In the Last Analysis Read Free

in the street?” Suddenly the girl seemed born again in Kate’s memory, sitting where Captain Stern now sat.
Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio
.
    “You said, Miss Fansler, she seemed to be waiting to see what would happen. What did you mean by that?”
    “Did I say that? I don’t know what I meant. A way of speaking.”
    “Was there
anything
of a personal nature between you and Janet Harrison?”
    “No. She was a student.” Suddenly, Kate remembered his first question:
What were you doing yesterday morning?
“Captain Stern, what has this to do with me? Because I gave her the name of an analyst, because she was my student, am I supposed to know who murdered her?”
    Captain Stern rose to his feet. “Forgive me for taking the time from your students, Miss Fansler. If I have to see you again, I will try to make it at a more convenient hour. Thank you for answering my questions.” He paused a moment, as though arranging his sentences.
    “Janet Harrison was murdered in the office of the psychoanalyst to whom you sent her. Emanuel Bauer is his name. She had been his patient for seven weeks. She was murdered on the couch in his office, the couch on which, as I understand it, patients lie during their analytic hour. She was stabbed with a knife from the Bauer kitchen. We are anxious, of course, to find out all we can about her. There seems to be remarkably little information available. Goodbye for now, Miss Fansler.”
    Kate stared after him as he left, closing the door behind him. She had underestimated his flair for the dramatic; that much was clear.
I’ve sent you a patient, Emanuel
. What had she sent him? Where was he now? Surely the police could not imagine that Emanuel had stabbed a patient on his own couch? But how then had the murderer got in? Had Emanuel been there? She picked up the receiver and dialed 9 for an outside line. What was his number? She would not thumb through a phone book. It surprised her to notice, as she dialed 411 for information, that her hand was shaking. “Can you give me the number, please, of Mrs. Nicola Bauer, 879 Fifth Avenue?” Emanuel’s office number was under his name, his home phone under Nicola’s, she remembered that: to prevent patients calling him at home. “Thank you, operator.” She did not write it down, but repeated it over and over to herself. Trafalgar 9. But she had forgotten to dial 9 again for an outside line. Begin again and take it slowly.
Emanuel, what have I done to you?
“Hello.” It was Pandora, the Bauers’ maid. What an amusing name it had once seemed! “Pandora, this is Miss Fansler, Kate Fansler. Please tell Mrs. Bauer that I must speak to her.”
    “Just a minute, Miss Fansler, I’ll see.” The phone was laid down. Kate could hear one of the Bauer boys. Then there was Nicola.
    “Kate. I suppose you’ve heard.”
    “A detective’s been here; I’m in my office. Efficient, laconic, and, I suspect, superficial. Nicki, are they letting you stay there?”
    “Oh, yes. Thousands of men have been through the whole place, but they say we can stay. Mother said we should go home with her, but once the policemen cleared out, it seemed better somehow to stay. As though if we left,we might never come back, Emanuel might never come back. We’ve even kept the boys here. It does seem crazy, I suppose.”
    “No, Nicki. I understand. You stay. Can I come and see you? Will you tell me what’s happened? Will they let me come?”
    “They’ve only left a policeman outside, to cope with the mobs. There’ve been reporters. We’d like to see you, Kate.”
    “You sound exhausted, but I’m coming anyway.”
    “I’d like to see you. I don’t know about Emanuel. Kate, I think they think we did it, in Emanuel’s office. Kate, don’t you know an Assistant District Attorney? Maybe you could …”
    “Nicki, I’ll be right over. I’ll do anything I can. I’m leaving now.”
    Outside the office a few students still waited. Kate rushed past them down