Obsession

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Did she?” I said.

  “Tears always worked with Mommy. When I was little I took advantage of that.”

  “All that planning for your future had to be overwhelming.”

  “She’s going on about property tax and I’m like, ‘Soon, she’s not going to exist.’ It empowered her, Dr. Delaware, but it was tough. I had to recite back what I’d learned, like a pop quiz.”

  “Knowing you understood was a comfort for her.”

  “I hope so. I only wish we could’ve spent more time…that’s selfish, the key is to focus on the person who’s suffering, right?”

  That sounded like a quote from a book.

  “Of course.”

  She hugged herself with one hand, kept the other on Blanche. Blanche licked her hand. Tanya started crying.

  Pulling her hair loose, she freed a blond mane that she shook violently before reknotting and jamming in the chopsticks.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get to the point. It was Friday night. I got to the hospital later than usual, because I had organic chem lab and a lot of studying. Mommy looked so weak, I couldn’t believe the change since the morning. Her eyes were shut, her skin was greenish gray, her hands were like packages of twigs. The fan rags were piled up all around her, it looked like she was being swallowed by paper. I started straightening. She opened her eyes and whispered something I couldn’t hear so I put my ear close to her mouth.”

  Twisting a chopstick. “At first I couldn’t even feel her breath and I pulled away, panicked. But she was looking straight up at me, the light was still on inside. Do you remember her eyes? How sharp and dark they were? They were like that then, Dr. Delaware—focused, staring up at me, she was moving her lips but they were so dry she couldn’t get the sound out. I wet a towel and she made a little kissy pucker and I bent and she touched her lips to my cheek. Then somehow she managed to push up with her head to get closer so I leaned down farther. She got one hand behind my neck and pressed. I could feel her I.V. tubing tickling the back of my ear.” She looked away. “I need to walk around.”

  Placing Blanche on the floor, she stood. Blanche trotted over and settled in my lap.

  Tanya crossed the room twice, then returned to her chair but remained on her feet. A hank of hair fell loose, blocking one eye. Her chest heaved.

  “Her breath was like ice. She started talking again—gasping the words. What she said was, ‘Did bad.’ Then she repeated it. I said you could never do anything bad. She hissed so loud it hurt my ear, said, ‘Terrible thing, baby,’ and I could feel her face tremble.”

  Stretching the corners of her eyes, she let go, took a deep breath. “This is the part I didn’t tell you over the phone. She said, ‘Killed him. Close by. Know it. Know.’ I’m still trying to figure it out. There were no men in her personal life, so it couldn’t mean close as in a relationship. The only other thing I can think of is she was being literal. Someone who lived near us. I’ve been racking my brains to see if I can remember some neighbor dying in a weird way, and I can’t. Just before I came to see you, we were living in Hollywood and I remember hearing sirens all the time and once in a while some drunk would knock on the door, but that’s it. Not that I’d ever believe she could ever hurt someone deliberately.”

  She sat down.

  I said, “You don’t know what to believe.”

  “You think this is totally crazy. I did, too. I resisted dealing with it. But I can’t let go of it. Not because of my tendencies. Because Mommy wanted me to learn the truth. That’s what she meant by ‘Know it.’ It was important to her that I understand because the whole last week she was ordering my future and this was part of it.”

  I kept silent.

  “Maybe it is crazy. But the least I can do is check it out. That’s why I thought maybe Detective Sturgis could run a computer search on the places we lived to see if something happened nearby and we’d learn nothing and that would be it.”

  Child of the cyber-age. I said, “LAPD’s computer system is pretty primitive, but I’ll ask. Before we get into that, you might consider—”

  “If I’m prepared to learn something horrible. The answer is no, not really, but I don’t believe Mommy actually killed someone. That would be totally insane. What I’m thinking is at the worst she was involved in some kind of accident that she blamed herself for and she wanted to make sure it didn’t come back on me. Like a legal claim. She wanted to make sure I was prepared.”

  She sat forward, played with her hair, used a long thick swatch to cover her eyes, let it drop.

  I said, “After she told you all this, what did you say?”

  “Nothing, because she fell asleep. It was like she’d unburdened herself and now she could rest. For the first time since she’d been hospitalized, she looked peaceful. I sat there for a while. Her nurse came in, checked her vitals, turned on the morphine drip, said she’d be out for at least six hours, I could leave and come back. I stuck around a little longer, finally went home because I had a test to study for.”

  One hand clawed a chair arm. “The call came at three a.m. Mommy had passed in her sleep.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tanya.”

  “They said she didn’t suffer. I’d like to think that she went peacefully because she was able to express herself that last time. I need to honor her memory by following through. Since she died, I’ve been replaying it every day. ‘Terrible thing.’ ‘Killed him, close by.’ Sometimes it feels ridiculous, like one of those corny scenes you see in old movies: ‘the killer was—’ and then the person drops back and closes their eyes? But I know Mommy wouldn’t have wasted the time and energy she had left if it wasn’t important. Will you talk to Detective Sturgis?”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe if you tell him what Mommy was like, he won’t think I’m totally whack. I’m so glad I came back to you. You understand why she was more than the best mother. I didn’t come out of her womb and when Lydia ditched me, it would have been easy to send me off somewhere and go on living her life. Instead, she gave me a life.”

  “You brought meaning to her life, as well.”

  “I hope.”

  “Her pride in you was obvious, Tanya.”

  “It wasn’t equal, Dr. Delaware. Without her I’d be nothing.” She glanced at her watch.

  “We’ve got time left,” I said.

  “That’s really all I have to talk about.” She stood again. Out of her purse came a white business-sized envelope that she’d brought to me. P. L. Bigelow embossed on the back flap, an address on Canfield Avenue. Inside was a sheet folded in perfect thirds. Typed list, centered.

  Four other addresses, each accompanied by Tanya’s handwritten notation.

  Cherokee Avenue, Hollywood. We lived here four years, from when I was three until I was seven.

  Hudson Avenue, Hancock Park. Two years, seven until around nine or so.

  Fourth Street, the Wilshire district. One year, nine to ten.

  Culver Boulevard, Culver City. Two years, ten until twelve, then we bought the duplex.

  Constructing the timeline using her age. Playing adult but clinging to the self-centered world view of an adolescent.

  I said, “Maybe whatever happened was relatively recent.”

  Pretending to be a believer.

  “At Canfield? No, it’s been peaceful there. And I was older when we moved, would know if something happened in the neighborhood. By the way, I relinquish all confidentiality so feel free to tell Detective Sturgis anything you want. Here, I’ve put it in writing.”

  Out of the purse came another razor-creased paper. Handwritten release note, composed in the stilted wording of amateur legalese. Then a check, made out to the discounted fee I’d billed her mother ten years ago. Twenty percent of what I got nowadays.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She headed for the door. “Thank you, Dr. Delaware.”

  “Did your mother ever talk about any malpractice cases at the hospital?” />
  “No. Why?”

  “The E.R.’s a high-risk unit. What if a patient she was involved with died and she felt responsible?”

  “No way she’d ever mess someone up fatally, Dr. Delaware. She knew more than some of the doctors.”

  “Lawsuits don’t always depend upon truth,” I said. “In a hospital situation, lawyers sometimes go after anyone who blinked at the patient.”

  She leaned against the door. “Malpractice. Oh, my God, why didn’t I think of that? There could be some huge lawsuit pending and she was worried someone would go after my trust fund. Or the duplex. She wanted to tell me more but ran out of steam—you’re brilliant, Dr. Delaware!”

  “It’s just a suggestion—”

  “But a great one. Scientific parsimony, right? Go for the simplest explanation. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind. I’ll call Dr. Silverman right now.”

  I reached the E.R. Rick was in surgery. “He’ll call back. If there’s something to tell you, I promise to let you know right away.”

  “Thank you so much, Dr. Delaware—no offense but can we be sure Dr. Silverman will be up front? Maybe his lawyers have told him not to discuss—okay, sorry, that’s stupid, I’m being paranoid.”

  “Still want me to talk to Detective Sturgis?”

  “Only if Dr. Silverman says there was no malpractice issue for Mommy, but something tells me you’ve figured it out. She always said you were brilliant.”

  Ten years ago my treatment of her had been anything but. I smiled and walked her out.

  When we reached her van, I said, “Once we resolve this, would you consider a couple more sessions?”

  “To accomplish what?”

  “I’d like to know more about your living circumstances and who you have for support.”

  “My living circumstances haven’t changed. The duplex is all paid off, and the downstairs tenants are a really nice young family, the Friedmans. Their rent covers expenses plus extras. They’re in Israel for Dr. Friedman’s sabbatical but they advanced me a year’s worth and are planning to come back. Mommy’s insurance and investments will take care of me until I finish at the U. If I end up at a private med school, I may have to take out some loans. But physicians do fine, I’ll pay them off. My friends at school give me support, there’s a group of us, all premed, they’re very cool and understanding.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, “but I’d still feel better if you were open to coming back.”

  “I will be, I promise, Dr. Delaware. Just as soon as my exams are over.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not having any of my old problems. I appreciate your caring. Mommy always said for you it was more than a job. She told me I should observe you, learn what caring for patients meant.”

  “How old were you when she told you that?”

  “That was…right before the second time I saw you, we’d just moved to Culver, so…ten.”

  “At ten, you knew you wanted to be a physician?”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a physician.”

  As we descended the stairs, she said, “Do you believe in the Hereafter?”

  “It’s a comforting concept.”

  “Meaning you don’t?”

  “Depends on what day you catch me.” Images of my parents flashed in my head. Dad, red-nosed, in boozer’s heaven. Were there celestial procedures in place for unpredictable behavior?

  Maybe Mom could finally be happy, nestled in some heavenly duplicate bridge club.

  “Well,” she said, “that’s honest. I guess it’s the same for me. Mostly I think in terms of scientific logic, show me the data. But lately I find myself believing in the spirit world, because I sense her with me. It’s not constant, just sometimes, when I’m alone. I’ll be doing something and feel her. It could be just my emotional need but the day it stops may be when I show up for some real therapy.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  Rick said, “No, nothing like that, current or past. In fact, we’re having a nice quiet spell, shyster-wise. And when the vultures swoop, they avoid the nurses. No financial incentive.”

  “Did Patty moonlight?”

  “Not since she’s worked for me. When she wanted extra money, she double-shifted.”

  “Where did she work before she came to Cedars?”

  “Kaiser Sunset, but only for a year. Scratch the malpractice angle, Alex.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “How’s Tanya doing?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Good. Gotta run. Thanks for seeing her.”

  Straight to the point. Surgical. Just like his original referral.

  “I know you’re not doing much therapy, Alex, but this sounds more like a consultation.”

  “Who’s the consultee?”

  “Best nurse I ever worked with, a woman named Patty Bigelow. A few years ago her sister dumped a kid on her, then left for parts unknown. Sister died in a motorcycle accident and Patty adopted the girl, who’s now seven. She’s got some parenting questions. Can you see her?”

  “Sure.”

  “I appreciate it…”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “About what?” he said.

  “Patty, the girl.”

  “I’ve only seen the girl in passing. Cute little thing. Patty’s super-organized. Maybe a little too much for a kid.”

  “A perfectionist.”

  “You could say that. She fits in great in my E.R. It was hard for her to admit having a problem. I don’t know why she chose me to tell.”

  “She trusts you.”

  “Could be that…I’ll give her your number, gotta run.”

  An hour later, Patty Bigelow had called. “Hi, Doctor. I won’t gab on the phone because you sell your time and I’m no mooch. When’s your next opening?”

  “I could see you today at six.”

  “Nope,” she said, “on shift until seven and Tanya’s out of day care at eight, so I’m in for the evening. Tomorrow I’m off.”

  “How about ten a.m.?”

  “Great, thanks. Should I bring Tanya?”

  “No, let’s talk first.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. What’s your fee?”

  I told her, said I’d be cutting it in half.

  “That’s seriously below average,” she said. “Dr. Silverman assures me you’re not.”

  We debated for a while. I prevailed.

  Patty said, “I don’t usually give in, Dr. Delaware. You might be just the right person for Tanya.”

  The next morning, at nine forty-two, I was out on the landing when a blue minivan pulled up in front of the house. The engine switched off but the vehicle stayed in place.

  A woman with short brown hair sat behind the wheel, balancing a checkbook. As I approached she put it away.

  “Ms. Bigelow?”

  A hand shot out the window. Compact, nails cut square. “Patty. I’m early, didn’t want to bother you.”

  “No bother, c’mon in.”

  She got out of the car, holding a black briefcase. “Tanya’s medical records. Do you have a Xerox machine?”

  “I do, but let’s talk first.”

  “Whatever you say.” She climbed the stairs just ahead of me. I put her at forty or so. Short and dark-eyed and round-faced, wearing a navy turtleneck over easy-fit jeans and spotless white tennies. The clothes made no attempt to streamline a broad, blocky body. Brown hair streaked with gray was cut in an anti-style as frivolous as a lug wrench. No makeup but good skin, ruddy with a faint underglow and no age lines. She smelled of shampoo.

  When we reached the stairs to the front landing, she said, “Real pretty out here.”

  “It is.”

  No more conversation as we headed to the office. Midway there, she paused to straighten a picture with a fingertip. Hanging back a half step, as if to avoid notice. I noticed anyway and she grinned. “Sorry.”

  “Hey,” I said, “I’
ll take all the help I can get.”

  “Be careful what you ask for, Doctor.”

  She scanned my diplomas and perched on the edge of a chair. “I see another couple more crooked ones.”

  “Earthquake country,” I said. “The ground’s always shifting.”

  “You’ve got that right, we’re living in a jelly jar. Ever try museum wax? Little dab on the bottom center of the frame and if you need to get it off the wall you can peel it without leaving a mark.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  Positioning the briefcase so that its front end was flush with a chair leg, she said, “May I?” and got up before I could answer. When the prints were straight, she returned to her chair and folded her hands in her lap. A peachy blush coined the upper rims of her cheeks. High cheekbones, the only bits of definition in the wide, smooth face. “Sorry, again, but it really drives me nuts. Should I talk about Tanya or me?”

  “How about both?”

  “Any preference as to order?”

  “Tell it the way you want,” I said.

  “Okay. In a really small nutshell here’s my story, so you’ll understand Tanya. My sister and I grew up on a ranch outside of Galisteo, New Mexico. Both our folks were drunks. My mother was the ranch cook, good in the kitchen but she didn’t give a hoot about mothering. My father was the foreman and when he got plastered, he came into our bedroom and did ugly stuff to me and my sister—I don’t need to go into details, do I?”