Cold Judgment Read Free Page A

There was little enough time to enjoy them.
    There were only two more patients to refer and he would be finished. Dr. Elias opened the next file. Father Vincent Marx, age fifty-one, single. Diagnosis: violent schizophrenia.
    Father Marx prided himself on being a modern priest. In the photo he was dressed in a blue-striped polo shirt and chinos. Only the small gold cross that he wore around his neck was an indication of his profession. Father Marx was streetwise. He knew all the current street slang and used it in everyday conversation. That made him especially effective in his church on lower Hennepin, relating to broken families and rebellious teenagers.
    There was only one area in which Father Marx was not a regular guy. He hated prostitution and everything it represented. When he was forced to confront blatant sex, he turned into a religious zealot.
    Father Marx had found Dr. Elias on his own, five years ago. No one, including the church, knew about his problem. A prostitute had propositioned him on the street, and Father Marx had assaulted and nearly killed her because she’d reminded him of his mother.
    Father Vincent Marx was the illegitimate son of a prostitute. When he’d been barely old enough to walk, he’d been punished for trying to climb into his mother’s bed. After that incident he’d been locked in a closet every night so he could not interfere with his mother’s business. As soon as he’d been old enough to rebel, Vincent had run away. A kindly priest had found him and persuaded his mother to sign relinquishment papers. Vincent had grown up in a Catholic orphanage and had entered the priesthood out of gratitude.
    The hatred was still there, but with Dr. Elias’s help, the violent emotion was kept under control. Father Marx was now able to counsel his parishioners regarding sexual matters even though, in his heart, he still felt sex was dirty and wrong. If he suffered a setback, his hatred could erupt into violence again. Under the right circumstances, Father Marx was perfectly capable of cold-blooded murder.
    Dr. Elias wrote a referral for Father Marx and turned to the file of his remaining patient. Richard “Mac” Macklin, age thirty-four, divorced. Diagnosis: severe guilt complex resulting in impotence.
    Kind blue eyes looked out from the photograph. Mac had an engaging face, one that inspired immediate trust. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his mouth, and his curly red hair was charmingly unruly. The only evidence of the deep problems that plagued him was the permanent dark circles under his eyes.
    Mac had been a detective on the Minneapolis police force when the incident had occurred, five years ago. Several attacks had been made on police officers in the preceding week, and Mac had been wary when he’d answered the call to a tenement on Lake Street. Two armed suspects had been spotted there. Mac’s partner had gone up the fire escape. Mac had taken the door. The apartment had been dark and the hall light out. Mac had overreacted when he’d seen the shadow of the gun. He’d fired, killing a twelve-year-old boy. The gun had been a toy. The boy had been playing a very real game of cops and robbers.
    Naturally the press had had a field day, even though Mac was cleared by the department. There had been hate letters and anonymous phone calls in the middle of the night. Somehow Mac had managed to ignore the people who’d called him a kid killer, but the pressure had taken its toll. After the shooting, Mac had found he was impotent. At first Mac’s wife had been understanding, but as time passed she’d become dissatisfied with the marriage. Six months later she’d filed for divorce. Mac had suffered a breakdown and been hospitalized.
    The police department carried excellent insurance, and Dr. Elias had been called in. After a year’s leave of absence, Mac had returned to the force. His crisis was over, but even with Dr. Elias’s