by Linda Ladd
I sensed sarcasm in that remark, yes, I did.
Dr. Martin said to Bud, “I get a sense that you find the need for privacy contemptible?”
My turn. “Not at all, doctor. Tell me, do you have time now to sit down and talk to us?”
“I’ll answer whatever I can in accordance with the laws governing my practice, of course, but that won’t be much, I warn you. I certainly can’t get into the specifics of Mikey’s condition.”
Bud said, “Why don’t you just tell us everything you can and then we’ll rush right out to a judge and get a warrant for everything else.”
Sometimes Bud could be blunt and brutal. Not as much as me, of course, but blunt and brutal enough. He didn’t like Martin, anybody could see that, but that was probably because Young had his glasses hanging on that sissified red cord.
Dr. Young’s lips curved upward just a tad, but his eyes remained a very cold, disinterested blue. He was doing an awful lot of smiling, or smirking, you might call it. Maybe a background check on him might be in the cards. Silent and unpleasant, we sat and waited while he took a dainty swig of water. Trying to formulate psychiatrist-sounding words that meant no, I suppose.
“Mikey came to me, almost two years ago, I guess it was. Lived here at the clinic for a while. Then when we got his meds adjusted and he began to feel better, he left and went home to his place in Osage Beach. He’s been doing fine since, as far as I knew.”
I said, “Not exactly fine, if you factor in his suicide.”
“You think it was a suicide then?”
“It appears that way. But sometimes appearances are deceiving. I’m sure you know that, considering your line of work.”
“Did he leave a note?” the doctor asked.
“No. Was Michael Murphy suicidal when he was under your care?”
“I can’t divulge that information.”
“Mikey is dead, sir. We are trying to find out if he was the victim of murder. You are his cousin. Give us a break here.”
“I have my professional standards to consider. I’m sure Dr. Black would do the same with any one of his patients.”
He sure would, but so what? “Is there anything else you’re willing to tell us?”
“Perhaps, if we don’t have to get into anything he revealed to me during therapy sessions.”
“When did Michael first begin treatment here?”
“I guess it was about five years ago.”
“Before Nicholas Black referred him?”
“That’s right. He’s had various problems through the years.”
“Can you give me a general reason what these problems are?”
Young didn’t answer directly. “His parents contacted me. They were concerned about him being depressed over some personal problems, one being a breakup with a girlfriend. Drug use being another. They thought that, as his cousin, I might be able to understand and treat him better than another doctor. It turned out to be true. After only a short time, he began to feel better.”
“Did he ever relapse and have to come back?”
“Yes, he did. How did you know that?” Young obviously knew I wasn’t going to answer that question because he plowed right on. “His condition worsened when he quit taking his prescribed meds. He came in-house and stayed awhile and really did a lot better once he joined my group therapy session.”
“Was he suicidal at that point?”
“I can’t get into that. I do hope you understand.”
“I understand you’re being difficult when it’s unnecessary. We can get the records. You’re just wasting our time and putting up roadblocks.”
Bud took over. “When was he released from here the second time?”
“Last week.”
“Last week, huh? And you haven’t seen him or talked to him since then?”
“No.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“No. He was eager to get back home and run his business. He loved that pizza parlor.”
I said, “You’re taking his death awfully well, doctor. Your being his cousin, and all.”
“I’m devastated. Working with troubled people, I have learned not to show my emotions. But you can believe that I am very sorry about Mikey. He was a good kid.”
I pulled the plastic bag with Michael Murphy’s blue beaded bracelet out of my purse and the one with the unidentified key. I handed them to him. He nodded, as he looked at them. “Yes, I’ve seen him wear these things. He had lots of them. He never told me what it was all about, though. He even got some of my other patients in his therapy group wearing them. I have no idea about this key.”
“And nobody told you the significance of the bracelets? What they meant?”
“No, but I can’t say I questioned anybody at length about it, either. That’s not how I run my sessions.”
“Oh? How do you run your sessions?”
“It’s a common method. Much like your Dr. Black runs his, I imagine.”
I hated it when people called him my Dr. Black, even if he was. “My Dr. Black prefers one-on-one sessions, I believe.”
“Yes, every psychiatrist has his own preferences. I have found that the teenagers I work with respond better in a group of their peers. They have a tendency to start trusting them before they let down their guard with me. I observe while they talk, and if I need to intercede or guide the conversation, I do so.”
“Do you have any other colleagues here who have treated Michael Murphy?”
“Yes, a couple of my colleagues have filled in for me on occasion, but it’s rare. I live nearby and try always to be available.”
I stood up and sauntered nonchalantly around the room as he answered, but I really wanted to see if he had managed to turn on the camera without my being aware. I didn’t get close to the camera, and the red light was not easy to see behind the leafy plant, but it was blinking. He’d turned it on without my seeing him, all right. Now why would he want to record our interview?
I moved away and asked, “Do you film your sessions, doctor?”
“Usually.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Sometimes I like to watch them later and see if there were any nuances or indicators that I missed. It has proved to be helpful in my therapy.”
Time to catch him in a lie. “Do you ever film sessions held here inside your office?”
“Occasionally, but I usually don’t hold therapy sessions here. This is where I come to think and do my paperwork. It’s my sanctuary, I guess you’d call it.”
“Are you filming us now, by any chance?”
Bud looked at me in surprise. Dr. Young just looked amused. I guess I’m a real hilarious police officer. “No, although it might be a good idea. You’re a good interrogator. I’ve noticed that you use some of my own techniques to get answers.”
“Is that right?”
Bud said, “Is it possible for you to show us around the place? Maybe meet up with some of your patients? Possibly interview a couple of Mikey’s friends?”
“I suppose so, but only with their written permission. I’d have to make the request myself in private and get back to you.”
I said, “That would be very helpful, Dr. Young.” See, how nice I am when people cooperate.
Dr. Young seemed pleased as punch that we were both playing good cop now. “I would be glad to show you around right now, if you like. My next session doesn’t start for about twenty minutes. Maybe I can introduce you to a few of my patients, with their permission, of course. You know, pave the way for your interviews. Maybe some of them would talk to you today.”
Boy, the doc was really being helpful now, which made me wonder why, not that I am an extremely suspicious type who trusted no one, or anything. “Okay. That would be great, Doctor.”
When he turned to lead us out, Bud and I exchanged our what’s-this-guy-up-to glares, but we followed the suddenly good-and-eager-to-please-us doctor outside and down the corridor again. This time there were lots of teens milling arou
nd, and they looked at us like we were old people who didn’t fit in the place, which isn’t exactly a great feeling. But none of them were sporting butcher knives or wearing funny hats or slobbering from the mouth. None of them were wearing blue and white beaded bracelets, either.
“This is where we have our group sessions.”
Dr. Young opened the door, and several of his patients were already inside the room, drinking Cokes and Diet Dr Peppers out of cans and relaxing on the couches scattered around the room. Two or three of the kids had on earphones and completely ignored us and everyone else. Two more were off by themselves, also being openly antisocial. One guy saw us and came striding up and smiling like we were his best friends come to have a birthday party.
Dr. Young greeted him. “Morning, Pete. How’s it going?”
“Fine, much better.”
“I’m glad you could make it in for the session. You feel better?”
“Oh, yeah. I just got one of those migraine headaches I get sometimes.”
I said to the doctor, “Is Pete, here, one of your patients?”
“Yes, once upon a time I was,” Happy Pete said brightly, “but now I assist him. I’m new on the staff.”
“Well, congratulations,” said Bud. He grinned, all friendly like, too, but I knew that expression. He didn’t trust this guy. Too toothy, too happy, and too sappy.
“Thank you, sir. I’ve worked really hard to prove myself.”
“Yes, this is Pete Parsons, and he’s doing a stand-up job for us.”
Happy Pete said, “Are you here to observe someone in treatment?”
I said, “No, we’re sheriff detectives here to interview people who knew Mikey Murphy.”
“Knew? What’s that supposed to mean?”
I looked at the doctor and let him handle that little technicality. He lowered his tone, looked all somber. “Mikey was found dead, Pete. A possible suicide, but they’re not sure yet that it wasn’t a homicide.”
Pete’s cheery face whitened to a natural vanilla ice cream hue, and it didn’t look fake. “No, no. No way. You can’t be serious.”
We all nodded, real serious.
“Jeez, he was such a great kid. I thought we had him all straightened out.”
Bud said, “Apparently not.”
That Bud, he wasn’t mincing words today, uh uh. He seemed to have taken an intense dislike to Poor Pete, too. That meant I had to play nice.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Pete. Were you close to Mikey?”
“Oh, yeah, actually we were in a therapy group together some years ago, when I was still a patient here. That’s where we met.”
That jibed with Young’s time line.
I spoke to Pete. “How about us having a word with you while Dr. Young informs the group of Mikey’s death? Maybe you can answer some of our questions.”
Dr. Young said, “Yes, why don’t you do that, Pete? I can handle the group on my own.” Well, I hope so, I thought. Young turned back to me. “Let me see if any of the kids want to talk to you. Just be gentle when you talk to them. Some of them are fragile.”
“I can do that.” Not well, of course, but I can do it, when absolutely necessary, and if kids are involved.
I returned my attention to Pete. “Is there a private place where we can have that little talk without being disturbed?”
“You think I could take them into the observation room, Doc?”
“Sure, but make sure the sound to the classroom is off.”
“Right.”
Pete led us next door and into a small room, painted institutional gray with darker gray suede chairs and even darker gray carpet. Gray seemed attracted to Oak Haven. The observation room was not designed for the cheerful, no sirree. This was a place where people sat and watched the crazies chat together. Forget the daffodil yellow and tulip red. Gray, gray, gray. Lordy, I was already depressed.
Pete sat down and gestured to a duo of matching swivel chairs, but he kept his gaze on the scene transpiring in the other room. Bud and I sat down and followed his rapt attention. The doctor had the kids all sitting around in a semicircle in front of him. His face was somber, his body language relaxed. He knew how to give bad news. The three of us waited silently, because it was damn obvious that poor Pete wanted to see his fellow patients go to pieces when hit with horrible news. Problem was, it was hard to tell when he actually told them, because there was no reaction, just eight kids sitting there staring at him. Ooookay. Stoicism, at its best. Or braindead-ism.
“They seem to be taking it well,” noted Bud.
“This group isn’t very demonstrative,” said Pete.
No joke, Pete. Catatonic was more like it. They looked like young, sloppily dressed mannequins in a Gap store. Except they had lots of piercings showing and probably a lot more not showing.
“We’ll get into their feelings. It has to be a gradual thing. Dr. Young’s very good with them.”
Okay, as far as I was concerned the morbid show was over. “How well did you know the deceased, Pete?”
“He was one of my best friends when he was here. We didn’t see each other as much after he left. I live here, you know, sort of like a house dad.” He grinned. My, my, but the Oak Haven staff was a likeable bunch. Problem was, I didn’t like them much, but that was nothing new. I loathed most people right off the bat. Bud usually didn’t, though, so we balanced each other out.
Bud didn’t say anything, just stared at the kid, so I guess I got to dive in first. “Can you tell me what kind of person he was?”
Bright smile, happy, happy Pete, even in the shadow of the valley of death. “Oh, he was great. A lot of fun, you know, joking around all the time. Clever, I guess, I’d say. Always quipping some silly thing that made everybody laugh.”
I thought of Mikey’s purple face after having hung by the neck in the heat for half of a very hot day and then I thought of his girlfriend in the oven. I didn’t particularly think great, fun, or clever hit the mark in the adjective market, and neither did silly.
“I see. Can you tell me what he was being treated for when you first met him?”
“I guess it’s all right since he’s now deceased. Or maybe I should ask the doctor?” He looked into the classroom, where Dr. Young looked very serious and shrink-aroo, then he leaned forward in his chair toward me, his young hazel eyes intense, his voice lowered. “He had some suicidal thoughts after one of his family members died. Actually, all of us were here because we had considered suicide in one way or another. So are all those kids in there.” He pointed at the one-way mirror.
“Oh. And you are a heck of a lot better now, I take it.” I smiled, ha, ha, you’re not going to off yourself with a rope or bullet or oven any time soon, are you?
“Yeah, I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking. I had a bad situation at home with my mom’s new husband, but she finally got rid of him when she realized he was screwing the neighbor and knocking me around. I wish all these kids’ problems could be so easily remedied.”
“Me, too. Did Mikey talk to you much about his personal life?”
“Yeah, sometimes, he did. That’s when we were roommates. Most of the time he was pretty closemouthed about some things, though. He always passed everything off as a joke. He hid his sadness under laughs.”
“I see.”
“Something else, he always preferred to see Dr. Collins one-on-one. The group sessions with Marty were compulsory, so he went to those, too. But he had a special kind of connection with Boyce. I don’t know why, but he liked him better than he did Marty, even though they’re cousins, and all.” He shrugged, as if nonplussed.
First time I’d heard about another doctor. “And Dr. Collins is?”
“He’s a new guy here, came a couple of years ago. I guess that doesn’t make him too new. And he’s good. He’s had a lot of success with the kids out here.” He smiled as if pleased by it.
Bud asked, “His first name’s Boyce?”
“Yes sir.”
“Is he here t
oday?”
“No, sir, he’s out peddling his new book. He writes about teens and group therapies, so he gives lectures around the country and does book signings.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s in Memphis, but he’ll be in Branson sometime in the next coupla days.”
“You think we could get a copy of that book?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a copy you can borrow. I’ll give it to you before you leave. Or you can find it in one of the bigger book chains. It’s pretty esoteric, though, I’ll warn you.”
Yeah, I do know what esoteric means. It meant Black might buy a copy, but nobody else in their right mind would wade through said dry tome.
“What’s esoteric?” said Bud.
Pete said, “I didn’t know, either. I had to ask. It sorta means it only appeals to certain people.”
Bud said, “Well, that’s not exactly a brain twister. Who reads psychology textbooks?”
I said, “You think you might get word to him to call me.” I pulled out my card and handed it to him. “We need to set up an appointment to meet with him ASAP.”
“Sure. He’s easy to work with.”
“Okay. Anything else you can tell us about Michael? Anything I haven’t asked but that you think is important?”
Considering for a moment, Pete took a swig of his Coke. “Well, he had bad headaches, and dreams, too. Really badass scary kinda dreams.”
This was getting more Freud-like by the minute. Black was gonna hang on every detail. “You mean nightmares?” That was a subject I had a close relationship with, oh yeah.
“Yes. I can remember him jumping out of bed at night, screaming, then he’d shut it off really quick like and apologize.” Shaking his head, he seemed upset by the memory.
“Did he ever tell you about these nightmares?”
“Not really. I think death was involved. He witnessed his mother’s death, I think, or some family member.”
“Oh, God,” said Bud.
Yeah. “How did she die?”
“I think it was some kind of fall. No, I think it was in a car wreck. I’m sorry, I just can’t remember.”
“So Mary Fern Murphy is not his real mother?”
“No. She and his dad got married a long time after his real mom died. Some of their kids are stepbrothers and sisters, I think. Dr. Collins can probably tell you more of this stuff when you get to him. They were pretty good friends. At least that’s the way it looked.”