Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 13

by The Forgotten

  “Except for the occasional holiday party, I only knew them professionally. I’ve worked here for eighteen months, and not a cross word has been exchanged. They’ve been wonderful to me and wonderful to their patients. Dedicated psychologists and fabulous mentors.” Again, the tears overflowed. “My God, this is so…so upsetting!”

  Sobbing once again. Marge got up and placed a soft hand on her back. “I know that you feel as if you’re violating them…by talking about their cases.” A meaningful sigh. “Let’s do this. Tell me what you can about them and their patients. What you would feel comfortable with.”

  “That’s a very tall order.” She blew her nose into a tissue. “Very tall. As psychologists, our bread and butter is confidentiality. If our patients can’t trust us, they find someone else. And with both of the Baldwins out of commission, it’s going to fall on me. The patients, I mean. I have to ensure that they know I’m trustworthy.”

  “Then how about if you just start with the basics,” Marge suggested. “You know…how long you’ve known them…what kind of therapy they did…did they see adults or teens or kids…things like that.”

  Maryam looked up and dried her eyes. “His specialty was oppositional teens.” She noticed they were waiting for more. “Kids with behavioral problems.”

  Marge nodded. “Any of them seem particularly prone to violence?”

  “I’m sure some were, but I didn’t see them personally. Mostly, I handled Dee’s overload. She focuses on anxiety disorders that lead to antisocial behavior. You know, things like acting up in high school—”

  “That’s a problem?” Oliver said. “For me, acting up in high school was a pastime.”

  “Serious acting up.” Maryam gave him a cold look. “Teens with suicidal thoughts, alienation, and lots of anxiety in test taking. I’m talking about entrance exams in the main—mostly college, but some high school and elementary school as well. It was Merv who handled the obstructionistic boys, and handled them through his group therapy and nature camp. The off-site retreats were the main focus of Merv’s therapy, although Dee does participate by giving seminars—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Marge interrupted. “Can you back it up a moment? What do you mean by entrance exams for high school?”

  “For the private preparatory schools,” Oliver said. “They give entrance exams. You gotta apply to those kinds of schools. You knew that, right?”

  Marge was silent.

  Oliver refrained from sighing. It wasn’t Dunn’s fault. With altruism as her banner, Marge had adopted a teenager a year ago, and there was a brickyard of knowledge that she just didn’t know.

  “So I have to worry about Vega?” Marge asked. “I mean she’s brilliant. Isn’t a brilliant mind enough?”

  “They’re all brilliant!” Maryam commented. “It’s how to bring your brilliant teenager to the attention of the admissions committee. Did you know that there are applicants with straight A’s, and 4.3 averages, and 1600 on the SAT who don’t make it into Harvard?”

  “No, I didn’t know.” Marge looked pale. “How do you get past a 4.0 average?”

  “Honors classes. They’re worth five points instead of the usual four. And then it always helps if the student has had college courses.”

  Marge pondered this. “So the kid has to be in college before the kid can get into college?”

  “There are honors programs at the local universities,” the psychologist informed Marge.

  “So what’s the point in sending them to college, if they’ve already had college?” Marge grabbed her temples. “Talk about anxious kids. What about anxiety for the adults?”

  “We deal with lots of anxious parents,” Maryam stated. “A lot of the time, they’re the problems. They want perfection from the kids, while they were anything but perfect in their own youth. Things are much more rushed these days. You have to get a jump start if you want the results. It’s the digital generation, Detective. Gen-D. The computer waits for no man.”

  “In the old days, we called this kind of behavior being a pushy parent.” Oliver smiled. “It was considered a big no-no among the shrinks.”

  “Pushy is one thing. Motivation is quite another,” she preached. “Most of the Baldwin clientele are highly motivated. They want to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing?”

  “What will help out the odds.”

  “Like what?”

  Maryam gave them a half-smile, and it was condescending. “That’s what the therapy is all about. Even if I told you trade secrets, you couldn’t do anything with them anyway. You have to be in the hands of the right therapist. Anyway, I do believe we have digressed. In answer to your original question, I don’t know of any disappointed child who would have come back to wreak havoc because he or she hasn’t gotten into their first-choice university.”

  “You never know,” Oliver said. “Look at that mother in Texas—the one who tried to murder her daughter’s classmate because she was competition for the cheerleading squad. People have been murdered for very trivial reasons.”

  Her face turned ashen. “You don’t have to be so brutal.”

  “Dr. Baldwin’s murder was brutal.”

  “It has nothing to do with his patients—” Maryam’s pager went off. “Oh boy! Another one on the emergency line. They’ve been calling almost nonstop since the dreadful news came over the media. They must be in a state of shock. I must take the call.”

  “That’s fine,” Oliver said.

  “But I can’t talk while you’re here.”

  “I thought you said there are other offices.”

  Maryam frowned. “It may take a while.”

  “We can wait.” Oliver tried to look earnest.

  Slowly, she got up. “I’ll be back. And I trust you won’t touch anything?”

  “Of course not,” Marge said.

  “That would bode very badly for you…if I found you rifling through things.”

  “It’s a felony,” Oliver stated. “You know what they say about cops who go to jail.”

  She still was dubious. A final look over her shoulder, then she left without closing the door. Oliver waited for a few moments, until one of the phone lines had been illuminated. Then he jumped up and shut the door softly. “Keep your eyes glued to the line.” He headed for the file cabinets that lined the back of the room. “Tell me when the light goes off.”

  “Oliver, what are you doing?”

  He yanked on a drawer. “Locked. Well, I’ve done harder things.” He took out a lock pick.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Instead of scolding me, why don’t you help me out?” Oliver inserted the pick into the cabinet’s weak standard lock. Moments later, it popped. “I’m not bothering with all the files, just one file—Ernesto Golding. C’mon, Margie! We’re under the gun here!”

  “You do your B-and-Es by yourself. Besides, I gotta watch the phone for you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He dismissed her. Frantically, he rifled through the files. “God, this man generated paperwork. Gold, Gold, Golden, Goldenberg, Goldenstein, Goldin, Golding. Yes, Ernesto Golding! Voilà! Jeez, it’s not all that big for someone so screwed up.”

  “You’re crossing the line.”

  “Actually, I’ve crossed it. The kid is dead, Dunn. What difference does it make?”

  “Don’t expect me to lie for you.” Absently, Marge yanked on the top desk drawer. To her surprise it opened. The line on the phone machine still glowed red. “However, maybe I’ll take a quick look at his schedule planner since it’s not in a locked drawer—”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  “Shut up before my sense gets hold of me.” Marge scanned the book. “Isn’t it going to look suspicious, Scott? That Golding’s file is missing?”

  “You’re right!” Oliver stuffed a few papers back into the file folder. “I’ll come back for the rest.”

  “There are lots of two-hour bookings.” Marge read the pages. “Isn’t the stand
ard therapy time one hour?”

  “So the guy had a racket going.”

  “I don’t know about that…but there are lots of funny notations after lots of the names.”

  “Funny notations? What do you mean?”

  “Letters: S, S, S, PS, PS, S, I, S, S, E, I, E, S2, E, G, L, S, S, S2, L, M…What do you think it all means?”

  “How should I know?”

  “There are more S’s than anything else.”

  “So maybe S stands for ‘psycho.’”

  “‘Psycho’ is spelled with a P.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. So maybe ‘psycho’ is PS,” Oliver stated.

  “Somehow, I don’t think so.” Marge’s eyes searched the room. “I wish there was a copier somewhere.”

  Oliver said, “It’s a binder notebook, Marge. Just take out a few pages and put it through the fax machine.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She took out a page and ran it through the fax machine. “What happens when the machine prints a report?”

  “That’s only a phone report. Keep going.”

  She ran another sheet through the machine. It was coming out when the red phone light went off. “Uh-oh. The doctor hung up the phone.” She quickly placed the original pages back in the binder.

  “Shit.” He slammed the file cabinet shut, sat down, and plastered casual across his face. “I wonder if we could stall her for a few more minutes.”

  “Just shut up and act like you were cooling your heels.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maryam announced as she came back into the office. “I was on so long because of call waiting—one phone call after the other. Everyone is panicked about Dr. Baldwin’s death. Such a terrible, senseless tragedy!” Her eyes became moist. “And the worst part is Dee. We still don’t know about her.”

  “No, we don’t,” Marge said.

  “Truly frightening.” Maryam shuddered. “It gives me goose bumps to be here…alone. But someone has to hold down the fort.”

  “Are you the only psychologist associate?”

  “There are four assistants in addition to me. But I’m the only one that’s licensed in clinical psychology. I’m the only one qualified enough to take over if something happened to Dee…I don’t even want to think about that. But I guess I have to. Their patients are going to need support and help. I have to be there for them!”

  An instant practice of rich people! Not a bad rise in income. Then Marge wondered why she was thinking so cynically.

  “I have work to do,” Maryam said. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave.”

  “Thank you anyway,” Oliver stated. “Can we come back if we have a few more questions?”

  “Maybe when things aren’t so hectic.” She started to choke up. “When things aren’t so emotional.”

  “Thank you,” Marge said. “I know you tried.”

  “I just wish I had something to tell you.”

  Oliver smiled patiently. “We all do the best we can.”

  She escorted them out the door, even walked them to the elevator. When they were safely underground, Marge said, “So what do you think?”

  “Nice ass and she’s probably clean. What do you think?”

  “Narcissistic as hell, but I didn’t detect any duplicity.” She unlocked the car door and went inside. Once Oliver had settled himself in the passenger’s seat, she started the motor. “You ever want to hang up the shield, you could have a dazzling career as a felon.”

  “Cops and felons.” Oliver grinned. “The line is very thin, Detective Dunn.”

  19

  They literally had lined Decker’s office because there wasn’t enough initial seating, prompting Oliver to bring in four brown folding chairs. Though the act of altruism got them off their feet, it did little to improve the mood. It was almost three in the afternoon, and the air conditioner wasn’t doing much in the way of circulation. Every once in a while, Decker felt a waft of tepid air across his sweaty neck, but that was as good as it got. At least his chair was his own and had a nice padded seat. Both Webster and Oliver had taken off their jackets, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dunn and Bontemps had on short-sleeved blouses. Decker’s coat hung over the back of his chair, but he still wore a tie and had his cuffs buttoned at the wrists. It set a neat example for his detectives, and besides, he never knew when the captain might appear. Not that Strapp would say anything, but Decker knew how things worked. One of the reasons he was where he was.

  Webster said, “Where’s Bert? Still checking out beach property? Must be twenty degrees cooler out there. Why don’t I get those assignments?”

  Ordinarily, Decker would have let it go. But today he wasn’t feeling charitable. “Are you done bitchin’ or is there more?”

  “I don’t know, Loo,” Webster drawled. “It’s awfully hot and it’s only the end of June. I’d say you have a summer of bitchin’ ahead of you.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Let’s move on.”

  Wanda was geared up. Her cheeks had taken on a deeper hue, and her brown eyes glinted with excitement. “Okay, remember we told you about two minor kids that wouldn’t talk or have their backpacks gone through?”

  “Brandon Chesapeake and Riley Barns,” Decker said. “What do you have?”

  “First a little background.” Webster dabbed sweat off his forehead. “It seems that Brandon’s big problem was repeatedly violating his parents’ curfew, sneaking out at all hours of the night.”

  “Typical kid stuff,” Oliver said.

  “Not my kid,” Marge said.

  “Your kid’s from Mars,” Oliver answered.

  Marge sneered at him, but deep down she agreed.

  “You’re just jealous ’cause Vega’s so darn smart!” Wanda snapped.

  “Who let this woman in here?” Oliver grumped. “Last I heard this was a murder investigation, not a truancy case.”

  “Can we all cut the snide remarks?” Everyone was hot and tired, and nerves were frayed. Decker turned to Wanda. “That’s your cue to keep going.”

  Wanda had hit a sore spot in Oliver. Being as he was a D2 in Homicide, and she was a D1 in Juvenile, she needed to make amends, and fast. “Oliver’s right. That kind of thing is typical teenager garbage, no big deal except that Brandon was caught for city curfew violation in Westwood. The kid was issued a citation and his parents found out and hit the ceiling. They forced him into therapy with the Baldwins. Mervin suggested the camp, and that’s how Brandon came to be where he was.”

  Webster said, “The second kid, Riley Barns, was also caught for truancy along with Brandon. Except his parents didn’t care much about how late Riley stayed out because they were never home themselves. The deal was this: Riley and Brandon are best friends. Where one went, the other went. So that’s how they both ended up with the Baldwin camp. Now you’re up to date.”

  “We’re not talking hard cases,” Oliver said.

  “Exactly,” Webster answered. “So Wanda and I are thinking, why would those two do the tough bit at a time when their psychiatrist and fellow camper were reduced to hamburger? So we both do the old bore-into-the-eye trick, and see more fear than anything else. Y’all combine it with the fact that their sleeping bags were closest to Merv Baldwin’s tent. I think we got a clear deduction.”

  “They saw something.” Decker wasn’t surprised. Someone should have witnessed something. “What?”

  Wanda said, “We managed to pull out of Riley Barns the fact that he was awakened by a popping sound. He didn’t get up, he didn’t even move—just opened his eyes from his sleeping bag, not too sure about what he heard. Then he thought he saw a tiny beam of light, like a penlight. He said he might have seen a couple of shadows come out of the tent area and disappear into the brush.”

  “A couple of shadows?” Decker said. “As in two people?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s it,” Wanda concluded. “No details beyond that.”

  Webster stated, “He was hal
f-asleep. And since everything was quiet after that, he went back to sleep.”

  “Any idea what time it was?” Decker asked.

  “No…nothing.”

  Marge said, “You think the boy was scared into losing his memory?”

  Wanda said, “Nights are pitch black out there. Plus, the kid was awakened from a deep sleep. I don’t think he’s holding back.”

  “So why didn’t he say anything when he was first questioned?” Marge asked.

  “I think he was freaked when he found out what had happened,” Webster said. “He told Brandon Chesapeake about his experience right after Tarpin made the announcement.”

  “What announcement?” Decker asked.

  “He told the boys what had happened,” Webster said. “Not the details, just that there had been a crime in Dr. Baldwin’s tent and everyone should stay where they were and not do anything until the police got up to the mountain. It was at that point that the boys decided the best plan of action was to keep their mouths shut. I can certainly understand their reticence.”

  “It’s generic shit,” Oliver said. “We know that someone came in the tent and out of the tent. I say either the kid’s lying to get attention and he didn’t see or hear a damn thing. Or he saw more than he’s letting on. He should be interviewed again.”

  “Agreed,” Webster said. “The problem is he’s a minor and his parents are scared and aren’t going to let us talk to him anymore. But maybe if the loo came down…”

  “No problem.” Decker looked at the framed picture of his family on his desk. “I’ve got to figure out how to approach the parents. How many shadows did Riley see?”

  “He said a couple,” Wanda said.

  “And he has no time recollection.”

  “He claims no,” Webster said. “Just opened his eyes and saw these shadows coming out from the tent area and crawling back out into the woods. His first thought was that they were doing some kind of nighttime survival maneuvers.”

  “Have they done that before?” Marge asked. “Nighttime maneuvers?”

  Webster shrugged. “Beats me. I’ll ask Tarpin.”