big Walker fan. Which makes me a Rebecca fan. She talked to me, briefly, just to say how sorry she was.

I said, “It happens. Mindy is older than Walker, but still a young girl. We’ll just have to see how it plays out. If it plays out.”

To their credit, my son’s support team didn’t go all goopy. Peggy and Vanessa were sympathetic of course. But they don’t do false cheer, didn’t pander, there was no “It’s for the best.” Nor, “Put yourself out there. It’s like falling off a horse, just hop back on the saddle.”

The Austins, Gene and Cathy, knew of course. Everyone close to us knew. But they didn’t go all obvious. Gene still assigned chores for Walker, Cathy still flirted.

My mother was great. She didn’t give him an ‘I told you so’ lecture like she does with me.

Daddy had a quiet talk, just a few minutes, alone with Walker.

Bear did too.

Guy stuff.

Juanita, at Town Topic, could tell at a glance that something major had shifted in Walker’s life. She wisely didn’t ask, just continued her flirty ways.

I think Rebecca felt the worst of all of us. She fully appreciated all that Walker and I had done for her daughter. But, really, there was nothing Rebecca could have done. Could do now. Mindy was a teenage girl, 16.

And that was simply the reality. Mindy was a teenage girl, subject to all the emotional swings, self doubts, boy temptations, reservations about Walker’s age, peer pressure ... it’s a wonder teenagers survive the process.

That night, after a quiet dinner, Walker and I went for a long walk all over the Crossroads. Walker, Mindy had dubbed him the Mayor of the Crossroads, still greeted everyone by name. Was as polite as ever.

I held hands with him, he’s taller than I am now. But we didn’t speak, we were together, but alone with our thoughts.

Later, teeth brushed, I led him into my bedroom. He hadn’t slept with me for years and years. But it was time now. I snuggled behind my nude baby boy, both arms around him. I pulled his slender body against me, my chest melded into his back.

He went right off to sleep.

We still hadn’t talked about Mindy. But that will come. Whenever Walker is ready.

Maybe I should get a Bozo the Clown punching bag for him. And for me.

That first night back in my bed became our pattern. I held my slender bundle of love until he fell asleep. Then I could.

Our huge loft had always felt warm and intimate to Walker and me. The addition of Mindy simply increased the glow. Then, when she left, our home seemed even larger. Not emotionally bereft, no, not with Walker and me there. But our space seemed more ... I don’t know ... more available for love. No, love probably isn’t the word. But something is.

I became one of Freddie’s patients -- one of his all-female patients.

I went old school on the cunt. I hired Eddie Varga, a KCPD veteran who freelanced once he retired. He’s a surveillance pro who installed hidden office and bedroom cams for me. Charged me only for the equipment, a savings of roughly $1500 that I wouldn’t have to pass along to Eva Martinez.

Dr. Fredrick Schultz wasn’t, as Eva had said, conventionally handsome. But he had presence. He was tall, thick, large, solid. Confident, friendly. He radiated a quiet charm. He was 42, but had the vitality of a much younger man.

I was, this morning in Freddie’s office, Evelyn Farnsworth.

Could I pay in cash because I didn’t want my husband to know? Of course, whatever makes you comfortable.

My Mission Hills address on the forms was reassuring. I was probably cultured, probably safe, almost certainly solvent.

Freddie’s office was magnificent. Sunlight streamed directly in from three Palladian windows. The Persian rug was old, threadbare and probably cost more than my loft. With the exception of the brown leather sofa, the furniture wasn’t particularly masculine.

Which makes sense with an all-women’s roster.

I didn’t ham it up, just told my lies in a straightforward way. Lindsey Conners had coached me on the approach. Together we worked out a script based on Eva Martinez’s symptoms. Lindsey changed enough so that it wouldn’t trigger a warning to Freddie.

But we kept it close to the original symptoms because we knew it had worked with Eva.

I wasn’t worried, not physically anyway, but I did have my Bling Sting pepper spray in my shoulder bag. On top. I didn’t bother to alert Bear, not at this early stage.

I wanted a couple of things out of this appointment. One, just to see the actual layout, be able to picture it in my mind. To see the staircase leading up to the bedrooms.

More than that, though, I wanted to be able to picture Freddie. To listen to his words. To see him in the flesh. Done.

Eva Martinez was leaving Kansas City for two weeks in Southern California. An annual vacation with her hard working husband and their three kids. This was two days after the fourth man, Pete Billings, the stockbroker, had fucked Eva. As I sat watching across the street in the dark.

Since she would be out of town, I could rely on someone else to keep an eye on things. I contracted with one of my freelancers, Birdy Cummings to watch the Schultz operation from 7:30 to 10 five nights a week. Birdy is a 56-year old grandmother, bored, and always happy to ‘walk on the wild side.’

I told her, “Take a picture of everyone who goes in and comes out of the house. Their cars too.”

She grinned and pocketed the first of ten crisp one-hundred dollar bills. I didn’t really think she’d spot anyone I hadn’t seen and that Cathy hadn’t identified. But if another man were involved, I wanted to know. Needed to know.

The plan Lindsey and I arrived at was simple. In the planning stage, I rejected my own harebrained scheme to let Freddie give me a shot while simultaneously swallowing an antidote. We had briefly considered, and then firmly rejected, letting Freddie take me to the point where he injected ketamine in me. There was probably some antidote that I could self-administer, but that was more risk than I was willing to take. Side effects.

No, I would catch them in the act. With their pants down, I sincerely hoped. Let’s go to the video tape.

The patient? Who would we have lying there naked while the good doctor and his three buddies undressed?

Eva Martinez volunteered, but halfheartedly. Had she been enthusiastic, I still would have denied her.

Lindsey and I decided on the second female patient of the three I had interviewed. In a sense any of them, or any of the other patients, would have served our purpose.

But this woman, Irene Dunham, seemed the most centered. She was 42, married, four kids. College educated at DePaul University in Chicago. She was a stay at home mom. She had been surprised when I called on her about Freddie, but she bought the cover story -- I was a researcher for The Lancet, a British medical journal.

My British accent paid off, once again.

This researcher, me, a plainly attired Meg Poppins, explained that Dr. Schultz had many fans in the British professional field. The magazine was considering profiling him. “Don’t breathe a word, Mrs. Dunham. It may not happen.”

“My name won’t be mentioned?”

“Oh my, no. Total anonymity.”

Before she left on vacation, I asked Eva how she felt, what were her emotions, as she drove to meet Freddie and his friends. All three of whom were now fucking her.

Eva blushed again, not a common occurrence.

“Mortified. Ashamed.” Pause. “Naughty. Excited.”

“And driving back home?”

“I try to concentrate on the next hour. The next two hours. I try to blank out ... that. I take a long shower.”

Phillip Montgomery started calling Walker and coming by our loft. Not to apologize, not exactly. More to re-thank us, to commiserate. Class.

I later found out that Phillip had performed an unrequested favor for Bear. Behind the scenes. Through Phillip’s position as an influential local banker, he was able to cut through municipal red tape and that allowed BEAR to obtain a zoning variance. Which permitted a little back-of-the-restaurant BBQ shack. A wood-fired pit for slow-cooking ribs and brisket and chicken.

BEAR still had to be in compliance with all the regulations, but the paperwork was pre-destined for speedy approval. A quiet way to thank Bear for his part in rescuing Mindy. Class.

In our post-Mindy era, I started taking Walker out on the town. I told him, “Fuck school nights.” We went to an occasional movie, more often plays. A lot of music venues. Late night jazz. Diana Krall doing her contralto magic at the Midland downtown. Pop at the Sprint Center. Ballet at the Kaufman Center. We both enjoyed the drag shows.

Sometimes Vanessa agreed to join us, Walker loved being seen between the beauty queen and me.

But during this time, this non-Mindy time, Vanessa didn’t stay overnight with me. She knew, and applauded, that I took Walker to my bed. Slept with him, held him.

I normally sleep in the nude, so does my son. But these nights, I wore knee-length cotton Tee-shirts as I snuggled with him from behind until he drifted off to sleep. Then I could too.

Walker still hasn’t talked about Mindy. If the time comes, I’ll be here for him. If it doesn’t, I’ll still be here. He’s my love, my life. And this sadness period was just what I needed to remind me how much I love the kid.

Although the ‘kid’ was 14. And Mindy, out there in Mission Hills, was 16.

I had decided to take Dr. Frederick Schultz down while Eva Martinez was in California. It was unlikely that he would connect her to me, but the timing might mitigate the risk a little.

I had hoped to work with Sergeant Louse Finch of the KCPD. An official arrest and all of that. But Daddy verified what I already knew. I didn’t have enough to justify an arrest. Certainly not against a renowned doctor. The video tapes looked consensual. Freddie was violating professional ethics, but the a conviction wasn’t a slam dunk.

My father, Captain Jennings, didn’t offer any advice on an alternative plan. He knew the asshole had to be stopped, but he left it up to me. When I said, “Bear,” Daddy merely nodded and gave me a small wink.

Lindsey Conners, my consulting psychiatrist, came up with a savvy addition to the plan. “Men like this, when they’re caught, hate two things. Getting caught and all of the problems that go with that. And, almost as bad, having other people know about it.”

So we resurrected the media scheme that had been used back when I was on the Job. I alerted the Star’s top investigative reporter, Cindy McGuire. She started doing research on Freddie and his friends a couple of weeks before Bear and I would raid the joint.

Cindy and I reached out again to KCTV, the CBS affiliate. The reporter Sergeant Louise Finch had used back in the day had moved on, but the station assigned their anchorman. A rare trip back to the field for Franklin Pierson, but this story had potential. A prominent doctor. Sex! Drugs. Sex! The possibility of naked culprits. Sex!

Daddy and I had briefed Sergeant Finch ahead of time. She had the paperwork and a sympathetic judge lined up. Officially she didn’t know anything about what Bear and I would be doing. Just that there was the possibility of drug related crimes.

After our unauthorized civilian raid, Sergeant Finch, warrant in hand, would seal off the Schultz house and office first thing in the morning. And she would seize everything relevant to the case, protecting the patients’ identities.