The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

“She didn’t think that doctors in America were taking the study of dreams seriously.”


“That is true.” He took a macaroon from the dish and nibbled at it, again dabbing at imaginary crumbs. “There are even doctors in America who believe the study of psychology is the same as hocus-pocus. I am afraid treating the mentally sick here is still thought of the same way as the biblical driving out of demons. I could maybe find time to write letters for you, though. There are certain forward-thinkers I have encountered in my travels around the country.…”

“There is an element of haste here, I’m afraid,” I said. “The police are involved. A brash young lieutenant thinks the girl is faking amnesia and wants to find her guilty of killing her parents and setting fire to their house. He has threatened to have her locked away in the Tombs until her memory returns.”

“Mein Gott. This is barbaric. It must not be allowed,” Dr. Birnbaum said, raising his voice to the extent that Bridie and Liam looked up from their cookies. “You must explain to this man that amnesia after an event of great trauma is not unheard of. If the child witnessed her parents being burned to death, if she tried to save them but was not able to, of course her mind would refuse to acknowledge that such a thing ever happened.”

“I’ve tried explaining,” I said. “Unfortunately he’s not the sort of man who listens, especially to a woman.”

Dr. Birnbaum nodded. “I wish I could help you.”

“My friend has written to Professor Freud in Vienna to ask for advice,” I said, “but naturally it will take time for the letters to reach Vienna, and for us to receive a reply.”

Dr. Birnbaum stroked his beard again. “There might be somebody you could turn to. I recall that Dr. Otto Werner was here in New York earlier this year. I read about his visit in a scholarly journal. A brilliant young man from Munich, they say, who has been doing ground-breaking work with Professor Freud in Vienna. I don’t know if he is still here or if he has returned home. I wrote to him once at the New York address I had been given for him, inviting him to dine with me, but I received no reply. So I have to assume that he is no longer here. He would have been able to help you. Freud thought highly of him.”

“Dr. Otto Werner,” I said, memorizing the name. “I’ll mention this to my friends and see if they can track him down.”

“I understand that he has specialized in the study of the criminally insane,” he said. “He would be a useful witness if you feel the police might unjustly accuse this girl of a criminal act.”

“At least we would know one way or the other,” I said. “That’s the hard part. Daniel says he’s encountered murderers who seemed sweet and gentle. And we still can’t explain how Mabel was found outside the house, apparently unscathed by the fire.”

“You may never know.” He sighed. “But at least someone like Dr. Werner would have the training to ask the right questions.” He put down his coffee cup, then looked up sharply at me. “These dreams. It is always the same scenario, the same symbols?”

“There is always the snake,” I repeated what Mabel had said. “A giant snake that looms over her.”

“That is a typical monster representation for many people—the snake, symbol of evil and death. I would suggest it was the embodiment of her terror.”

“So you don’t think that understanding her dreams can necessarily unlock her memories?”

“I’m afraid not.” He stood up and extended his hand to me. “Now, I’m afraid I must take my leave of you. I have much to do—the carter will be coming for my trunks, and I still have many items to pack. One accumulates so much after a prolonged stay, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I’m sure. But one more thing. Do you happen to still have Dr. Otto Werner’s address in New York?”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a slim diary. He flicked through it. “Alas, no,” he said. “I think I discarded it when I last changed notebooks, since he had not answered my letter. But I recall it was not too far from here. Maybe on Ninth Street—close to Astor Place?”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been most kind. My friends can ask at the university. They should know if an eminent scientist is still in the city.”

“I wish you luck with your endeavors.” He gave me a very Germanic bow, clicking his heels together.

“And I wish you bon voyage,” I said.