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A WOMAN WHO THINKS
“I’m ... so upset, Dr. Fein,” Lila said, alternately rubbing and clasping her long-fingered hands as she stared out the window. Her mouth crumpled and tears flowed down her cheeks. “I don’t know where to start.” Her last words came out as a sob.
Dr. Morris Fein thought about how to respond to this, keeping his expression bland, as he did with all patients no matter what crazy things they might say. Thinking is what Dr. Morris Fein did best. Thinking about the nutty things distraught patients said and formulating a well-reasoned response.
It had taken most of their hour to get to the heart of Lila’s problem. She’d danced around the issue, talked about her frustrations at work, her lousy love life, her financial problems. After this extensive prelude, it seemed like she’d finally come to the reason for her visit.
“Why don’t you start with whatever you’re most comfortable telling me,” Dr. Fein said. Lila needed to be handled with care, like a carton of fine china.
Continuing to avoid his gaze, Lila raised a fist to her mouth and bit it. Finally she said, “I … can’t. I’ve done something very stupid. And I think I’m in trouble.”
Dr. Fein cocked his head to one side, as if examining a specimen from a different angle. He kept his expression impassive but spoke in a warm tone. “I’m here to help. Perhaps you could tell me more about this thing you’ve done.”
“I’ve been—” She broke off the thought in mid-sentence and, bowing her head slightly, looked up at Dr. Fein with wary, deep-blue eyes.
“Everything I say is confidential, right?” she said in a husky voice.
Dr. Fein pursed his lips. “For the most part, yes.”
“When you say that ... does that mean if I’m involved in something criminal, you have to report it?”
Dr. Fein felt unease stirring within him. He hated questions like that.
“That depends.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “If we’re talking about something that’s already happened, no. Or something involving, say, minor property crimes like shoplifting. But something more serious like murder or child abuse ...” His voice faltered, despite his best efforts to the contrary. He needed to sound sure so patients would have confidence in him, trust him. “If a patient told me she intended to hurt someone, I’d be legally required to report it. You can understand why ...” Again his voice trailed off, but he searched out eye contact with her as he asked, “Are you involved in such a crime?”
She shook her head with such force, he thought he saw tears fly from her cheeks. “No, no,” she said. “Nothing like that. I just ... got involved with the wrong people. And now I’m afraid they’re coming after me.”
“Please,” he said, his unease quelled but not eradicated. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“They wanted me to deliver something,” she said, staring before her as if a spider too tiny to see were hanging a few inches from her face. “It was strange because they told me not to tell anyone. But they were willing to pay me a lot of money to do it, plus the costs of the trip and everything. I was supposed to take a locked suitcase to this place near the Canadian border.” Her eyes finally turned his way, refocused on Dr. Fein. “I think it may have been drugs. Maybe something worse. They ... they wouldn’t tell me.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“Two men. They never mentioned their names.” Lila shook her head and shrugged. “They said they got my name from Mickey. That should have tipped me off the whole thing was bad news.”
Her ex-boyfriend. Dr. Fein had jotted the name in his notes. He sighed, thinking about how often people were in denial and didn’t see the obvious error of their ways until it was too late.
“And you agreed to do this?”
Lila buried her face, pink from crying, in her hands. Her dark hair fell over her cheeks, brushing her shoulders. When she looked up, her desperate expression had transformed to self-derision. “Stupid, wasn’t it? I never thought I’d be dumb enough to get involved in something like this. But when they told me how much they’d pay me ... I guess I just didn’t think. I needed the money so much.”
Dr. Fein nodded and glanced surreptitiously at the wall clock hanging behind Lila. Ten more minutes. He knew this wouldn’t be solved in the time they had left but wanted to bring things to enough closure to satisfy Lila until the following week.
“Anyway,” Lila said, giving her runny nose a backhanded sweep. “I did what they asked. I put the suitcase in this locker at a bus station and mailed the key to a PO box. But I’m scared now. I think these people are watching me.”
“Why?”
“How the hell should I know?” Lila’s eyes reminded him of a wild animal stuck in a trap. “Maybe they think I’m going to tell someone!”
“No,” Dr. Fein said, keeping his voice low and even. “I meant, what evidence do you have that someone’s watching you?”
“Evidence?” Lila sounded as if she’d never heard the word before. “I’ve been followed. The last three days. They’ve followed me home from work.” She paused and sniffled before adding, “Then they wait outside my house for hours. Like they’re watching me. I’m afraid to go anywhere when I see them out there.”
Dr. Fein nodded. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” Lila’s lips curled and he received the kind of look she’d have given a reeking pile of dog doo. “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m crazy. Well, I’m not crazy, Dr. Fein. I’m not!”
She picked up her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “You want evidence, fine,” she muttered. “Here!” Hitting a few buttons, she held up the phone to show him a photo. Dr. Fein scooted forward in his chair and reached out to draw the phone closer. He saw a black Escalade with a sparkling chrome grill parked along a leafy, residential curb.
