Cold Judgment Read Free

perfect blend of deference and efficiency that Dr. Elias expected in a waiter. He would prepare Jacques’s envelope with his yearly gratuity in advance this year, just in case.
    On his way back to the desk, Dr. Elias turned on his favorite music. Gustav Mahler’s Ninth Symphony would help him to concentrate. Mahler understood his anguish. He was a kindred soul. Mahler, too, knew torture and disappointment in his search for excellence.
    There were four folders left. Dr. Elias flipped open the top file and stared at the photograph. The man’s face was tanned and healthy—brown eyes, hair thinning slightly on top. His most striking characteristic was a wide smile that displayed a full set of perfect white teeth.
    Jerry Feldman, age forty-four, married, no children. Diagnosis: sexual aberration—child molester.
    Jerry was a successful dentist specializing in cosmetic reconstruction. He claimed that he had worked on every one of the city’s leading newscasters. It was an in-joke. All the dentists in town knew they could switch to any channel to see Jerry’s handiwork.
    His wife, Dotty, was a typical midwestern woman, warm-hearted and eager for a house full of children. Jerry hadn’t told her about his vasectomy. And Dotty knew nothing about Jerry’s darker secret.
    Jerry’s trouble had started early in his marriage. In 1979, he’d come to Dr. Elias after he’d nearly raped a ten-year-old girl. After six years of therapy, Jerry still was not cured, but he had learned to avoid situations that put him into contact with young girls.
    In two weeks, Jerry would face a crisis. His ten-year-old niece, Betsy, was coming to stay with him over the Christmas holidays. Dr. Elias knew he had to find a good therapist to help Jerry deal with his niece. Without help, Betsy could be in real danger from her uncle.
    The light in the room was fading rapidly. Dr. Elias switched on the Tiffany desk lamp and wrote a short letter of referral for Jerry. The golden circle of light illuminated the next file as he opened it, hitting the photograph like a spotlight. It was appropriate. Nora Stanford was an actress.
    Nora Stanford, age thirty-six (actually forty-six), single. Diagnosis: thanatophobia leading to episodes of psychotic aggression.
    Nora was a classic beauty with high cheekbones and a mass of shining blond hair swept back from her marvelously mobile face. She had refused to pose for a snapshot and had insisted that Dr. Elias use one of her publicity pictures, heavily retouched to make her appear younger.
    Ten years ago Nora had viciously attacked the young ingenue who’d replaced her in The Debutante . The young actress had been hospitalized and Nora had been referred to Dr. Elias by the court. She was a brilliant actress driven by her talent, desperately afraid of growing old and not being able to perform. Dr. Elias had discovered that Nora had other problems in addition to her fear of dying. She was terrified of her attraction to other women. Once Nora had accepted her lesbian tendencies, her therapy had progressed. She’d found a compassionate lover and opened a theater workshop within walking distance of the Guthrie. There were no more aggressive incidents, but Dr. Elias knew that Nora’s jealous rages were barely under control. She needed constant therapy to keep from becoming violent again.
    After he had chosen a therapist for Nora, Dr. Elias reached for his eel-skin tobacco pouch. He selected his favorite pipe from the rack, a handmade natural briar crafted by Ed Kolpin, founder of the Tinder Box. Every month he received a package of his personal blend of tobacco from the original store in Santa Monica. Several years ago Dr. Elias had voluntarily cut down on his smoking. Now that precaution seemed ridiculous. His smile was bitter as he lit the pipe and tamped it with the gold tool a former patient had given him. There was no reason to deny himself any of life’s pleasures now.