Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 11 - The Clinic

by The Clinic(Lit)

  The old man looked up through the tree. A hairline of light had pierced the branches, creating a hot, white scar down the center of his degraded face.

  'When it comes out that Casey died because of his association with Junior, how are you gonna explain that to your sister Sonia and Casey's mommy, her daughter Cheryl? They trusted their baby to you. How you gonna explain why he's cooling in the coroner's fridge instead of writing his thesis?'

  The old man gazed out at the pool. The black bottom gave it a mirrored surface, no visibility of the depths. Ten years ago, black bottoms had been the thing. Then a few kids fell in and no one noticed them.

  'Family ties,' said Milo. 'But Don Corleone took can of his people.'

  'My son is-' said the old man. 'You'll never have such a son.' 'Amen.'

  The cloudy eyes popped. 'Fuckyou! Coming in here, thinking you know, you don't fu-'

  'That's the point,' said Milo. 'I don't know.'

  'Thinking you know,' repeated the old man. 'Thinking you - moe-ron - lemme tell you' - a finger wagged -'she was good people, Hope. And her mama. Don't shoot your mou - don't disrespect people you don't know. Don't - you don't know so shaddup!'

  'Was she family, too?'

  'I made her family. Who the hell you think paid for her schooling? Who the hell got her mama outta hooking and into managing a club, regular hours, a paycheck, goddamn pension plan? Who? Some fucking social worker?'

  The ringer curled laboriously, managed to point at his caved-in chest. T been working my whole life helping people! And one of the ones I helped most was mat girlie's mother. When she got cancer I helped with that, too. When she died, I paid for the funeral.'

  'Why?'

  'Because she was good people'

  'Ah.'

  'The girl, too. Little blondie, body like that, you think I couldn'ta got her into club work if I wanted to? But, no, I could see she was finer. Had a brain. So I told Lottie we keep her far from the clubs. We make sure she gets schooling. I figured she'd be a doctor, like Mike. Botha them did the science projects together, geniuses. She changes her mind, decides to be a shrink, okay, it's almost the same. I treated her like she was my daughter.'

  'Smartest boy, smartest girl,' I said.

  The wizened face snapped toward me. 'You bet, pal. My Mike was the smartest thing you ever seen, you shoulda had such a kid, reading at three, saying stuff people couldn't believe. And you know where brains come from? Genes. They proved it. All the kids in my family are brains. Casey skipped two grades, got a brother studying at MIT, nuclear physics. I came to this country with nuttin', no one gave me shit. Greatest country in the world, you're smart and you work, you get what you want, not like the niggers on welfare.'

  'Why'd you make Hope family?' said Milo. "Cause you liked her mama?'

  The old man glared at him. 'Get your mind outta the gutter. If I wanted that kinda thing, I had plenty of others. You wanna know? I tell you. She helped Mike. Botha them helped Mike. Lottie and Hope. After that...' He crossed his index fingers. 'Family.'

  'Helped him with what?'

  'He had a accident. Memorial Day picnic, I threw it every year for the employees - big barbecue on my land near the Kern River. Hot dogs, sausage, the best steaks from the plant.' Smiling. 'Like I said, I ate the best.'

  He licked his lips again and his head rolled as if he was dozing off. Then it snapped up. He flinched. I tried to picture him swaggering, bull-necked and muscular, into the slaughterhouse late at night. Swinging the bat at trussed hogs.

  'We had races,' he said, nearly inaudible. 'Potato-sack, three-legged. I hired a band. Flags all over the place, best fucking party in town. Mike was thirteen, went over to the river, where the water was strong. He was a great swimmer - on the school team. But he hit

  his head on something, a piece of wood or something, went down, got pushed out into the white water. No one heard him yelling except Lottie and Hope 'cause they were down there by themselves, talking. They both jumped in, pulled him out. It was hard, them being girls, they almost drowned, too. He swallowed a lotta water but they gave him the respiration, got the water outta him. By the time I got there, he was okay.'

  Moisture in the glazed eyes.

  'From that time on, she was a queen and she was a princess! Cutest little blond thing, coulda been a movie star but I said using the brain was better. I started this prize for science. They earned it, Mike was always straight A's, never needed help on the homework, track and field, swimming, baseball, you name it -gotta fourteen hundred on his SAT test. So that's it, Mr Cop. Nothing dirty. Smart kids being smart.'

  'Until Mike got himself into trouble in Seattle.'

  Healthy color finally came into the old man's face. A pinkening around the edges of his mouth. Clarity in the eyes - the health benefits of anger?

  'Moe-rons! What'd he do, take some stiff and try to get something good outta it?'

  'Minor technicality. The stiff wasn't dead.'

  'What, no brain waves and it's ready to get up and do the fucking mambri? Bullshit! It was dead as your dick - they do it every day - what do you think they give the medical students to practice on? Their fucking girlfriends? Stiffs they give 'em! They got hundreds of 'em stored, pickled like pigs' feet. They take 'em apart, throw out the crap they don't want, like garbage. So what was Mike's crime? Not filling out the right forms?

  Big fucking deal. It was a put-up job. They didn't like him from day one 'cause he was too smart for them, showed them up all the time, pointed out their mistakes. I wanted to go up there, tell 'em they better cut out the bullshit but Mike said no, he was sick of 'em anyway, fuck 'em.'

  'So he left and spent a year with the Brooke-Hastings program.'

  'Fuck you, it was a program. Those kids were starving junkies in the Tenderloin, getting butt-fucked in the alley by perverts and niggers. We cleaned 'em up, got 'em medical care - Mike's a goddamn fine doctor.'

  'Vocational training,' said Milo. 'So they could get fucked by perverts who paid you.'

  The old man made another unsuccessful attempt to spit. 'You know everything, moe-ron - if they were being abused how come the city never charged us with nothing? Because the city knew we got 'em off the welfare rolls. Those with talent we encouraged to go onstage. So what? Others we sent to school - I musta sent fifteen, twenty girls to college, secretarial school. What the fuck did you ever do for society?'

  'Nothing,' said Milo, exaggerating a grimace. 'Just a civil-servant leech.'

  'You got that right.'

  'Why'd Mike switch from surgery to gynecology?' I said.

  'He liked delivering babies - he delivered hundreds of 'em. How many lives you ever brought into the world?'

  'Deliveries and abortions,' I said. 'And sterilizations.'

  'So what? You don't believe a lady's got a right to choose?'

  'Where'd he go after the residency at Fidelity hospital?' Milo said.

  'Back to me. Helping me with the business, taking care of the girls and building up a practice. Then, when I got sick, he concentrated on taking care of me. I tried to talk him outta it, said Mike, you got your own life, let me be. He said, Dad, I got plenty of life aheada me. I'm gonna take care of you.'

  Another quick turn toward the pool.

  'Fuck you,' the old man said. Softly, almost genially. 'Fuck you, fuck your drug paper, fuck your life. You got no right to come in here under bullshit pretenses, insult my family.'

  'Talk about gratitude,' said Milo.

  'So what? You're telling me the scumbag walks.'

  'If Mike has a history of stealing people's organs he sure does.'

  'Mike's a better man than you'll - Mike's dirty diaper when he was a baby had more class than you'll ever have. You say stealing. I say bullshit. Experts cut me up twice, put in kidneys that were worth shit. I was on the fucking machine, no veins left, listening to myself pee all day. One day I pass out, wake up, Mike tells me I don't need to be on the machine anymore.'

  'Just like that.'

  'Just
like that.'

  'What did Hope have to do with it?'

  'Who says anything?'

  'She visit you after the operation?'

  'Why not?'

  'Casey, too?'

  'Why not?'

  'What did Casey have to do with the operation?'

  'Who says anything - and that's all I'm putting up with from you, so fuck off.'

  Waving a hand.

  'Where's Mike hiding out?'

  No answer.

  "The old country?'

  Nothing.

  'He planning on ever coming back?'

  No answer.

  The old man closed his eyes.

  'Suit yourself,' said Milo, getting up. 'But you still got a problem.'

  The old man kept his eyes shut. Smiled. 'Problems can be solved.'

  Back home I wondered how the case would resolve. The D.A.'s office thought the casting-office thing was cute but maybe meaningless, because all it proved was that Muscadine had a scar on his back. The wheels of a bicycle found in Muscadine's garage fit the tracks at the murder scene but it was a common tire. Muscadine's assault upon Paige Bandura was fortunate because it gave them something to hold him on while the search for more evidence continued.

  Would he walk on four murders?

  Rape, too. Because the more I thought about Tessa Bowlby's terror and mental deterioration the surer I was that he'd done something to her.

  Hope had been there for her.

  No one was now.

  Had she withdrawn her complaint at the hearing? Because Muscadine terrorized her further?

  I'd called her parents' home several times yesterday and today. No one had picked up and I'd also left

  messages with Dr Emerson. He couldn't talk about his patient, but I had facts for him...

  The phone rang.

  'Dr Delaware? My name is Ronald Oster. I'm the public defender representing Mr Reed Muscadine.'

  'Okay.'

  'Mr Muscadine has requested to talk to you.'

  'Why?'

  'Mr Muscadine understands that you consulted to the police on this case and, in that capacity, you've already interviewed him. He believes your psychological knowledge will help the court understand his motivation.'

  'You want me to help him develop a diminished-capacity defense?'

  Pause. 'Not necessarily, Doctor.'

  'But you're looking for some kind of psychological excuse for what he did.'

  'Not an excuse, Dr Delaware. Motivation. And after what was perpetrated upon Mr Muscadine, mental anguish would be significant, wouldn't you say?'

  So Oster knew about the kidney theft. Milo'd said the D.A. was holding back, waiting to see how the case shaped up, what would be used as evidence and have to be turned over under the discovery rules.

  Meaning Muscadine had told his lawyer about the surgery. But Muscadine still had no idea who the recipient was, and if the D.A. chose not to use the information, keeping the old man under wraps, and if Oster didn't ask the right questions, the details might never come out.

  But the defense's problem could be turned back

  on the prosecution, too. Because if Muscadine didn't confess openly, direct proof of his guilt was lacking: no weapons, no witnesses, no physical evidence.

  How much to use, how much to hide?

  Leah Schwartz, the assistant D.A., was still going around with it. Still talking plea bargain or even dismissal. Forty-eight hours to file or release Muscadine on bail.

  Did Oster's call mean he didn't yet appreciate the weakness of the case against his client?

  He said, 'So will you see him, Dr Delaware?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Why?'

  'Conflict of interest.'

  He'd expected the answer and his response was rich with malicious joy. 'Okay, Dr Delaware, then I seriously suggest you think about this: If I subpoena you as an expert witness, you'll get paid. If I subpoena you and you don't cooperate, I still get you deposed and in court, but as a regular witness, and you don't receive one thin dime.'

  'Sounds like you're threatening me.'

  'No, just laying out the contingencies. For your sake.'

  'It's good to know someone's looking after my interests,' I said. 'Have a nice day.'

  I phoned Milo and told him.

  He said, 'Figures. Leah said your name came up today when she was talking to Oster. Apparently Muscadine told him about your visit and Oster's making a big deal about having a psychologist investigate

  Muscadine as evidence that we knew all along he was under mental strain. So now he wants to use you. It's an old tactic, co-opt the other side's consultant as your own. If he can't turn you around, he tries to humiliate you on the stand and reduces your usefulness to us.'

  'Has Muscadine been charged yet?'

  'No, but there has been progress, 'cause this morning, we found a nice big cache of steroids in his apartment. No doubt that'll be part of the defense, too, if it gets that far: drug-induced rage. But at least it buys us some more jail time. Despite that, Leah's still thinking about a plea bargain because she's worried a jury will have sympathy for Muscadine's ordeal.'

  'What about Kathy DiNapoli?' I said. 'If he killed her just because she saw him with Mandy Wright, there wouldn't be much sympathy for that.'

  'Yeah, but we've got no evidence on Kathy. When I mention her name, he gives that charming actor's smile, but that's all.'

  'What's the plea bargain?'

  'Manslaughter on Hope only. Leah'll demand voluntary, Oster will demand involuntary, they'll work something out.'

  'If the case is that weak, why would Oster bargain at all?'

  'He might not. Leah's keeping Big Micky's identity close to the vest for now, but she may pull it out to scare Muscadine: Walk free, turkey, and the mob goes for you. She's hoping that'll convince Muscadine to accept a reduced sentence at a federal prison under protection.'

  'Sweet deal for four cold-blooded murders,' I said.

  'But doesn't Oster's calling me mean he thinks the case is stronger than it is?'

  'Hard to say. He's one of those brand-new hotshots, grew up on Perry Mason, thinks he's smarter than he is. What Leah's really worried about is he'll motion to get the whole thing dismissed on insufficient evidence and succeed. If we could find a weapon, anything physical... but so far no luck. The only knives at Muscadine's place were for spreading butter and no guns at all to match Locking. The guy's covered his tracks.'

  'Starving actor,' I said. Then something hit me. 'When I spoke to Mrs Green - his landlady - she told me she kept a gun around the house for protection. She also told me Muscadine took care of her dog when she was gone. Meaning he had access to her house. What if instead of buying a gun he decided to borrow one?'

  'Borrowed it and put it back?'

  'Why not? He wouldn't want to alarm Mrs Green. And I'll bet she registered it, so even if it's missing you could make a point for Muscadine being the only one with access. And ballistics might have something to say about the bullet pulled out of Locking's head being compatible with that model. It wouldn't convict him, but it might tenderize him a bit.'

  'It is a long shot, but why not - Mrs Green. Yeah, I've got her on my to-call list.'

  It took fifteen minutes for him to phone back and this time there was melody in his voice.

  'American Derringer, model 1, takes.22 long-rifle ammo, which is exactly what was pulled out of Locking's head. She hadn't fired it since she took shooting lessons two years ago. And Muscadine did have a key to her

  house. She ran to look for the gun, found it in the kitchen drawer where she left it, but it looked cleaner than she remembered. Freaked her out. I told her not to touch it and she said she wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.'

  'He cleaned it,' I said. 'Too smart for his own good.'

  'Let's not celebrate yet, but I'm going over in person to pick it up, take it to ballistics. Thank you, your excellency, salaam, salaam.'

  'So what do I do about P.D. Oster?'<
br />
  'Shine him on.'

  Two hours later he said, 'Ballistics match, and Deputy D.A. Schwartz would like to have a word with you.'

  I knew Leah Schwartz from a previous case. Young and smart, with curly blond hair, huge blue eyes and, sometimes, a sharp tongue. She came on the phone sounding ready to run a marathon.