Free Sleepwalker by Michael Laimo Page B

rational thought, like an animal fending off a kill from hungry opponents.”
    Kevin rubbed his chin. Leonard made a left onto Foster Avenue, heading towards downtown Fairview. “So you think he’s really into beating his women for pleasure? He doesn’t strike me as the type, Len. No offense. Too wishy-washy.”
    Moldofsky shook his head. “Don’t let appearances fool you.” He turned right onto New Street. Parked cars packed the curbs, shoppers taking the sidewalks and store entrances with enthusiastic strides. Ahead Main Street was alive with its usual throng of daily activity. “But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s no whacko sex offender. I can’t remember him having any scratches on him after the incident with his wife.”
    “He had a nasty welt on his lip today.”
    “Yeah, no doubt he took a punch. But the blood was in the kitchen.”
    “Hmm…we didn’t check the bedroom.”
    “I peeked into the hallway. There was no trail of blood. Whatever happened occurred right there in the kitchen.” He paused, then added, “I think there’s more to this story than meets the eye, Kev . And I want to find out what it is.” Leonard turned left onto Main and pulled the sedan into a vacant spot behind a Toyota SUV. “Lucky. A perfect spot.”
    Hughes raised an inquisitive brow. “I thought we were gonna check out the hospital.”
    “Now why would I park here when the hospital is a mile away?”
    Kevin shifted in his seat, undid his seat belt. “Lunch?”
    “A good cop eats with his eyes, not with his stomach.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “Look.” Leonard pointed. Kevin followed his cue. The Main Street bus pulled up next to a row of buildings, depositing three passengers. One of them was Richard Sparke . He paced the length of three storefronts, hesitated as he read a sign on a slate-colored professional facility, then went inside through a pair of glass doors.
    “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun. Didn’t you tell him to stay home where we could reach him?” Hughes’s sarcasm was obvious, the grin on his face wide.
    “Told you he wouldn’t--that’s why I had the guard cue us when he left. I just wanted to make sure he got on the Main Street bus before we came down here.”
    “All right, fess up. What clued you in?” Smiling, the young cop was clearly impressed with his senior’s intuition.
    “He had one of those little magic marker note pads on the fridge. Said ‘Dr Delaney, Thursday, 1:00’. That’s today. He wasn’t going to miss his appointment. Guarantee you that.” Moldofsky’s eyes were glued to the inactive doorway of the slate facility. “He’s been seeing Delaney--a shrink by the way--for a long time. Started right after the incident with his wife--mentioned it to me during an interview with him. He was having a lot of anxiety related B.S. that kept him from a good night’s sleep.”
    “So he’s still seeing the guy after two years?”
    “And I’ll bet you it’s not just for insomnia or night terrors.”
    Hughes smiled. “Not bad, partner. I’m impressed.”
    “You should be. So how about some lunch?”
    “I thought good cops eat with their eyes?”
    “Who said we’re good cops?”
    Kevin laughed. “Good. I’m starving.” The young cop launched himself from the passenger seat. He came around Moldofsky’s side and stood there waiting before asking, “You coming?”
    “Kevin,” he said, eyebrows raised, “I have to watch out for Sparke .”
    “I guess I’m buying then.”
    Leonard laughed. “They ought to promote you to detective.”

Delaney
     
    Dr Marcus Delaney’s office sat in the middle of downtown Fairview, a quaint village that started out in the 1930’s as five stores lining Main Street, ultimately becoming a thriving college-like setting with over fifty businesses, including restaurants, bars, and a selective array of retail outlets.
    The practice was located in a three-story office building on Main Street , sandwiched between an educational toy