In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

The more I thought about it, the surer I became that Theresa did not take her own life. She had been optimistic during the past days. She had talked about getting strong enough to go to Ireland and having clothes made for me. But then who knows what the alienist said to her and what deepfearshe might have brought to the surface again?

It was strange, but the second I thought about the alienist, I realized that we hadn't seen him around this morning and wondered where he was. Surely nobody could have stayed asleep through the commotion that had been going on since six o'clock? But a few minutes later we had assembled out on the veranda, none of us wanting to be in the house while Theresa’s body still lay there, when we heard the tap of feet on the marblefloorand the alienist himself appeared, neatly dressed in tweeds and yellow waistcoat.

“I appear to have missed breakfast,” he said, clicking his heels to us. “I must apologize to our hostess. Where is she, please?”

“You haven't heard?” Belinda demanded. “You've been asleep all this time?”

Bimbaum bowed again. “I'm afraid I am a very sound sleeper once I get to sleep. I was up reading until well past midnight, then my mind was active and I probably didn't doze off until two or three.”

“I regret to inform you that Mrs. Flynn died last night,” Belinda said.

“Mrs. Flynn died? But that is terrible,” Bimbaum stammered. “May one ask how she died?”

“She took her own life, apparently,” Belinda said quietly. “An overdose of her sleeping powders.”

“Mein Gottf” Bimbaum struck his own breast. “I am a doctor—I am trained to work with such people as your sister and I did not see this coming, la m ashamed of myself. I am not fit to be called alienist. How could I have missed the signs? I would have said that she was on the road to recovery, becoming more optimistic in her outlook.”

“I don't suppose we can ever know what goes on in the deepest recesses of the human mind, Doctor,” Clara said. “Mrs. Flynn had been suffering for many years. Maybe she realized that she had endured enough.”

Dr. Bimbaum was still shaking his head. “But usually patients give some sort of indication to me—they throw out little suggestions. They say, “Sometimes I wonder if it is all worth it. … Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off dead.” Always some hint. But from her, nothing.”

I had been sitting in silence watching this current drama un-fold. But as they spoke, something was going through my mind. “Dr. Bimbaum, you say you were awake for most of the night,” I said. “Did you not hear anything unusual?”

“Unusual?” He looked puzzled.

“I wondered if Mrs. Flynn might have cried out or fallen from her bed?”

He shook his head. “I don't think I heard anything strange. When I read, I am in deepest concentration and I am able to shut out the world around me.”

He broke off as he observed Bamey come out onto the veranda, followed by his faithful minions. Barney stiffened when he saw that Bimbaum was with us. “Oh, the great alienist who was supposed to be helping my wife get better!” he boomed. “How many patients do you lose a week, Dr. Birnbaum?”

“I assure you, Mr. Flynn, that nobody could feel worse than I do about your tragic news,” he said. “I could have sworn that your wife was on the road to recovery. I sensed no suicidal tendency in her. Depression, yes, but a depression that could eventually be cured.”

“It doesn't help to blame anyone, Barney,” Joe Rimes said. Theresa is gone. May she rest in peace.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“I should go up and pack my belongings,” Bimbaum said. “I can see that my presence among you will only heighten your grief, so if you could perhaps telephone for some kind of conveyance to take me to the ferry?”

“We can have a couple of the men row you across the riverto Peekskill,” Joe Rimes said. “That is the easiest way of hooking up with the train. Ill have Soames arrange it.”

“And I'll come up and help you pack, if you'd like,” Desmond O'Mara said suddenly.