“What, exactly?” Andy countered. “It sounds like Nicasio was in a brawl and suffering from a head trauma. We can’t force a grown man to go to the hospital, Soph. I’ve never even formally introduced him.”
“But those questions you were asking just now . . . It sounded like you think he’s suffering from a psychological trauma, as well. What if . . . ?” Sophie glanced around nervously, as though she thought someone sinister was lurking in the dusty corners of Andy’s den. “What if Thomas knows something about what Rick Carlisle told you during his sessions? What if he’s discovered something more? What if he’s in danger?”
Andy’s expression froze. “Sophie . . . I never told you that the person who I was doing a case consultation with you about was Rick Carlisle.”
Sophie made a sound of disgust and stood. She found herself staring at an Escher print that hung on Andy’s wall, feeling every bit as trapped and confused as the creatures in the optical illusion drawing.
“Andy, we’ve been good friends now for thirteen years. Have a little respect for my intelligence, will you? Do you think I don’t notice the comings and goings in our office? Do you really believe I didn’t know perfectly well that the patient you were so concerned about, and who you’ve been consulting with me about for over a year on an anonymous basis, was Rick Carlisle, Nicasio’s adoptive brother?”
“Sophie—”
“I know you’re bound by an oath of confidentiality,” she exclaimed as she spun to face him, “but a man may be in danger. There are limits to your oath.”
Andy stood slowly and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back on his nose. “Sophie, Thomas Nicasio isn’t my patient.”
“But Rick Carlisle was, and look what happened to him! He’s dead.”
She instantly regretted her impulsive words when she saw Andy’s face drain of all color. She knew how attached Andy was to all of his patients. Rick’s death had been a heavy blow for him.
“Even if you were right about the identity of my patient, the officials called what happened to Rick Carlisle an accident. An accident. Besides, you can’t really believe that Rick’s father would murder his own son and grandson in cold blood, can you? Isn’t that what you’re implying, Sophie?”
Her cheeks warmed. It did sound a little melodramatic, but—
“Joseph Carlisle is being investigated by the FBI for organized crime activities. And you know what Rick had discovered in his own research into the Outfit for his book. His journalistic source fingered Joseph Carlisle as the main boss of the Chicago Outfit,” Sophie hissed. “How do I know what men like that would do and not do to keep their secrets? Do you really know, Andy?”
Andy sighed wearily when Sophie stared at him imploringly.
“This is outside my realm of control,” he insisted. “If I were in possession of specific evidence that suggested a murder of two innocent people had occurred, that’d be one thing. But I don’t have any concrete evidence. Even Ri—the patient—wasn’t fully convinced about the allegations this man—Bernard Cokey—made in regard to his father being the head of Chicago organized crime. Please understand, Sophie. The ethics of my profession clearly state that I’m powerless to act given these circumstances.”
Sophie inhaled slowly, gathering her fragmenting thoughts. Andy had to be one of the most thoughtful, compassionate men she’d ever met, and here she was, practically accusing him of negligence. Andy would have done everything in his professional power to keep Rick safe if he possessed solid evidence his patient was in danger.
“I understand. I do. But I’m not operating under any such constraints, Andy. Thomas Nicasio is in trouble. I just know it.”
After her meeting with Andy, she’d gone to the office, planning on looking for Thomas. That’s when she’d unexpectedly come face-to-face with him as he was being escorted onto the elevator by the two men. She’d altered her plans and gotten off on the twenty-third floor, highly conscious of Thomas’s stare on her back as she did so. She’d gone to her office, checked her voice mail, returned a few phone calls . . . brooded while she waited for Thomas to be alone in his office.
She repeated the details of her conversation with Andy earlier in her mind, trying to decide what her course of action should be.
Or even if there should be a course of action.
It was true that Andy was hamstrung by his oath of confidentiality. But what about her obligations? Although Rick Carlisle had unburdened himself to Andy during his psychotherapy sessions, Rick hadn’t entirely believed in the incriminating allegations his source had made.
Unlike New York, where several crime families vied for control, the Chicago Outfit had long held sole control and monopoly on organized crime in the Midwest. The Outfit still remained draped in mystery and shadow. Despite the FBI’s increased efforts to infiltrate and break the legs out from under the powerful, widespread criminal organization, so many things still remained secret, including the identity of the top man.
Rick Carlisle had been part of the force that was chipping away at the power of the Outfit. His award-winning investigative reports for the Chicago Tribune had given the FBI important fuel for the arrests of fourteen key members of Chicago organized crime. During the trial, federal prosecutors were able to strike a serious blow against the criminal s yndicate, sending multiple Outfit members to prison. However, corruption among federal officials remained problematic, and the ability to identify and prosecute the top boss and completely cripple the crime syndicate remained out of the FBI’s and other federal investigators’ reach.
But the FBI was gaining ground. They’d recently stated that they’d soon be announcing an indictment against Joseph Carlisle for tax evasion and money laundering; although rumor had it he was guilty of much, much more. Word on the street had it that Joseph Carlisle was the top man of the Outfit. There was little doubt that t
he mob felt the law watching their every move, waiting for a slipup.
It was under this tension-filled environment that Rick Carlisle had recently procured a journalistic source, an individual who had been a small-time criminal in the Chicago crime syndicate for decades, a man that went by the name of Bernard Cokey. A high-ranking soldier in the Outfit had owned a restaurant where Cokey had worked as a cook. Cokey’s position was such that other mobsters came to think of him as part of the woodwork; they didn’t trust Cokey so much as consider him insignificant.
In this environment, Cokey had collected quite a cache of valuable insider information. He was now retired, and somewhat bitter at the way his higher-ups had always treated him like a harmless mascot.
Rick had written a number of award-winning articles on organized crime under his journalistic pseudonym, Joshua Malenic. When he decided to write his latest book, he’d chosen to focus on the most famous crime syndicate in his hometown of Chicago. Cokey had agreed to provide Rick with anonymous information.
A dazed and disoriented Rick Carlisle had told Andy during a psychotherapy session several weeks ago that Cokey had given him the elusive name of the Outfit’s boss. Much to Rick’s disbelief, Cokey had indicated that his own father and Thomas’s adoptive father—Joseph Carlisle—was the top man.
Rick hadn’t been convinced of his source’s honesty. He’d certainly never indicated to Andy Lancaster that he believed he was in danger.