Courting Trouble by Lisa Scottoline Read Free Book Online

to thirty. In no time Kevin began following her everywhere, stalking her.
    She had gone to the authorities, where she learned about erotomania, or de Clérambault’s syndrome, in which a person had the delusional belief that someone was in love with them. She’d gotten a restraining order as soon as she could, but it hadn’t protected her the night Kevin attacked her at her door—and pulled a gun on her. It had been profound good luck that a passerby heard her scream, and Anne had moved to the East Coast to get safe and start over. Kevin had ended up in prison, but only for two years, on an aggravated assault charge. She’d put an entire country between them, changed her life and her job. Now Willa could be dead, because of her.
    She closed her eyes in pain. But she opened them in anger. She was supposed to be calling the police to tell them she was alive, but first she had to find out if Kevin had been paroled. She grabbed the bedroom phone and called L.A. information for the district attorney’s office. The DA who convicted Kevin might know where he was, but when she reached his office, his voice mail said: “The district attorney you have reached—Antonio Alvarez—will not return to the office until July fifteenth. Press one to leave a message, press two to return to the receptionist . . .”
    Anne hung up, flipping through a mental Rolodex to remember who else was on the prosecution. It was reliving an awful memory; identifying Kevin in the police line-up, testifying against him, pointing him out as he sat at the defendant’s table, which provoked his leaping up and lunging at the witness stand. She found herself shuddering despite the warm house, but a name entered her consciousness:
    Dr. Marc Goldberger, the court-appointed psychiatrist who had evaluated Kevin and testified against him. The psychiatrist had explained to the jury about erotomania, and the graveness of the threat to Anne for some years to come. Most erotomanics were intelligent, well-educated, and resourceful enough to pursue the object of their obsessions for as long as a decade.
    She snatched up the phone, called L.A. information again, and got the psychiatrist’s office number. There was no answer, but she took down the emergency number that the answering machine gave her and called it directly. The call connected, and Anne recognized the sympathetic voice, like an echo in her memory. “Dr. Goldberger?”
    “Yes, who is this?”
    Anne was about to give her name, then stopped. He might be bound by privilege, and maybe he wouldn’t talk to her if he knew who she was. “My name is Cindy Sherwood. I was a reporter on the Satorno trial, if you recall.”
    “I don’t, I’m sorry. It’s quite early in the morning, Ms. Sherwood, and on a holiday weekend. I don’t speak with reporters and I don’t remember being interviewed in connection with that case.”
    “Please, I was wondering if you had any information on the current whereabouts of Mr. Satorno. I am trying to do a follow-up story.”
    “As far as I know, Mr. Satorno is in prison. If you want to know more, speak with Mr. Alvarez, the district attorney.”
    “If you do happen to learn more about Mr. Satorno, would you please call me? The area code is Philadelphia, where I live now, since I got married.” Anne left her cell number, and he was kind enough to take it down before they hung up.
    She hung up the phone, thinking ahead, trying to keep her cool. If she lost control she’d be that girl racing down the beach, running scared. In a way, she had been doing that until this very minute, every day since she’d met Kevin Satorno, and she couldn’t let that happen anymore. She was already getting a better idea.
    She sprang to wet sneakers, but this time it wasn’t flight, it was fight. She grabbed her briefcase and gym bag, and hurried to pack her papers and clothes. For the first time since she’d seen the morning newspaper, she was functioning. She had to get back to Philly,