If Truth Be Told

By Ronald Feldman

Not everything is at it seems for NYC Detective Karl Dieter.
Lindsay Riccardi, PhD and Detective Karl Dieter are reunited in a murder case that began on the NYC street adjoining The Twin Towers at the moment of the attack on September 11th. One traumatic event in the life of the victim causes dominoes to fall creating a trail of deceit, extortion, and murder that makes innocent lives crumble.
They step into a world that is covered by curtains of secrecy. As each curtain is removed another hides the truth leading to darker, murkier circumstances.
Will the truth ever be uncovered? Will the truth be told? What are the consequences if truth be told?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ronald Feldman
• Release date: Aug 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370568260

Ronald Feldman

Lifelong writer, former college professor and marketing executive, Ron loves a good story with fully formed characters that face challenging events which must be overcome. Story is at the core of all his writing balanced by interesting, sometimes offbeat, characters. Ron enjoys weightlifting, salsa dancing and fun folks to enjoy life's bill of fare. He loves his children, grandchildren and dear friends who have been at his side as he rumbles down the road of life.

Book preview

G e mini Print and e-B o o k Publishers,

Bo c a R a t o n, F l o r i d a

Also by Ronald A Feldman

little secrets, BIG LIES

where suspense and thrills

combine for an exciting read

volume 1 of the TR U T H series

The Crossover Mystery

For Middle Grade Readers

Coming in the Fall of 2016

Vo l u m e 3 of the TR U T H series

Far From The Truth

Read the preview at this book’s end.

This book is a work of fiction. The names of characters, places and events arose from the author’s imagination and are wholly fictitious.

Copyright 2016 by Ronald A. Feldman

All rights reserved except where permitted under the

U.S. Copyright Act of 1976

Gemini Print and eBook Publishers Boca Raton, Florida

Book Cover Graphics by

Renee Luke of Cover Me Book Covers

ISBN 10-0997843306

ISBN 13-9780997843309

CHA P T E R

1

Doctor, are you listening to me? a now exasperated Alvin Klausner asked.

Doctor Lindsay Riccardi was not listening to her longtime patient. He sat facing her as rigid as a corpse in his prescribed psychotherapy session for which he’d sat – same time, same day – each week for almost two years in her office in Manhattan.

Doctor Riccardi, his voice now raised and peppered with his customary annoyance at all things not gone according to plan.

Lindsay's mind registered something distant. Her eyes, however, were fixed on a spot just above Alvin's head on the wall. The visions in her mind of the last night she’d been with an old-time patient and friend before he was murdered held court for the moment. Then the visions were replaced by the sounds of guns exploding, coupled with blood and Detective Karl Dieter at her side. She would remember the fear in his eyes when he saw her on her living room floor surrounded by the bodies of gunshot victims.

Alvin was completely angered now. He rose and leaned forward toward Lindsay and rapped on her desk, his face filled with the petulance of a child whose parent was not listening.

Lindsay's mind rebounded back to the present to see Alvin fuming as he stood over her desk. She rose quickly, confused at first but she recovered quickly.

Alvin, what is it? she asked, mustering as much control as she could for the moment.

You're not listening to me. You don't care anymore, since … he looked up to the gods, seeking retribution against her, … since those people were killed.

Lindsay's first reaction, which she checked quickly, was to strike out across the desk at Alvin, to smash his face, to obliterate all the demons that had come to roost in her mind.

The two humans stood facing each other as adversaries, seeking control of places in the mind that were now utterly out of control; demons now roamed the landscape of their minds. Lindsay was by far the stronger personality of this duo, and she waited for the demons to retreat and let her breathing return to its usual rhythms. Alvin's demons did not retreat.

You were not listening to me! he shouted now. I was telling you about something very important, and you were not listening to me! He stood with eyes ablaze.

Lindsay sat in Doctor Virginia Ellison's office, slumped forward, hands in her lap holding a sodden tissue. Her wavy hair was hastily brushed back into a pony tail. There was no mascara around her red eyes, or lipstick beneath her red blotched nose. But she didn't care how she looked today, nor had she cared for the last several days since Alvin's explosion had brought her to the brink of giving up.

Doctor Virginia Ellison, Lindsay's college mentor, stared at her student – now her friend – with lots more than professional empathy. Sympathy was more like it.

First Lindsay's marriage collapsed, and then a terrible relationship on the rebound led to terrible things happening and death – and now a well of bottomless guilt. I hope I can help her.

Lindsay raised her head and looked at her friend Virginia. She saw the concern on her friend's face and felt a jolt of guilt for bringing more to her already full plate. Virginia's husband had fallen deeper into dementia, needing more assistance and help to live a simple, cared-for life. The end game had begun for him. Virginia had brought him to live in the New York hospital where she worked as a psychotherapist and spent her days – and nights – staying connected to the man she loved. She hadn't noticed, but the weight of her circumstances had begun to reveal itself in her looks. The once pretty woman was now thinner, and frail. Her personal strength, however, was as evident as it had been when Lindsay sat in her classes at Northwestern University a lifetime ago.

Lindsay looked at the crumpled, sodden tissue in her hand. She quickly closed her hand around it as though to hide the truth from

herself. The truth was that she now sat in Virginia's office crying her heart out as so many of her patients had done in her office. She was embarrassed.

You've had a difficult time… Virginia began.

All Lindsay could do was nod in the affirmative. Speech wouldn't come.

…and you are in the middle of dealing with those things. Again, more vigorous nodding.

And you wish it would stop right now. Another statement of fact followed by affirmative nods from Lindsay.

"And you also know this is a process you must go through. Lindsay merely sighed resolutely and looked into Virginia's eyes. Yes, I know, Lindsay said, but it sucks big time."

Virginia smiled at her student, who had always learned faster than the others. Lindsay managed a small, self-deprecating smile in return.

Now don't be so hard on yourself. There's nothing to be ashamed of about your present feelings. She locked eyes with Lindsay. It does suck – big time – and yet, there is a light at the end of the darkness. I promise.

With the addition of I promise, Lindsay smiled, then laughed away some of the day's tears. Thanks, Mom.

They both enjoyed a brief moment of laughter. Sounds like PTSD, Lindsay mused.

How do you mean? Virginia the therapist again.

Well, Lindsay said, focusing for a moment before beginning her list of personal PTSD symptoms. I have been exposed to a traumatic event.

Several.

I witnessed death and serious injury. And boy was I scared and completely helpless that night. Lindsay stopped to gather her thoughts.

Do you feel intrusive thoughts about the traumatic event?

Yes, I was reliving those moments in session with a patient and I was not in the present with him, she admitted. He was very angry.

Since then, do you feel jumpy or get startled easily?

Lindsay thought about this question for a moment. No, I don't think so, she said while continuing to mull this in her mind.

Virginia interrupted with a very salient question. Do you feel guilty because others died or were hurt but you survived and were unhurt physically?

Lindsay blurted, Absolutely, and I should know better, but I can't stop… and thoughts drifted away once again, and the tears returned.

The ambulance's siren blared repeatedly through the New York City noontime traffic, pushing the cars, taxis and trucks to the side. It skirted the slowpokes whose turtle-like reflexes frustrated the driver and the detective who sat in the back of the ambulance watching the EMT attend to Detective Karl Dieter's gunshot wound. Detective JB McClure had only joined the Detective Squad two weeks earlier. He’d spent the requisite time in the field as a police officer, preceded by a stint in the Army in Afghanistan, but he’d still screwed up and he knew it. He should have watched Dieter's back.

McClure and Dieter had tracked down a murder suspect in the Chelsea District of Manhattan. They had entered the building, knocked at the door of the suspect announcing who they were and burst in when they’d heard a woman's screams. They’d found her beaten and bloodied body sprawled face down on the floor. A cold winter breeze blowing through an opened window had brought Detective McClure over to it, searching for the perpetrator. As he’d leaned out of the window, he’d heard a gunshot from behind. Reflexes kicking in, he’d swiveled around to see his partner, Detective Karl Dieter, his new mentor on the job, fall to the floor with a gunshot wound squirting blood in little arcs.

How's he doing? Detective McClure asked the EMT as the ambulance rocked from side to side through traffic.

He'll be okay. Lots of blood lost, but I got it stopped. The EMT's full attention went back to Dieter.

Good, good, was all McClure could say.

McClure had seen duty in Afghanistan. He had seen men shot and had shot men too, but he felt culpable for Dieter's gunshot. He believed that he should have had eyes on the woman, who in her beaten state had been lying on a gun. She had shot Dieter as he knelt to check her vitals. In her hysteria, she’d thought Dieter was the man who had attacked her.

Dieter gave a weak thumbs-up from the gurney just before his eyes closed. The pain killer had taken effect.

CHA P T E R

2

Rosetta Calderone sipped her morning coffee and then read the New York Post, as she did each morning. Today she was halted by a story about an NYPD detective who had been shot. The article linked him, Detective Karl Dieter, with the killing and shooting at psychotherapist Lindsay Riccardi's office apartment from several months earlier.

Rosetta had not seen the doctor for several weeks, which was her choice now that she had confidence in herself and her visions; but she did have concerns about how her therapist was doing after the eruption of violent events that had hurt Vincent Vinny Abruzzo, her new boyfriend.

I will call Doctor Riccardi to let her know.

The first ring at Lindsay's office went unheard, as did the next several rings, until Lindsay's voicemail answered, asking to leave a message.

Doctor Riccardi, I am calling to tell you something that I saw in this morning's newspaper. That very simpatico detective who helped you and my Vincent – he was shot, she realized she needed to explain more. He is alive and in the hospital. Maybe, I thought, you like to visit him? After a moment's pause Rosetta said, Goodbye, and then she added, I hope you too are well.

Her next call was to Vincent.

Lindsay had let go of her daily routine. For many years she had risen at a prescribed time to be ready for the day's patient load. These days, however, routine was replaced by sleeping in. She’d gone on a self-imposed hiatus from her practice when she’d come to believe that she might be doing more harm than good to her patients. Alvin's explosion had been very disconcerting and a little scary.

An unending need to sleep had replaced everything. Sleep she did until after ten a.m. when she was startled awake by another disturbing and recurring dream.

She was in a dark foreboding place where gunshots sparked the darkness to light in bursts. The cacophony of the explosions echoed on top of each other until the sounds mingled into a debilitating state and she awoke very startled.

Bits of perspiration dotted her body in the winter's cool bedroom where Andrew, her ex-husband, had conditioned them to keep the window cracked open slightly. The morning air brought a chill to her body. She wrapped the blanket around her and settled into her runner's pose sleeping position. Her mind, however, was awake and running. She decided to join mind and body and rose from the bed, grabbing her bathrobe from behind the bathroom door.

A blinking light on her office phone connection – which sat next to her bed on the antique nightstand that she’d bought in Rhinebeck, New York – brought an involuntary groan. Lindsay dismissed the blinking light and walked into the kitchen to start the morning coffee. After several moments, the mental vision of the blinking light's entreaty brought her back to the bedroom where she cautiously and with some anxiety punched the numbers to retrieve the message.

Lindsay was surprised to hear Rosetta's voice. The sweet sincerity in her voice often made Lindsay smile. Not this morning.

Oh my god! She thought. She played the message again to ensure what she heard. Yes, he is okay, in the hospital. But where, which hospital? Okay, okay, I can find out. Just keep it together, Lindz.

Lindsay Riccardi did keep it together. She learned where Karl Dieter was after a few phone calls. In a little more than an hour she was at New York Presbyterian/Lower Manhattan Hospital asking to see Detective Dieter.

The woman at the visitor's sign-in station asked, Are you a relative?

No, not a relative, and before Lindsay could continue the woman cut her off.

Only relatives or NYPD folks can see him, and the woman’s attention was directed to the next issue at hand.

Lindsay's patience had waned in recent days, and she let her frustration shine. The woman at the desk noticed and asked, What's your connection to him? She stared defiantly at Lindsay.

Lindsay's mind went into gear. She dug out her card and credentials that she used at the Crisis Center where she volunteered and flashed both at the woman. Unimpressed, the woman eyeballed Lindsay, but she wrote the information on a sheet of paper and handed Lindsay a name tag nevertheless.

The elevator ride to the floor where Dieter's room was located allowed her time to seek control of the moment. By the time she approached Dieter's room near the Nurses Station, she was as fine as she could be. A uniformed policeman outside of Dieter's room looked up as she approached. He saw her name tag, which merely read, Lindsay Riccardi, but he said, Go right in, Doctor Riccardi. The front desk must have called ahead, she thought.

Karl Dieter’s bed was in an upright position when she entered the room. Her first impression was that he looked remarkably well for someone who had been shot. He looked as robust as always. In fact, she thought, He looks good.

Dieter's thoughts were not so gratifying. Doctor Riccardi looked pale, tired and unusually casual in her jeans, sweater and winter jacket. Yet, he felt very good to see her and not a little surprised.

Hey Doctor Riccardi, how are you? he said with a smile.

Ah, but that's my question, Detective Dieter. Lindsay returned his smile.

Suddenly, she felt a release of a significant portion of her tension.

She was indeed happy to see him.

Dieter and Riccardi, who had both experienced the same violent events, spent a moment looking and smiling at one another.

Me, I'm fine, said Dieter, with a self-mocking braggadocio that brought more smiles to each.

You look okay, I mean, well, you look well, she said. Thanks, it's nice to see you. But, how did you know…? I got a call about you this morning, she answered.

About me, this morning? Dieter looked at the clock on the facing wall. It read 11:23 a.m.

Yes, sorry I didn't know… she offered. Okay, Lindsay, let's not go back to that school girl stuff again. I just learned about your injury after ten this morning.

Again, Dieter's eyes flashed to the clock. She got here fast.

Is it bad? she asked.

"Nah, it's one of those good gunshot wounds, and he was sorry the moment he joked because her face paled. No, no, I'm fine. No vitals damaged. Should heal easily and quickly, I'm told, as long as I give up surfing and long-distance running."

I didn't know you surfed and ran, she said.

Well, the good thing is, I don't surf and I gave up running a long time ago. He laughed, and she joined him. She felt better for being able to laugh.

They chatted easily until a nurse arrived to check his blood pressure and temperature.

Okay, glad I came, she said and rose from her chair to leave. I wanted to see that you are well.

I am, he said as the nurse wrapped the blood pressure cup around his arm and slipped the thermometer under his tongue.

He tried to speak, but the nurse held up a hand and said, Wait, please.

Lindsay turned to leave. Dieter pulled the thermometer from his mouth, but the nurse reinserted it. He spoke with a mouthful of thermometer, "Can we hab dinner thometime?"

The nurse smiled, pulled the thermometer from his mouth and pretended to read it as she waited for Lindsay's reply.

Sure, Detective, that would be nice.

Yes, Doctor, it would be nice. I'll call you when I'm released, he said.

The nurse looked up at Lindsay. So long, she said, pausing for a split second, Doctor. The nurse returned her gaze to Dieter. And your temperature, another pause, is normal, followed by an even

longer pause, Detective. The nurse covered her smart-ass smile as she packed her equipment and left.

Lindsay lingered but was unsure why except that she felt better to be in Dieter's company. She was glad he seemed okay and that he had a good gunshot wound, which made her smile.

What's so funny? he asked.

Funny, nothing, just happy to see you. Oh my god, did I say that out loud?

He looked at her for a luxuriously long moment and said, Yeah, me too.

Awkwardness filled the room from corner to corner. Lindsay recovered from the silence first. Okay, be well.

Thanks, I'll call when I escape capture. Okay?

Yes. And with nothing more to say, she turned and left.

CHA P T E R

3

Lindsay spent almost an hour showering, fixing her makeup and hair, which she put up and behind her ears. Too casual, she decided. When it was fully blown out and her hair looked rich and radiant like one of the television commercials, she nodded approval to the mirror. Another hour was spent trying on clothes, again too casual, followed by too sexy and finally just right. Not a business meeting, when she fingered a business suit. The black dress with a hint of cleavage was just perfect for dinner and drinks at the posh restaurant that Dieter had suggested. Lindsay obsessed less with the jewelry she chose. Simple but elegant. She laughed with approval.

It wasn't until she entered the elevator that she realized she felt good, perhaps happy. She settled into the ride to the lobby and luxuriated in her feelings.

Dieter had far fewer wardrobe choices. Nevertheless, he spent more time than he usually did for a date, the last of which had been long ago. Suit or sport coat? Tie or no tie? No tie. Color choices were limited. A dark blue sport coat was the winner over a blue tie-less shirt with charcoal pants. He shrugged self-deprecatingly. That's it? To which he answered, Yup.

Dieter's leg was still healing from the gunshot wound. He decided not to take the pain pills with him. Scotch would have to suffice. He took a cab to the restaurant and arrived before Lindsay, as he had planned.

Karl, good to see you. Read about you in the papers. You okay? asked Victor, the owner of the upscale restaurant.

Guess I'm hard to knock off, Dieter joked. Got a table for me? "Don't I always? Your reservation is right here. Nice and quiet

table," he said with a wink and a chuckle.

Dieter had helped Victor's family with an immigration issue when they had arrived from Romania nine years ago. After 9/11 it became

difficult for foreigners to settle in the USA. Dieter knew a guy at immigration from his early days at NYPD. It's good to have friends like you, Victor had said.

I'll wait at the bar, that way I can see when she enters, Dieter said, and then he heard Lindsay's voice from behind him.

Victor smiled with satisfaction at his friend's good fortune. Dieter turned and saw Lindsay Riccardi at one of her finest moments. He smiled, greeted her and said, Hi, Doctor. You look great. Victor’s eyes popped a little at the formal greeting Doctor, but he held himself in check.

Lindsay, please. She smiled.

"Hello, Lindsay. You look great, he answered. May I take your coats?" asked Victor.

Dieter helped Lindsay take her leather coat off. He handed it to Victor and gazed with approval at all that Lindsay had done to prepare for the dinner. He shrugged out of his coat and gave it to Victor, who handed it to a coat check girl.

This way, please. Victor gestured. Lindsay and Dieter followed to a quiet booth with excellent lighting and very comfortable seating. They sat, each feeling good about the moment.

Can I bring a drink? Victor asked.

Dieter looked at Lindsay. Would you like a drink?

I'll have a dirty martini, she said with a broad smile. It had been several months since she’d had a drink, even a glass of wine at home.

Karl, your usual? asked Victor. Yes, thanks, Victor.

Victor moved to a waiter, spoke a few words and the waiter went off to fetch the drinks.

The usual? Lindsay asked.

Dieter laughed. I don't drink much, but I usually have Scotch when I'm here. Victor remembers everything about every customer. Good business, he said.

Detective Dieter, how nice to see you, said a gray-haired woman of obvious means, bedecked in her generation's customary mink coat surrounded by expensive jewelry. She walked gingerly to the booth,

smiled at Lindsay, and then her face simply exploded with joy at the sight of Detective Karl Dieter.

Mrs. Hudson, he said as he rose to greet her. She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek while holding his hand. Nice to see you too.

He turned towards Lindsay. Lindsay, this is Mrs. Valerie Hudson.

Pleasure to meet you. I am Lindsay Riccardi. Lindsay offered her hand. They shook politely, and again Mrs. Hudson held onto the hand extended to her for a brief moment.

Before she let go of Lindsay's hand, she said, Lovely, very lovely, and offered a smile to Dieter.

Yes, very… he responded.

Lindsay felt a little color rise to her cheeks.

I'm so pleased to see you after all these years, she began. He didn't respond this time. Mrs. Valerie Hudson, the socialite and former wife of an important CEO, suddenly seemed uneasy.

It's all right, he said, holding her arm.

Lindsay saw the look on the woman's face, a look she had seen many times on the faces of patients who had something difficult to say. Detective Karl Dieter saw the same look, the look that he had seen before under very trying times in her life.

Please, sit down, he said, and he ushered her arm to help her sit at the corner of the small booth.

Victor noticed and came to the table. "May I get you a chair, Mrs.

Hudson?"

Seated now, she declined. Just be here a minute. She turned to Lindsay. Okay?

Mrs. Hudson, you are welcome to join us, Lindsay said. Yes, Dieter added. You feel all right?

Mrs. Valerie Hudson straightened and smiled at the two younger people. She looked from one to the other. You make a fine couple. Just like Robert and me many years ago.

Robert your husband? Lindsay asked.

Dieter squeezed her hand under the table. Lindsay involuntarily pulled it away and looked at him quizzically.

Valerie noticed and assured Lindsay. It's nothing, she said, then added, Detective Dieter investigated my husband's murder. He did all he could under the circumstances.

Lindsay looked at Dieter for affirmation, which he gave with a nod. She looked over to Valerie Hudson and saw states of confusion mingled with the woman's own personal demons.

I'm very sorry for your loss, she said with utter conviction. Valerie Hudson did something very strange, she smiled at

Lindsay and said to Dieter, I like her. Be good to her. She rose and gathered herself, said her goodbyes.

Dieter rose, dug out his card and pressed it into her hand.

Stately Valerie Hudson took the card and moved off to her table of friends, who had arrived.

That was nice, Lindsay said.

Dieter was unsure of her meaning. What?

The card. You gave her your card. That was nice of you, Lindsay said. I thought she had something to say to you.

She can always reach me, he said before turning his full attention back to Lindsay.

Their first date, although ambushed by the woman, was deemed a success. Lindsay felt suddenly lighter at heart. He's really a very nice man, she mused in the