Even psychopaths have their own twisted logic. But Temple Brooks Gault seemed beyond description or deciphering.
His first encounter with the criminal justice system had been less than five years ago when he was drinking White Russians in a bar in Abingdon, Virginia. An intoxicated truck driver, who did not like effeminate males, began to harass Gault, who had a black belt in karate. Without a word, Gault smiled his strange smile. He got up, spun around and kicked the man in the head. Half a dozen off-duty state troopers happened to be at a nearby table, which was perhaps the only reason Gault was caught and charged with manslaughter.
His career in Virginia's state penitentiary was brief and bizarre. He became the pet of a corrupt warden, who falsified Gault's identity, facilitating his escape. Gault had been out but a very short time before he happened upon a boy named Eddie Heath and killed him in much the same style he had butchered the woman in Central Park. He went on to murder my morgue supervisor, the prison warden and the prison guard named Helen. At the time, Gault was thirty-one years old.
Flakes of -snow had begun to drift past my window and in the distance were caught like fog in trees. Hoofs rang against pavement as a horse-drawn carriage went by with two passengers bundled in plaid blankets. The white mare was old and not surefooted, and when she slipped the driver beat her savagely. Other horses looked on in sad relief against the weather, heads down, coats unkempt, and I felt rage rise in my throat like bile. My heart beat furiously. I suddenly swung around as someone knocked on my door.
'Who is it?' I demanded.
Wesley said, after a pause, 'Kay?'
I let him in. A baseball cap and the shoulders of his overcoat were wet from snow. He pulled off leather gloves and stuffed them in pockets, and removed his coat without taking his eyes off me.
'What is it?' he asked.
'I'll tell you exactly what it is.' My voice shook. 'Come right over here and look.' I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the window. 'Just look! Do you think those poor, pathetic horses ever get a day off? Do you think they are properly cared for? Do you think they're ever groomed or adequately shod? You know what happens when they stumble — when it's icy and they're old as hell and almost fall?'
'Kay…'
'They're just beaten harder.
'
'Kay…'
'So why don't you do something about it?' I railed on.
'What would you like me to do?'
'Just do something. The world is full of people who don't do anything and I'm goddam tired of it.'
'Would you like me to file a complaint with the SPCA?' he asked.
'Yes, I would,' I said. 'And I will, too.'
'Would it be okay if we did that tomorrow since I don't think anything's open today?'
I continued looking out the window as the driver beat his horse again. 'That's it,' I snapped.
'Where are you going?' He followed me out of the room.
He hurried after me as I headed to the elevator. I strode across the lobby and out the hotel's front door without a coat. By now, snow was falling hard, and the icy street was smooth with it. The object of my wrath was an old man in a hat hunched over in the driver's seat. He sat up straighter when he saw this middle-aged lady coming with a tall man in her wake.
'You like nice carriage ride?' he asked in a heavy accent.
The mare strained her neck toward me and cocked her ears as if she knew what was coming. She was scarred skin and bones with overgrown hoofs, her eyes dull and rimmed in pink.
'What is your horse's name?' I inquired.
'Snow White.' He looked as miserable as his pitiful mare as he started to cite his fares.
'I'm not interested in your fares,' I said as he looked wearily down at me.
He shrugged. 'So how long you want ride?'
'I don't know,' I said curtly. 'How long do I need to ride before you start beating Snow White again? And do you beat the shit out of her more or less when it's Christmas?'
'I am good to my horse,' he said stupidly.
'You are cruel to this horse and probably to everything alive and breathing,' I said.
'I have job to do,' he said as his eyes narrowed.
'I am a doctor and I am reporting you,' I said as my voice got tighter.
'What?' he chortled. 'You horse doctor?'
I stepped closer to the driver's box until I was inches from his blanket-covered legs. 'You whip this mare one more time, and I will see it,' I said with the iron calm I reserved for people I hated. 'And this man behind me will see it. From that window right up there-' I pointed. 'And one day you will wake up and find I have bought your company and fired you.'
'You do not buy company.' He glanced up curiously at the New York Athletic Club.
'You do not understand reality,' I said.