Mallory emerged from his shower wearing only his Nick Bronson underwear. His squared off shoulders, muscular arms and rippling chest were impressive: reminiscent of a Greek sculpture. “Dominick here yet?” he barked, over the intercom.
“He’s walking down to your office as we speak,” Lilly told him.
“Your impressions on the Stallings case?” he asked, looking up at Berg.
“Somehow I never pictured your average sexual deviant with mat-on-mat apparel. No, that was quite out of the ordinary.”
“I agree,” Mallory said.
“A uniform of some kind,” Berg speculated. “No doubt about it.”
Mallory was impressed. “Could be.”
Two knocks on the office door.
“Come in, Dominick.”
Dominic was a short, middle-aged man who stood no higher than five-two. Had a healthy paunch, a few well cared for strands of catgut like hair that spanned his shiny scalp, and a glowing pallor, no doubt the result of weekly facials at his own shop. He charged eighty for the house call, which Mallory rounded up to an even hundred with tip.
“Marone,” Dominic uttered in horror, commenting on the beard.
“All right, Dominic, you’ll have to earn your money this time,” Mallory replied. Come inside, Ice,” Mallory exhorted. Berg followed them into the bathroom.
“This is quite a bathroom,” Berg commented, as he took extended inventory. Next to the stall shower was a hot tub, to the right a sauna. “I’ll wager there’s no security camera in here,” he said.
“No comment,” Mallory responded.
In front of the double vanity was a sand-carved wall mirror that extended across the ceiling. A white bear rug partially covered the almond marble floor. Mallory settled in the authentic turn of the century barber chair. Berg took a seat on the powder blue wicker under the aqua and gold Mayan mosaic.
“What about the boy?” Mallory asked, as Dominick spread out the Irish linen apron and tied it behind his neck.
“It’s common knowledge that the boy was an Asperger child. But I don’t think in and of itself that had anything to do with his abduction. He was bright, talented in a number of areas, mathematics and music as I remember, as Asperger children frequently are, but not very well adjusted. You see Asperger children share one extremely formidable deficit that’s not easily overcome . . . they can’t read body language. It’s a serious roadblock, but one which may be overcome by intensive conditioning and supervised social interaction.”
“Ever meet the mother?” Mallory asked.
“Never. I’ve seen her on TV a couple of times.”
“What do you make of her?”
“Bright woman. Sincere. Articulate.”
“She claims to have a psychic link with her son.”
“I suppose that’s understandable.”
“You remember the case, Dominick?” Mallory asked.
“Which one?”
“The Stallings kidnapping. Twelve-year-old boy in North Dakota, eight years ago,” Mallory informed him.
“Yes, yes; the Compton woman on Tunnel Vision. Yes, I remember. No, the boy is dead. Morte. Who’s gonna kidnap a twelve-year-old boy? He do what he wanna do and that’s that.”
“What about the father?” Mallory asked, turning back to Berg.
“Fair haired, tall, thin Viking . . . an intellectual of sorts and a bit of an eccentric. They say he didn’t relate well to the boy, but that had nothing to do with it in my opinion. How many fathers don’t get along with their sons? He’d brought the family out there just two years earlier to establish his practice.”
“What kind of practice?” Mallory wanted to know.
“Ob-gyn, if memory serves me correctly.”
“Family man?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Dr. Stallings admitted to several extramarital affairs.”
“With patients?”
“Yeah. With patients,” Berg affirmed.
“Fucking doctors,” Mallory cursed.
“Rick, you can no talk while I shave. I’ll end up cutting your throat. Very messy,” Dominick said, piping in.
“Anyway, he was very forthcoming,” Berg continued. “Gave the names of all his liaisons to the FBI. They beat the bushes on it. Broke up quite a few marriages. But none of the husbands had the faintest idea what their wives were up to; that is until after the kidnapping.”
“Can I join the party?” A voice called out from behind the half-open bathroom door.
“Pincus, you pariah. How are things at the asylum?” Berg asked, with a finely measured degree of impudence.
“I should think you’d be an expert, Berg,” Pincus responded. “How’s your analyst treating you?
Berg rolled his eyes.
Pincus was shorter than average height. He sported long straight black hair that was fairly thick, combed back diagonally with a liberal coating of greasy hair tonic, had a fair complexion and a frail build. He wore an olive-drab sweater and jeans. Generally serene, stolid by nature, and on the surface, easy going, he had a disarming manner. However, when put under the slightest pressure, his eyes danced around like Mexican jumping beans, as if he were processing a thousand thoughts a second. He always wore a gold and white knit yarmulke that looked like it was tattooed to his scalp.
Mallory respected Pincus for a number of reasons. On the top of the list was the diminutive professor’s ability to analyze human behavior. His knowledge of his field was formidable. And Pincus applied his knowledge with painstaking precision. He mulled over his ideas for hours at a time, often revising them to get a fresh perspective. His capacity to predict human behavior was uncanny. At a critical juncture, his predictions could be depended upon.
But mainly, Mallory liked him for personal reasons. Despite his rugged facade, the Super Sleuth had a closet full of deeply seeded insecurities. Pincus helped him overcome his fear of flying in commercial airliners and despite his unusual mental prowess Mallory had difficulty concentrating on any one activity for more than thirty minutes at a time. And then, of course, there were his never-ending problems with Esther.
Pincus was more than happy to act as his personal psychologist, even though it was never an openly stated paradigm. Not to mention the fact that Pincus was genuinely interested in sorting out the irreverent lifestyles of Mallory and Esther. Especially Esther. Pincus, like most men, was drawn to her beauty. It wasn’t that he coveted her necessarily. He was a