Night Moves

by Jonathan Kellerman

  Unable to get Bowker to talk about additional victims, Milo called Sheila Braxton and gave her the basics.

  She said, “Time to look at all the missings around here. How’s he doing?”

  “Well as can be expected.”

  “Give him my best, maybe I’ll come by to see him.”

  * * *

  —

  Milo and I updated Cory Thurber, still hospitalized at Cedars-Sinai four days after his rescue. Rick Silverman had been off duty the night Cory was ambulanced to the E.R. but Milo’s call brought him in. He tended to the boy’s immediate health issues and called in a hand surgeon to see what could be done for Cory’s mangled fingers.

  Milo said, “He’s a piano player.”

  The surgeon said, “Fuck,” and walked away.

  * * *

  —

  This morning, Cory was able to talk through cracked lips, his hand a bandaged mitt.

  Milo introduced me.

  “Someone thinks I’m crazy?”

  Milo explained. Cory said, “Okay,” but he avoided looking at me.

  “So,” said Milo. “Anything you feel like telling us?”

  “What I told you yesterday,” said Cory. “She’s the one who did it.”

  Milo said, “She hit you with the hammer.”

  “She laughed while she was doing it,” said the boy. Amazed; as if reciting a weird factoid. “He taped me up and held me down but she hit me. She was laughing. He was a pussy. That’s why she killed him.”

  “Because he was…”

  “A total pussy,” said Cory Thurber. “She gave him the shotgun, told him to shoot me. He said, ‘Not again.’ She started yelling at him.”

  His eyes shut. “After she hit me like two times, three, I passed out. When I woke I was…” Staring at the mitt.

  When brown irises reappeared, I said, “What was she yelling about?”

  “He had to shoot me. He was saying if it was so easy, she should do it, the last time made him sick. They must’ve gone into another room because the yelling got softer but it kept on. Then she said, ‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going?’ Then there was this noise.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “Something hitting the floor,” said Cory. “Like a person. Then it got quiet and she came in all covered with blood. I thought she was going to come in and shoot me but she didn’t have no gun. She kept saying, ‘Fuck.’ Then the door knocked and she left and she was talking to someone else.”

  “That was us, Cory.”

  “Good.” The boy’s eyelids fought gravity, lost.

  He stayed asleep.

  Two days later, I sat by Cory’s bed in the surgical unit, polishing a custody report on my iPad as I waited for him to emerge from anesthesia.

  The first of many operations had ended an hour ago. Results were “as well as can be expected,” per the surgeon. She was donating her services. So was Rick. The hospital was working with Medi-Cal to recoup whatever it could.

  By three fifteen, Cory’s eyes had cleared. A few minutes later, he focused on me and managed a nod. I’d been in and out of the room, yesterday, pouring water and soda for him, avoiding anything remotely therapeutic. It’s what I taught my interns and fellows when I worked oncology: Patients whose diagnosis isn’t psychiatric hate anything shrinky, so don’t make matters worse and just be a nice person.

  By day’s end Cory had relaxed.

  Now he gave a goofy smile, licked parched lips. I went over and held a cup of water to his barely open mouth.

  He croaked, cleared his throat. Moments later: “Thanks, Doc.”

  His eyes closed and opened. “You’re here…a lot. Have a lot of time?”

  “For you, I do.”

  “Because I’m screwed up?”

  “Because you’ve been through hell and I want to help.”

  “That’s why you did the GoFundMe?”

  “That was Lieutenant Sturgis’s idea.”

  “It came in super-fast,” he said. “After that big donation in the beginning.”

  Part of this year’s tax deductions. I said, “People see it as a worthy cause, Cory.”

  “Hmm…all the time, since my mom disappeared, only a few people have been cool with me. Like Miss Edda, without her…” Trying to raise his hand, he failed and winced.

  I said, “More water?”

  “Um…don’t want to be bratty, Doc, but I’d kind of like 7UP?”

  “What a demanding guy,” I said, reaching for the can.

  He smiled.

  Half a cup of soda later, he was talking.

  * * *

  —

  “I always knew he did it. I thought from the way the police were that they knew but they never admitted it. Probably figured I was a stupid kid, I shouldn’t know. But I knew. I wanted to go up and tell I knew but I was scared shitless. He left anyway. That made me happy even though I didn’t know what was going to happen to me by myself. You know what happened, right, Doc?”

  “You got put in fosters.”

  “A lot of ’em…that was okay. I told myself to stop thinking about it. About Mom. I stopped for a while. Then, I couldn’t. Especially when I was older, working, the thoughts just kept coming back, like songs would do that, like opening up a window in my brain. I got angry. Went looking and found where he was.”

  “How’d you do that, Cory?”

  “It wasn’t so hard, Doc. He used to work for the school district doing computer stuff so I called, said I was his son, just got out of the army, was away for a long time in Iraq, needed to find him. I lied about that because it was part true, I tried to join the army, even the Coast Guard, but there was something with my spine, a fused bone. So I used that and they looked him up and said he’d transferred to the school district in L.A. I called them and told them the same thing.”

  Pushing lank, pale hair off a pimpled forehead. “I added another lie. I’d been shot in Iraq. They gave me the address.”

  “On Evada Lane.”

  “Yeah. The other one I found by following him.”

  A glance at his damaged hand. “Maybe that’s why it happened, huh? Lie about a bad thing that doesn’t happen and you get one that does happen?”

  I said, “I could get all moralistic with you, Cory, but I seriously doubt that.”

  “You don’t believe in karma?”

  “Not literally.”

  “How do you believe in it?”

  “Sometimes the things we do bring direct consequences, sometimes stuff just happens.”

  “And people get away with it.”

  “I’m afraid they do, Cory.”

  He looked at his empty cup. I poured soda and helped him drink. When he finished he let out a puff of air, then a burp. “ ’Scuse me…it actually doesn’t hurt that bad. Probably the dope they put me on.” A beat. “I never did real dope, just some weed. Like when I was playing at The Carpenter, there was all kinds of pills and shit around. I never did that, didn’t want to screw up my playing.”

  “The other musicians offered.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I used to play in a band, went through the same thing.”

  “When?”

  “When I was about your age.”

  “Before you were a doctor.”

  “Way before, to make money to pay for college.”

  “Piano?”

  “Guitar.”

  “Huh. So you never fooled with dope, either.”

  “A little weed.”

  He grinned. “That’s acceptable.”

  I said, “So you got the address on Evada and began watching him.”

  “I got it but I chickenshitted out of going up to him. It was this real nice neighborhood. A lot nicer than where we ever lived. That seemed so totally wrong, he was a rich guy and Mom was…”

  He looked away. “I got kind of a hollow feeling, drove back to Santa Barbara feeling like a total loser. For a long time I thought about…doing a bad thing. I always chickensh
itted out. Smoked weed, not going to lie to you, also beer. Trying not to feel, you know?”

  “Sure.”

  “But I still felt, Doc. Shitty and like a loser and tired. At night, I played at The Carpenter and other bars. During the day I had nothing to do so I hung out on the beach, slept in the Camaro—is it okay? The Camaro?”

  “Safe and sound,” I said. After being gone over with an LAPD technical comb. “You mind if it gets a wash and wax?”

  Big smile. “Sure. The tags—”

  “Taken care of.”

  “Wow,” he said.

  “So you hung at the beach.”

  “Always liked the beach. ’Specially when there wasn’t a lot of people around. Sometimes down in Carpenteria or Oxnard, sometimes back in the city near Stearn’s Wharf. Mom used to take me there, we’d go up to the pier, have fried shrimp, look at the sea lions.”

  Brown eyes filmed.

  I said, “Stearn’s is where you met Hal.”

  “Yeah. He was also hanging out. Sitting on a blanket, I was sitting on sand. I thought he was a pervert because when I looked at him, he smiled. But he didn’t do anything pervy, just looked at the water and drank Diet Coke except if he’d catch me looking, then he’d smile. I still thought he was weird. Then he got up and came over, limping, and said, ‘You okay, son?’ ”

  Cory grimaced. “The way he said it. Like he meant it. Like…he could tell I was a messed-up loser. Like he…I didn’t want to tell him anything but I don’t know why, I ended up telling him.”

  “About your mom.”

  “About her. About him, an evil fucker living in Pacific Palisades. He sat down next to me on the sand, listened and didn’t say nothing. When I was finished, he said, ‘I’m no superhero, kid, but if you’re scared to face him alone, I can go with you.’ I should’ve decided he’s definitely a perv. But I didn’t. Something about the way he—I know I could’ve been totally ripped off but I guess I wasn’t. So I guess I was right.”

  “Hal was sincere.”

  “But I told him no, thanks. He said, ‘Just putting it out there.’ Then I got a little mad and said why would you do that, you don’t know me? He said, ‘Yeah, it’s pretty stupid and weird but I’ve had my problems, I know what problems are, kid.’ Then he pointed to his leg, said he’d messed it up a long time ago, couldn’t work a real job, was always trying to find usefulness in his life. Or something like that.”

  “He wanted his life to be meaningful.”

  “That’s the word he used! Meaningful, everyone needed to be meaningful. I told him my meaningful was finding Mom and having the fucking devil punished. I told him I’d given up, now it was just piano that filled in…the spaces in my brain. He said, ‘At least you’re good at one thing, most people aren’t.’ I’m thinking how does he know, he never heard me? But why argue, someone says something nice?”

  He choked back a sob. “He was a great guy. I’m so sorry for what happened to him.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “I let him do it.”

  “Talking to Paul was his decision, Cory.”

  “That’s all it was supposed to be! Talking. What he called ‘appealing to his humanity.’ I said I don’t think he has any, he said everyone has some. So I gave him the address. He was supposed to call me after he went but he didn’t. I figured he changed his mind and never went. I got mad at him. For being another bullshitter. I knew where he lived because he gave me his address, told me I could crash there if I needed. I went there to talk to him. A bunch of times but chickenshitted out. The last time I really was going to knock on his door but there was this old guy giving me the evil eye so I got out of there. Thinking the Camaro, the tags, if the cops came, I’d lose my home.”

  He threw up his undamaged hand, stared at the other, as if it had let him down.

  “It was messed up, Doc, I was angry with everyone. Then I decided, take care of your own business, dude. When I had enough gas, I went back to Pacific Palisades, late at night, so no one would see me. Did it a bunch of times, I’d park blocks away and walk and look at his house. I never saw much. That was the bad part of at night. Nothing can happen. Except, then…”

  “You did see something.”

  “Nothing important, this girl, from next door. She’d come out and look at the other house—on the other side. Sometimes she’d smoke, sometimes she’d just stand there, I thought she was weird.”

  I said, “Eventually, you discovered the Marquette house. And the cabin in Arrowhead.”

  “Both of them were kind of connected. One night, I was watching and finally, she came out. Not the girl. His new wife. Her.” Grimacing.

  “She came out late at night, got into the truck, and left, so I followed. I thought maybe I’d tell her about him, mess him up at least a little. I don’t really know what I was thinking, Doc. I’d already spent so much time watching and nothing happened, I felt like a loser…she drove to the other place. The place where she…”

  He shuddered. Limp hair swayed. “It was weird. She drove into the garage but came right out and waited. This was like two in the morning. Soon after, the Range Rover showed up. I recognized it because it was from next door—where the weird girl came out of. But she wasn’t driving, a guy was. I’d seen him, too, coming home in a black Uber or some kind of limo. The guy who lived there, big, he looked like a coach.”

  “Chet Corvin.”

  “Didn’t know his name, just that he was next door. She got into the Rover and they left. I figured maybe I’d tell him. Your wife’s doing the guy from right next door and you don’t have a clue, you’re a total loser. Turns out, he did have a clue, huh, Doc?”

  “You followed them all the way to Arrowhead?”

  “Barely made it, barely had gas money but I’d done a few extra gigs at The Carpenter, also a pizza place in Goleta, rich college kids, no one tipping but I had at least some dough. When I hit San Bernardino, I needed to fill up but I was lucky, so did they. I pulled into the same station they did, they never noticed me.”

  Smiling. “I’m like that. Invisible.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Cory.”

  “No? Hang out with me and you’ll see, I just kind of fade out—” Blushing. “I’m not being weird, Doc.”

  “I know that. So you drove to Arrowhead.”

  “All the way up to that pointy house. I turned my lights off for the last part of it, pretty hairy driving in the dark except for I could see their taillights. They went into the house, his hand was on her ass, her hand was on his pants, in front, over his dick, it was pretty obvious this was their fuck pad. I’m thinking, Asshole, I’m going to take pictures, want to see the look on your face when I tell you you’re a loser. Then all of a sudden, he shows up.”

  “Paul.”

  “I don’t even use his name, he’s Mr. Evil…yeah, him, in his Taurus, he drives right past me, I was off the side of the road, it was dark, under some trees, I nearly shit. What if he was there from the beginning and saw me get gas? But I guess he didn’t because he just cruised up the road and sat there looking.”

  “At the house.”

  “For a long time, Doc. Then he drove away. I was freaked out, it was unreal. I called Hal but he didn’t answer. I was sure he was blowing me off. I had no idea.”

  “No reason for you to.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so, Cory.”

  “F’you say so…I got outta there, drove back to Santa Barbara, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Figured my best shot was talking to her. Telling her what a dick she was married to. What he did to Mom, she was in danger.”

  His laughter began as a light, not unpleasant sound, ended up acid running down a pane of glass. “That sure worked out well…I’m tired, Doc. I’m like, there’s nothing inside me, I’m real tired.”

  I pushed the call button and a cute nurse around Cory’s age came in and squirted something into his I.V. He was already out but the juice slowed his breathing.

  Sh
e watched him for a second, touched his arm.

  “He’s so brave, Doctor. A real hero.”

  * * *

  —

  I went down to the hospital cafeteria. Milo was at a corner table eating a sandwich filled with some kind of meat and drinking a sweating glass of iced tea.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Pretty well, considering.”

  “Can you talk about it? He waive confidentiality?”

  “He waived yesterday.” I recapped.

  He said, “Braun thought he could just walk up to Mearsheim and tell him to do the right thing? What the hell was that, a death wish?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Is it really, Alex? C’mon, it’s like those do-gooders who pack up and go to the Congo or Syria or wherever hell currently is and get their heads chopped off. I’m not saying their intentions are bad, but still.”

  I said nothing.

  He said, “Fine, be profoundly nonjudgmental.” He drank tea. Put the glass down. “I am not blaming the victim, but still, it’s a death wish, right? Maybe even a type of suicide.”

  I got up, poured coffee from the doctor’s urn, and returned.

  Milo said, “You look offended.”

  “God forbid,” I said. “Just thinking.”

  “About…?”

  “You probably won’t like my answer.”

  “What, Alex?”

  “People vary. There are all types of stories.”

  “Fine,” he said. “We won’t malign the dead. At least not the noble dead, like our man, Braun.” Under his breath: “Virtuous idiot.”

  My cell chirped. I read the window, clicked in.

  Felicia Corvin said, “Lieutenant Sturgis filled me in. I’m so glad it’s over.”

  “He’s right here. We’re at the hospital.”

  “With that poor boy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please give him my best, Dr. Delaware. I contributed to his fund, he’s been through so much—if you were a girl, I’d say give him a kiss for me.”