The Axeman's Jazz

attention.”
    “Um. Three people dead? Couldn’t he just join Toastmasters or something?”
    “Oh, Skip, you’re the funniest thing.”
    “What makes you think it’s a man?”
    “A man?”
    “You keep saying ‘he.’ ”
    “Oh, I know it is.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Once again speaking as a therapist, it’s not a woman’s crime.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Well, for one thing, he calls himself the Axeman. What woman would do that?”
    A clever one. One trying to fool somebody. Or a crazy one. You, maybe.
Skip took a bite to avoid having to answer.
    “For another, he strangles. A woman wouldn’t be strong enough.”
    Goose bumps broke out on Skip’s arms. Her scalp prickled. “Who do you think is doing it, then?”
    “Abe.” Di’s eyes were bland, her voice matter of fact.
    “Why Abe?”
    “Intuition.”
    “Wait a minute. That was a pretty strong statement. It must be more than intuition.”
    “No. Just a feeling.” She smiled without showing teeth and Skip knew why—they probably had canary feathers stuck between them.
    “Tell me something. I never get feelings like that. Would I if I knew hypnosis?”
    “Oh, sure. It can really put you in touch with your inner self.”
    “Not to be confused with my higher power.” She was sorry the instant she said it. But Di seemed barely to notice.
    ”Same difference.”
    “How would I go about learning? Could I do self-hypnosis?”
    “Not only could but should—it’s the only way to go. You could learn from books. And there’s lots of good tapes available.”
    “How about a hypnotherapist? Wouldn’t that be the best way?”
    “That would be good.” But she didn’t seem entirely convinced. In fact, Skip got the idea she was a little uncomfortable.
    “Can you recommend one?”
    “Gosh, I really can’t. But you could try the phone book. I’m sure there must be lots of good ones still practicing.”
    “Well, who trained you?”
    “That was so long ago…” She let the thought trail off and her face went vague, but Skip kept intense eyes on her. It did no good. She only smiled the toothless smile again.
    “Gosh, Di, you’ve never told me about that part of your life.” She knew she was being transparent, but she was getting the idea that Di was so self-involved she didn’t take in information like other people.
    “Oh, well, I was very successful. I had patients standing in line, practically. And I made a lot of money too.”
    “I thought Walt supported you.”
    This time she gave Skip a smile with some teeth in it. “He does. I spent it all—all the work money. Going to Europe and things.”
    “Where did you work?”
    “Oh, out of my home mostly. Most therapists do.”
    “You never had a job-type job?”
    “Oh, sure. I worked at a little place out on Airline Highway. I don’t even know if it’s still there.” She shuddered. “Worst experience of my life.”
    “Why?”
    “I hate authority. Don’t you?”
    Skip left feeling disoriented, even a little battered. Di had certainly come up with some innovative ideas, at least in her own mind. Not exactly clever, but transparently self-serving. Skip rubbed her head.
    What makes a person so dim?
    But she knew the answer—utter self-absorption. And if Di was the Axeman, the self-absorption might work to Skip’s advantage. Know-it-alls had to tell people how much they knew; and in doing it, they gave things away. By claiming to be a voodoo priestess, when in fact she’d probably simply read a book about voodoo, she had given away something important—that she was a liar.
    Probably she’s no hypnotherapist either. In a way it’s a shame about that annuity—it’s probably kept her from doing anything with her life.
    But it certainly hadn’t kept her from having fantasies.
    If Di was the Axeman, what was her motive? Was it the one she suggested—to get attention? Surely not. Even if that was part of it, there had to be more. Maybe it was something from childhood—she’d been hurt and now she liked to hurt other people. Shrinks were always coming up with that one. Skip sighed.
    It’s probably right most of the time.
    She went back to her office and turned to “Clinics” in the Yellow Pages. There were pages and pages of them. She tried hospitals, then mental health. And sure enough there was a place on Airline Highway: The New Resources Pavilion. She dialed, asked for personnel, and got no answer. Well, it was a Saturday. She asked for administration, and still