Chapter 15

The morning began painfully. Boland pulled himself away from Lilly and had to wrestle with himself to keep from starting the day off with a shot of brandy. The coffee, although fresh, tasted stale. His whole life tasted stale, miserable and wrong. He showered and dressed, taking an aspirin with his juice and remembering with dread that his first patient of the day was Anabelle Riordan. He could not honestly tell himself she'd be unsuccessful today. He could not honestly tell himself he'd feel any better about it. He felt trapped. He'd fallen into a well filled with sex. And if that were a particularly Freudian figure of speech, so much the better; it was exactly how he felt.

The phone began ringing insistently at eight-thirty. Lilly answered it and hung up with irritation. "Some prankster," she said. "All I heard was some labored breathing at the other end."

Boland glared at her. "It was probably only one of your boy friends."

Lilly smiled. "There was a time when you deliberately used to pick fights because we'd always end up making love when we were through. Is that what you're after now? After all, I've still got my figure and there's nothing to hold us back."

Boland shook his head sadly as the telephone began to ring again.

"Maybe it's one of your girl friends," Lilly said. "Let's see you try it."

Boland lifted the phone and uttered a greeting. Almost immediately, he understood everything. He understood the heavy breathing during the call Lilly'd answered. It was all part of a grotesque pattern. Again, he heard the labored breathing and finally the words. "Please, don't hang up this time. I changed mind. Don't want to die. You've got to help me." With a chill, Boland re cognized the voice of Gayle Herron. A few brief questions established the fact of sleeping pills. "You've got to keep moving, Gayle. I'll be right there. You must keep moving, do you hear?" He thrust the phone at Lilly. "I'm going to her place. Keep her talking until I get there. And for the love of heaven, Lilly, don't call the police."

He was at Gayle's within fifteen minutes, thankful at the sound of her voice coming through the door to her apartment. After he knocked insistently, he heard her shuffling toward the door. She opened it and fell into his arms.

Boland took the phone and repeated his warning to Lilly. He searched her cupboards until he found instant coffee, then put on water to boil. Lifting Gayle over the bathtub, he induced her to vomit, then mopped at her face with a moist towel. He forced three cups of hot coffee into her and kept her walking. Gradually, he got the story from her.

Gayle had had sex relations with a man. At least, she'd tried to. But it had been so frightening, so terrible to her that she'd become depressed and taken sleeping pills.

Boland bundled her into a coat and drove her to his home. By this time, there was some color in Gayle's face and it was apparent that she was out of danger, but the moment Lilly saw her, she flew into hysterics. "I can only handle one of you at a time," Boland said. "She's out of danger. Take it easy."

"But she tried to kill herself."

"And changed her mind."

"She should have a doctor."

"She's all right now. We'll take care of her. What she needs most is reassurance and comfort.

"I knew you'd go too far, Ed. You did this, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about, Lilly?"

"You made love to her. You broke her heart. He did, didn't he?" Lilly said, beginning to shake Gayle. "He made love to you, didn't he?"

Still frightened and dazed, Gayle nodded.

Lilly began shouting and ran from the house. Boland started after her, but hesitated, thinking of Gayle. Even though he believed she was safe, he couldn't take the chance. No matter what Lilly did, he had to stay with Gayle.

It happened quickly and in an amazingly orderly fashion. Lilly called the police, who arrived in less than ten minutes, an ambulance not far behind. Gayle was taken immediately to the County General Hospital for observation. Boland was taken to the police station for questioning and told he'd damned well better get himself a lawyer. He was permitted one phone call. Dazed and bewildered, he instinctively dialed the number of Charlotte Stowe. "I like your instincts, Ed," she said, "I'm glad you turned to me when you were really needful. I'll take care of things."

Inside of an hour, an attorney was admitted to the questioning. He introduced himself as Joe Cake, and set promptly to work securing Boland's release from custody on a writ of habeas corpus.

Stan Gillmore, the assistant district attorney, grudgingly let Boland free. "That's just one writ, Boland," he said. "I wouldn't go too far away if I were you. The grand jury's going to want to talk to you. Also, I wouldn't plan on doing too much more practicing in this state. Phony counselors and unqualified people are on their way down the tubes, where they belong.

Cake grew defensive. "Lots of mental patients, under the care of doctors and psychiatrists, attempt suicide. You're prejudging."

"They also call the police and have experience in handling these people."

"My client did well. The girl's still alive."

"Yeah, but she tried to kill herself because he made love to her."

"That's a lie," Boland said.

Cake took him by the arm. "Come on," he said, "we're going to Charlotte's. We've got to start planning your defense. They just nailed two other marriage counselors for administering drugs. They'll be after your scalp."