Cold Judgment Read Free Page B

encouragement, Mac refused to put his potency to the test. He was terribly lonely, but he felt it was better to avoid women than to risk failure.
    After several months at work Mac’s impotence had taken on a new complication, one that affected his career. His service revolver, an obvious phallic symbol, became the source of his anxiety. Dr. Elias knew the risks involved with a cop who could not use his gun. At any time a situation could occur where Mac would have to shoot to save a fellow officer’s life. It would be a murder by omission if he could not fire.
    There was only one practical way to deal with the problem. Mac had studied nights and received his promotion to detective. Now the probability of his having to use his gun was greatly diminished. Both Mac and Dr. Elias were relieved.
    Dr. Elias finished Mac’s referral and stretched wearily. Technically, these eight patients were no longer his responsibility, but he was unable to relinquish the final thread that bound him to his group. He would ask for progress reports from the new therapists. It was only right that he follow his patients as long as he could.
    Fifteen minutes remained before his dinner arrived. Dr. Elias uncorked the wine and poured a glass to let it breathe. Then he unlocked the door that led to his art gallery.
    The long, narrow hallway was filled with portraits he had painted, one for every patient he had cured. Dr. Elias walked slowly to the very end, glorying in his successes. The portraits were the work of a talented amateur. Once he had wanted to be an artist, but he’d felt compelled to continue his father’s work in medicine. His therapy work was his art. He took disorganized psychic material and transformed it into human masterpieces. These portraits were glorious testimonies to his talent as a psychiatrist.
    His studio was at the end of the corridor. The outside walls were of glass, to let in the strong northern light. An easel was placed in the center of the large room. Resting on it was his only unfinished canvas.
    It was a portrait of his group: Kay, Greg, Debra, Doug, Jerry, Nora, Father Marx, and Mac. They were seated in a half circle around the conference table in his office. The portrait was precise, correct to the smallest detail. Only the faces were unfinished, startling white ovals of blank canvas.
    His fingers itched to take up the brush and finish the painting, but it was impossible. He could complete a canvas only when the case was resolved. Dr. Elias felt a stab of remorse as he gazed at his painting. It violated his sense of order to leave a project unfinished. If only he could find a way to close these cases.

CHAPTER 2
    â€œAw, Mom! I hate to go with Grandma!” Trish stood at the back door, hands on her hips. “I don’t see why I have to get out of the house, just because you’re having a meeting. I could stay in the den and watch a movie.”
    â€œIt’s not going to kill you to spend the afternoon with Grandma.” Kay gave her daughter a stern glance. “She adores you.”
    â€œI know.” Trish sighed extravagantly. “It’s just so boring! I’m dying to hit the Walker to see DeBiaso’s new film, but Grandma wants to go to the MIA for the Early American furniture show.”
    Poor Trish looked so perturbed. Kay couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. The last DeBiaso film had been a documentary about a homosexual poet. It contained a nude shot of the man’s buttocks. The furniture exhibition was a much safer choice. Charles’s mother was easily shocked.
    â€œI’ll take you to the Walker tomorrow,” Kay promised. “And I’ll let you drive. Will that make you feel better?”
    â€œGreat, Mom!” Trish grinned, her good humor restored. “Can we go early? I want to see Aiken’s installation, too.”
    Kay nodded. A car horn sounded in the driveway and she gave Trish a quick kiss. “Hurry up now. If