A hugely pregnant woman appeared, her belly distracting Taylor from noticing anything else about the Judas Kiss

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woman. Well, she was in the right place. Taylor held the elevator doors for her. The woman waddled in and gave her a tired smile.

“Damn Braxton Hicks. I thought this one was for real.”

Taylor tried for sympathetic as the doors slid closed, then grimaced. Not her idea of a fun day, that. She hadn’t felt the tug, the desire for motherhood yet. And pushing thirty-six, she was going to have to think about it. But not right now. She’d had a scare a few months prior, and that had been enough to convince her that she was not, by any means, ready.

On the seventh floor, she went a few feet down the hallway and entered Suite 702. The door opened into a large space full of comfortable chairs and baby magazines. Dual receptionists looked up in unison. Before Taylor could say a word, the woman on the right stood and waved her toward a door that said PRIVATE. Taylor crossed the waiting room, ignoring the looks from the curious. She opened the door and the receptionist greeted her.

“You must be that policewoman the doctor said was coming over.”

“How did you know?” Taylor asked, shaking the woman’s hand and handing her a card.

“Honey, I know all our patients. We aren’t scheduling new clients these days. Dr. Walberg’s practice is full up. And the gun is a bit of a giveaway. Who do you see?”

“Oh, um,” Taylor started, and the receptionist just smiled.

“Make sure you get your annual and a Pap, dear. And don’t forget your monthly breast exam.”

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J.T. Ellison

“I did. I won’t. I mean, I will.” Taylor shook her head. “Is Dr. Walberg—”

“She’s waiting on you right now. Here you go.”

The receptionist knocked once on a wooden door, then opened it. A small woman with dark gray hair and wireless glasses sat behind a massive mahogany desk.

“Dr. Walberg? Lieutenant Jackson is here.”

The doctor popped out of her chair with a litheness that belied her age, came to the door and shook Taylor’s hand. “Thank you, Darlene.” She nodded in dismissal at her receptionist, then closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Lieutenant. I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances. Most of my work involves happiness, not murder. Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good. Here, let’s sit. I have Corinne’s file. Your colleague faxed over the warrant, so I’m free to discuss anything you need to help solve this case.”

“I appreciate that, doctor.” Taylor sat, crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap. “My first question is, did you prescribe lorazepam for Corinne? We found therapeutic levels in her bloodstream.”

“Yes, I did.”

Taylor was taken aback. “Really? I thought that it wasn’t good for pregnant women.”

“Considering some of the alternatives, lorazepam is the best choice for pregnancy. Especially in the third trimester. Corinne was having episodes, panic attacks. She asked for something benign to help take the edge off. I also gave her the name of an excellent psychologist who was working with her on some behavioral therapies. Panic disorder is something that can be conquered, and Corinne was making great strides.”

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“Did anyone else know about this? Her husband?”

“I doubt it. Corinne was horrifically embarrassed by the…lack of control, she called it. She’d always been a major overachiever. She was an athlete, a world-class one for a while. Ever since she was a teenager she had a presence of mind about her that I don’t usually see in women twice her age. Everything she set her mind to, she accomplished. Excelled. Grades, sports, boys. The panic attacks were not on her game plan. Of course, I don’t think getting murdered was on her agenda either.” Sadness crept across the doctor’s features. She cleared her throat, and Taylor got the impression Walberg was holding back tears.

“You’ve been treating her since she was a teenager?”

“Yes. Though her mother probably doesn’t know that. She started coming to me right after her sixteenth birthday, before she became sexually active with a boyfriend. She wanted to go on birth control pills and get instructions in the proper way of handling condoms. I nearly laughed that first time. She was so matter-of-fact outwardly, but you could tell that inside she was scared to death. That was Corinne, though. She would never let anyone see anything but the calm, cool, rational, successful side.”

“Except you.”

Dr. Walberg nodded. “I was frank with her, treated her with respect, then told her not to go to bed with the boy. That she’d have plenty of time to get to the physical side of life. She lost her virginity that weekend.” The doctor’s face softened, and she smiled.

“That girl was more stubborn than any mule. Tell her not to do something, tell her she couldn’t do something, and she’d do it just to spite you.”

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J.T. Ellison

“You liked her.”

“Yes, I did. I’d like to think we were friends as well as doctor and patient. She was a lot of fun. Girl like that, so driven, so composed, she reminded me of myself at her age. I took that sass to medical school. Corinne could have done anything she wanted, instead decided to go the marriage track. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just saw her changing the course of humanity with her drive. It was a shame that she settled.”

“And the lorazepam? What was giving Corinne panic attacks?”

The doctor looked out the window. “She wouldn’t tell me,” she said softly. “Just described the symptoms, said it was getting to be more than she could control, and was there something that could help. She wouldn’t tell me a thing. And now we’ll never know. Damn her.”

The doctor took off her glasses, wiped a hand across her eyes.

“The therapist?”

She put the glasses back on and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re welcome to try. I sent her to Dr. Ellen Ricard. She’s downtown on Broadway, by Arby’s. In the same building as Dr. Wang’s LASIK enterprise.” She scribbled a number on the back of a card, then handed it to Taylor.

“Here. Call ahead. Ellen’s usually booked all week. You’ll have to see her after hours. Tell her I sent you.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor was tensed in her chair, obviously ready to get back to her patients. Taylor paused for a moment, then asked, “Doctor, you said Corinne started coming to you at sixteen. After that first sexual partner, did she confide in you about any others?”

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The doctor stared at Taylor, brows knitted as if she were making a great decision. Taylor waited her out. There was a battle raging behind the doctor’s eyes. She finally smiled, the gesture not reaching her eyes.

“Lieutenant, I’ll tell you this. Corinne liked sex. That was another reason I was surprised she settled down so young. Once she had it that first time, nothing could stand in her way. She was hyperactive sexually all through high school and college. She wasn’t giving it away, mind you, she just practiced an overly healthy version of serial monogamy. Before she married Todd Wolff, she’d had dozens of sex partners. Though according to her, when she did marry Todd, that was it. She didn’t cheat. Said it would be tacky. I hoped it meant she’d grown up.”

Taylor stuck out her hand and the doctor shook it, her own cool and dry to the touch. “Thank you, Dr. Walberg. You’ve been a huge help. And I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. If you need anything else, you know where I am.”

Taylor left the woman standing at her plate glass window overlooking downtown, lost in thought. Taylor called the number on the psychologist’s business card the moment she exited Walberg’s office. She let the number ring and punched the down button on the elevator. If she could reach Corinne’s therapist, she was only two minutes from her office. After four rings, an answering machine came on with instructions to leave a message. Taylor did, asking for Ellen Ricard to call her back as soon as possible. She stepped in the elevator and glanced at her watch. 192