Read Online Delusion by G. H. Ephron - Free Book Online Page A

for something at the hospital. It was a start.”
    â€œBut overall, sounds like you weren’t too optimistic.”
    â€œNo,” he said flatly. “Mr. Babikian has an overwhelming need to control. It was clear to me that he was driving the pathology for the couple. Lisa Babikian, on the other hand, was compliant, moldable. Of course, that’s why he married her.”
    â€œPathology?”
    â€œUnder that controlled facade, he was doing a slow burn. I thought that his paranoia bordered on the delusional. He believed he could control everything in his life, and for the most part, he could. His mother’s dementia was upsetting to him. And then his wife’s unhappiness added to his feeling that his life was getting out of control. Of course, the more unhappy she got, the more he tightened the reins, the more unhappy she got—you know the cycle.”
    â€œDid he ever act out his anger?” I’d slipped into psychiatric-speak too. I could as easily have asked: Did he beat his wife?
    â€œNot as far as I was aware.” It was a hedge.
    I must have looked surprised. People who kill their wives usually work their way up to it. Bruises and broken bones along with a broken spirit lay the groundwork for the final act.
    â€œIt wouldn’t have surprised me. He didn’t trust her. At one point, he even accused her of having an affair with me.” Teitlebaum stared at his case notes. “No physical abuse.” He grunted and shook his head. “That’s what I kept telling myself. That’s probably why I took the case. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t scare the shit out of me. Of course, I recommended individual therapy to him. And medication. I wanted to put him on something to calm him down, help him control his anxiety. He’d
have none of it. He was more afraid of losing control than he was of losing his wife.”
    â€œWere you aware of Mr. Babikian experiencing any fuguelike episodes?” I asked.
    Teitlebaum looked skeptical.
    â€œThere seems to be a period of time he can’t recall on the night of the murder,” I explained.
    â€œHe’s not trying to convince you that he’s got some kind of dissociative identity disorder, is he?”
    From his tone, I could tell he thought this highly unlikely. I agreed. Multiple personality had been quite the vogue back in the seventies, but in reality it was extremely rare.
    Teitlebaum rubbed his chin. “On the other hand, if it did happen, he’d be the kind of guy who’d have trouble admitting to any loss of control.”
    â€œHow long did they continue to come to you?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe a half dozen”—Teitlebaum paged through the file—“no, seven sessions. Then they just stopped.”
    The folder looked a lot thicker than notes from seven sessions warranted. I waited. He blinked back at me.
    â€œLisa Babikian continued seeing you?”
    Teitlebaum’s eyebrows went up a micron.
    â€œHer kitchen calendar. She’s got appointments with ‘Dr. T’ written on it.”
    He stared at the file. We both knew he was walking a line. With Nick’s permission, he was free to tell me about what had happened in the couples therapy. But that didn’t extend to his one-on-one treatment of Lisa. Doctor-patient privilege survives death.
    â€œShe called a couple of months after they stopped coming as a couple. Wanted to come alone.”
    â€œSounds like you were surprised.”
    He didn’t answer.

    â€œLook, I run the Neuropsych Unit at the Pearce,” I told him. “I’m well aware of the stress that taking care of a person with dementia can cause both to a relationship and to an individual.”
    Teitlebaum seemed to come to terms with his conscience. “No. I wasn’t surprised. She’d started somatizing. Headaches, chronic colds, insomnia. Her husband had become even more distant, withholding. The more upset