To know a person is to know what he is seeking –- love, fame, fortune, or any of the medley of darker motivations that reside between ecstasy and despair… We are all driven by our needs.

2 - Bad Habits

The Medical Examiner removed his latex gloves, waving them at Brown.

“I’ll call it,” he said. “Blunt force trauma resulting in internal bleeding. He died of a blow to the head. You see anything around here that could have been used?”

Inspector Brown gave the nod and the forensics team entered the unit, white paper gowns and slippers ensuring they brought no evidence in with them and carried nothing out. Prints – photographs – measurements – every step recorded. This was going to be one of those ‘cover-your-ass’ scenarios.

Brown ignored the grinning M.E., waiting for him to leave the apartment. “Dr. Ghoul”, the Constables called him. He enjoyed his work far too much.

Both men watched from the doorway.

The deceased, a Mr. Robert Lowry, was from one of those families, though you’d never guess it, judging by his humble home. Piles of junk, books, magazines and assorted clutter flung around a modestly furnished living room. Nothing here gave any hint of the family fortune.

“Something’s missing, boss,” Starky said. “Dust marks where the computer was sitting. Laptop. Looks like he never moved it from this spot.”

“Robbery?” Brown asked. Robbery would be easier to explain to the family than, for example, a sex-related crime. One could always hope…

“There’s a message,” Starky said, noticing the red light flashing on the phone.

Lifting his white clad feet carefully and using a pointer so as not to disturb prints, he pressed “Play” on the recorder.

“Mr. Lowry,” a woman’s voice said, “it’s Rebecca at Global Travel. I’m calling to confirm your tickets have arrived. Seating for 10:00 am to Boston on the 17th. Please let me know if you want to pick them up.”

“The 17th – that’s tomorrow,” Starky said. “I wonder what’s in Boston.”

“That’s for him to know,” Brown said, waving toward the deceased, “and us to find out.”
***

Rhonda left the restaurant and lit a cigarette, releasing a stream of smoke into the crisp Boston morning air. She tightened her scarf, stepping into the shelter of a doorway.

Within moments Hamish appeared, pausing outside the lobby entrance to scan the busy street. Her Adonis – her prince of stolen moments – he was unaware of her green eyes watching him. Closing his jacket, he ducked into a waiting taxi.

She stared after him and smiled. A man like Hamish needed to be tamed carefully, to preserve the best of his energy. With his shoulders hunched forward against the cold he had seemed diminished, but Rhonda knew it was an illusion. She never pushed him beyond the limits of his endurance, and always made the journey worth his while. He might be feeling a little bent this morning, but he was definitely not broken.

She loitered for a moment, enjoying the tobacco-tinged atmosphere. This was one of her favourite aspects of romance, lingering in the mental corridors of memory, running through the images, recounting what had been said, what had been won – and what was lost. Tallying up love’s score after the fact….

Rhonda had a busy day ahead. She crushed the cigarette onto the cement and wrapped her green scarf around her neck. Her car was in the underground lot.
***

Leda Maguire followed the arrow pointing toward the Faculty of Medicine. She’d never been to Boston before and was overwhelmed by the imposing beauty of the academic landscape. The cold reached into her jacket.

“Victimology,” Helen said, “this way.”

Leda shivered and opened the door.

A narrow, dark haired woman offered her hand. Leda thought she looked familiar, but couldn’t place her. The professor registered no sign of recognition.

“You must be Leda Maguire. I’m Rhonda Copps. It’s a pleasure to meet you, after of all our emails back and forth.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Rhonda,” Leda said. “Thank you for inviting me. Allow me to introduce my friend, Helen Strachan. We travel together.”

“Actually, to tell the truth,” Helen said, “I’m Leda’s security.”

“Security? What for? Is there something I should know about?”

“It’s best if we’re clear.” Helen Strachan waved a hand, dismissing Leda’s objection before she could vocalize it. “Leda hired me because she's been having problems with a fan.”

“You mean someone is stalking her?”

“Exactly. I’m here to make sure there are no "mixed messages". I’ll be at the front of the room with Leda the whole time. She won’t be engaging in any one-on-one discussions. She and I will leave together immediately after the question period.”

“Fair enough,” Rhonda said.
***

Rhonda watched the women leave her office. Ms. Mcguire was certainly an enigma. From everything she’d learned about Leda’s ‘victim’ tendencies, she’d expected to meet a stuttering, half-literate mass of nervous energy. The book was brilliantly written, but a good editor could easily account for that.

Leda’s composure was a pleasant surprise. The afternoon ‘lecture’ should prove interesting.
***

Hamish Burrows turned off his phone. He fell into his chair and rubbed his eyes. Sandy was so desperate to get pregnant these days. It was all she talked about – all she seemed to think about. Her relentless desire was exhausting.

He’d tried to tell her about the mess he’d gotten into, several times… over dinner, late at night while they were getting ready for bed. He lacked the courage.

If she would just let up about having a baby, maybe everything would work out in the long run. To jump into that commitment now, while he was already struggling…

He just couldn’t do that to Sandy. She didn’t deserve it.
***

The hall was huge. This would be Leda’s largest audience to date. The number of listeners didn’t bother her, though. What bothered her was the knowledge they would not be merely listening – they would be studying her, analysing her every word and gesture, trying to memorise the indicators that marked her as a ‘victim’.

That was, after all, the reason she was there: to address this group of Psychology students on the subject of Victimology, her own victimology. What it was that led her from an abusive childhood into an abusive marriage that resulted in the murder of her mother, father and her infant child.

After all, there must be something she could have done differently.

She could finally allow herself to entertain these thoughts, now that she had reached her own epiphany on the subject. Now that she finally understood it wasn’t about being a victim, or being a survivor. It was simply about living. It was about taking what you were given and turning it into something better, by whatever means you had at your disposal.

This understanding was what her book was all about. She’d used every skill at her disposal and she’d created a better life for herself, using her intelligence and her own two good hands.

That was her message. They could make of it what they would.

A young man entered the room, taking a seat near the chair reserved for Professor Copps. Leda recognised him at once, and suddenly remembered where she’d seen Rhonda before.

He was too old to be a student, although he might be an adult-student. Many people, she knew, enrolled later in life to change their career path.

The way he took the chair next to Rhonda’s, though, told her he wasn’t a student. She glanced at the programme – he must be Dr. Hamish Burrows, the Psychologist who would lead the questions following her address.

So far, there was no sign of her “number one fan”, Robert. It figured he’d stop stalking her, now that she’d gone to the trouble of hiring a bodyguard. Still, Leda kept her eyes on the door…

By 3:10 the room was full. Rhonda pointed at her watch to indicate it was time to begin. Leda approached the podium. There would be no formal introduction made, no commentary that might skew the students’ opinion of what Leda was all about. She would introduce herself, speak, then answer questions.
***

“That was terrific,” Helen said as they walked through the backstage exit.

Leda pulled on her gloves, wishing she’d worn her winter coat.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No, really, you’re a natural speaker. I’d die if I had to talk about crap like that in front of people. You’re very brave.”

“And yet,” Leda said, smiling, “I’m the one hiring a bodyguard.”

“Did you see our friend Robert?”

“Nope. I feel like a damned fool.”

“He’s probably lying low, waiting for me to disappear.”

“Maybe, but…” Leda paused, seeing a familiar figure waiting for the University shuttle bus. “Isn’t that Hamish Burrows? Maybe we should invite the doctor to dinner.”

“If you like,” Strachan said. “He does look cold, standing there all alone.”

The women retraced their steps.

The bus approached. Wanting to catch Hamish, she was about to call out when the unthinkable happened: he stepped off the curb directly in front of the moving bus!

“Shit!” Helen said. Before Leda could react, Strachan was in motion, running full speed toward the scene. Leda followed, amid the confusion of screeching tires and horn blasts.

Strachan shouted to clear the growing crowd. She removed her own jacket to make a pillow for Hamish’s head.

Blood flowed from the doctor’s nose and mouth. He’d manage to ‘catch’ the bus before it had slowed, literally throwing himself in front of it. If he survived, it would be a miracle.

Leda met Helen’s eyes over his broken body.

“Why?” she whispered.

Helen shook her head. She didn’t have the answer.

“What’s going on?” Rhonda said, her green scarf trailing as she ran toward the scene.

“Stand back,” Helen said.

“Oh, My God, it’s Hamish!” Rhonda’s voice was shrill, verging on hysteria.

“You and he were friends,” Leda said. The professor was panicking. She needed help. Leda stood and stretched out her hands.

“Friends? No, I barely knew him. I mean, I called on him occasionally to speak to my students. He was a colleague – a professional acquaintance.”

Leda glanced at Helen, not surprised to see her own doubt reflected in her friend’s eyes. The lady protested far too much.

“Did he have a family?” Leda asked. “Who should we call?”

Rhonda pulled herself together, busying her hands by fastening her coat and knotting her scarf.

Finally she faced Leda directly.

“I’ll call his wife,” she said.

Will Hamish Burrows survive his critical injuries? Will Leda and Strachan uncover the truth about Rhonda’s relationship with the doctor?

Tune in next week, for Volume 3 of “Two Good Hands”!

Copyright belongs to Donna Carrick. No part of this story may be reproduced without the written consent of the author.

1 - Now you can order your signed copies of The First Excellence and "Two Scoops" Is Just Right directly from the authors! Simply send your certified cheque or money order payable to:

Donna and Alex Carrick
3901 Don Mills Road
Suite #47
North York, Ontario CANADA M2H 2S7

PRICE INCLUDES SHIPPING WITHIN CANADA.
(International orders, please add $5.00.)

2 - *** NEW FEATURE -- SEE PAYPAL OPTIONS BELOW!***

Order books:

The First Excellence $19.95 "Two Scoops" Is Just Right $15.95

International Orders:

The First Excellence $24.95 "Two Scoops" Is Just Right $20.95

Be sure to indicate which book you are ordering as well as quantities:

3 - ***For your convenience, both books are also available at Amazon.com:
Order The First Excellence from Amazon
Order "Two Scoops" Is Just Right from Amazon