Killer

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “She seems reasonable.”

  “Oh, man, I sure hope so—it’s so weird, someone I don’t know judging me.” Laughter. “Guess that’s why they call her a judge. You’d never catch me doing that. For a job.”

  Her eyes moistened. I handed her a tissue. “It’s really hard, Dr. Delaware. I never did anything to start this. It’s all her.”

  “Your sister.”

  “Bitch,” she growled. “And I’m not going to say pardon my French because that’s how I righteously feel, she’s a bitch, always has been, jealous of everyone and everything. Can’t get a man of her own because she’s too damn busy making money and bossing everyone around so now she wants what’s mine!”

  “You two never got along.”

  “Never—no, that’s not true, sometimes when we were kids we were okay with each other. I mean it’s not like we were kissy-kiss or tight. But we let each other be. Never hit each other. Never really fought.”

  “Constance is seven years older.”

  “How’d you—oh, yeah, the files. That’s right, seven, almost eight so it’s not like we were hanging out. There’s our brother in between, even though he was a boy I hung out more with him. Not like Connie, she never hung around with anyone.”

  “A loner.”

  “Exactly! You hit it on the nose, Dr. Delaware, she’s a loner, doesn’t get people, doesn’t even like people, she’s totally more into numbers. Math, science, that kind of thing, she always had her head in the books when Daddy would let her.”

  “Daddy didn’t like books?”

  “Daddy didn’t like anything when he drank. One beer, he’s smiling, two, he’s still smiling. Three, he gets quiet. By the time six, seven, eight rolls around he’s all red in the face and his shoulders bunch up and you’d better not be in his pathway or you’re gonna get rolled over on. Like one of those things they use to flatten the tar when they build roads.”

  “Steamroller.”

  “Steamroller, exactly. Not hitting or anything but still looking scary and yelling and breaking stuff. Daddy gets to rolling, you stay out of his way. So, yeah, if Connie was concentrating on a library book and he happened to roll into our room and she was at the desk and he fixed it upon himself to not like that, that book would turn into confetti. And what makes it crazier is he liked to read.”

  “Sounds frightening.”

  “It was,” she agreed. “It was real frightening but you learn to avoid it, you know?”

  “Where was your mother when all this was happening?”

  “Quiet drunk. She’d go under quicker than Daddy and just fall asleep.”

  “You and Connie had a challenging childhood.”

  “Me and Connie and Connor—he was in between us, Connor learned to be a real good runner because Daddy would yell at him the most. He ran in high school and college. Long distance, he won awards, could go for miles.”

  “Where does Connor live?”

  “Up north,” she said. “He’s got a nice family.”

  “When your parents weren’t drunk, what were they like?”

  “Working,” she said. “Mommy secretaried at a trucking company and Daddy drove one of their semis.”

  “So he was gone a lot.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Did he treat you and Connie differently?”

  “Hmm … I’d have to say yes. Her, there’d be books turned into confetti. Me—truthfully I wasn’t one for books, reading wasn’t my favorite thing, friends were—having a social life. So there was no confetti.”

  “Did he take out his anger differently with you?”

  “Not really. Truthfully, he didn’t do much to me because I’d have to say he liked me the best. Because he’d tell me that. When he was sober. ‘Ree, you’re the pretty one, you make sure you stay pretty so you can get married. Connie, she’s just gonna bury her nose in a book and make like she’s smarter than everyone, no man will want that.’ ”

  “So Connie had it the roughest.”

  “If she’d been friendlier, it could’ve been better for her.”

  “Friendlier to your father?”

  “To him, to everyone—Dr. Delaware, I have to tell you: That girl was weaned on a sour pickle—that’s what Mommy always said. Never smiled, always off to herself, pretending to ignore you when you said something. It’s like she thought she was better than everyone else.”

  “Nose in a book.”

  “In the library more than she was at home. That meant I had to do extra chores. If Daddy and Mommy were sober, they’d probably gone after her to make her do her chores.”

  “They were drunk so Connie got to do what she wanted.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did you, Ree?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Get to do what you wanted?”

  “After I left home I sure did.”

  “When was that?”

  Black eyes shifted to the floor. “A long time ago.”

  “How long ago?”

  “I was young, I admit it.”

  I waited.

  She said, “Fifteen.”

  “You ran away.”

  “Nope, I just walked out the door and no one tried to stop me.” Sudden smile, Death Valley–dry. “They never even reported me missing.”

  “How’d that make you feel?”

  “Did it insult me?” she said. “Maybe if I cared it would’ve. I knew if they found me it would just be more of the same.”

  “Avoiding your father when he was drunk.”

  “That, too,” she said. “But I’m talking about how boring it was. Nothing ever happened. I got to wondering if that was what life was gonna be like if I stayed there.”

  “Out on your own, you had adventures.”

  She studied me. “I had experiences. You gonna hold that against me?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Alternative lifestyle, Doctor. That’s what her bitch lawyer called it. Like I’m some kind of freak. I just lived my life the way I wanted and didn’t hurt no one. So don’t judge me for any of that, okay? Please. And how about we talk about right now and not get into the past? ’Cause the past doesn’t exist anymore, right?”

  “I do need to ask about a few things that happened in the past.”

  “Like what?”

  “Have you and your sister ever had any financial connections?”

  “What kind of connections?”

  “Has she made substantial loans to you?”

  “Because she’s rich and I’m not?”

  “Because obligations can create issues.”

  “Well, they’re not issues for me. I’m happy with my life, if I wanted to be rich I’d go be rich. I figured it was better to bring joy and love into my life. She thought different and look where she is now.”

  “Alone.”

  “Alone and all dried up and mean as a wolverine. Not that it bothers her, Doc. She really doesn’t like people. That’s why she became a microscope doctor. So she can sit in her lab and not talk to patients. It was always like that with her. Study study study, no friends, no parties, no fun. You daren’t go into her room when the big genius had her nose in the books.”

  “So no financial entanglements between you.”

  She fidgeted. “I loaned from her a few times. Small stuff. But I always paid it back. Now look how she’s paying me back!”

  “What do you think motivated her to bring the suit?”

  “Hatred,” she said. “Pure and evil hatred. I was always the pretty one, I had friends. There was always that hatred.”

  “Why do you think she chose now to take you to court?”

  “Ask her.”

  “The suit was filed two months after you retrieved Rambla from her care. It takes time to hire a lawyer and start building a case, so it sounds like she started the process soon after.”

  “So?”

  “Maybe she started to think of herself as Rambla’s mom.”

  “Fuck her and fuck what she thought.”r />
  I said nothing.

  Cherie Sykes yanked her braid hard. “Sorry. It just makes me so … she’s hurting me, she’s really chewing me up inside. It’s like she’s trying to kill me.” Another pat of her breast. “Whatever—yeah, she probably was plotting all along but not because she cared about Rambla, Doc. All she thinks about is herself, she wanted to carve out my heart and watch me bleed but I went and took my heart back and she couldn’t stand it and she figured she could tell me what to do and I’d just do whatever because when we were kids it was sometimes like that.”

  “Connie called the shots.”

  “She sure as hell tried. And when I was little, I bought into it. Then I got smart.” She pushed her head forward. “To tell the truth, one of the reasons I left was to get away from her.”

  “From being dominated.”

  “Yeah, and now she figures she can use her money to … terrorize me. Her and that rich-bitch Beverly Hills lawyer.” She snapped her fingers. “Little Ree didn’t play the sucker, little Ree went and got her own legal representation so forget that—do you have something to drink? All this talking’s taken the spit out of my mouth.”

  I fetched her water.

  “Thanks, Doc. Anything else you need from me?”

  “Let’s talk about the three months Connie took care of Rambla.”

  Her jaw jutted. “She keeps saying three months. It was eighty-eight days.”

  “Fair enough, Ree. Tell me how it came to be.”

  “I was afraid you’d get to that. Why’s it important?”

  “Connie’s citing it as evidence you wanted her to have guardianship.”

  She put the cup down hard enough to resonate. “That’s fucking bullshit!”

  “How’d the arrangement come about?”

  “There was no arrangement,” she said. “No arrangement at all. I was playing with Rambla and out of the clear blue Connie came over. She was nice—a different Connie. She brought me stuff for Rambla. Baby clothes, diapers—like I didn’t have the brains to buy diapers. The ones she brought were the wrong brand and wrong size, but no matter, I said thank you because that’s the kind of person I am, I always see the best in everyone. And truthfully, Doctor, I was happy with my life, no reason to be unfriendly.”

  “Connie was being nice.”

  “Like for once she cared about someone else, not just herself. She even said I was doing a good job—which is something that bitch lawyer of hers denies. So when she asked to hold the baby, I said sure. Even though she didn’t know how to do it right and Rambla started fussing and I had to teach her to unstiffen her arms so Rambla would be mellow.”

  Black eyes turned to chunks of obsidian. “Big mistake. Teaching her anything. She was already scheming.”

  “To take the baby.”

  “What else? She never came over, now she was coming over?”

  “How often did she visit?”

  “I dunno, like … once a week? Whatever. It’s not like she was babysitting or really helping. That whole time I never went out even one night, I was taking my obligation seriously. And yeah, Connie tried giving me money.”

  I said, “Tried? You didn’t accept.”

  “I accepted, why wouldn’t I accept? Not loans, gifts. She volunteered, I never asked. No way, not after I already loaned from her and paid it back, I didn’t want any … what you called it, entanglements. But if she was insisting to give me something and she’s got more than she needs and it can help Rambla, why not?”

  “So for a while, you and Connie developed a better relationship.”

  “It was phony, Doctor. Totally phony. I’m a truster, that’s part of my problem, I have faith in people more than I should. So when the chance came to travel with L.M.—that’s a band, some friends I know, Connie was like, ‘Sure, go, have fun.’ ”

  “L.M.”

  “Stands for Lonesome Moan. They do Lynyrd Skynyrd covers, Sir Douglas, Stevie Ray, original material. I known ’em for a long time, sometimes I do some singing for ’em, help out with percussion, that kind of thing. Local clubs, no farther than Reno. But this time they got offered a tour farther. Two weeks, Arizona and New Mexico, doing lounge shows at Indian casinos. They asked me to come along, do some roadying, do some singing. I was like, Don’t think so guys, I’m a mom, now. But Connie was like, ‘Go, Ree, it’s an opportunity, take a break, no problem, I’ll take care of her.’ I taught her to be okay with Rambla and by then Rambla didn’t mind being with her but even so I’m ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’ ”

  She crossed her legs, lifted the cup of water, drank it empty. “Connie kept working me, Doc. She’s like, ‘Don’t worry.’ And then she … I’ll be totally honest, okay? She gave me some money. For the road. I figured she was being nice, knew how hard I was working with Rambla, wanted me to catch a break. Now I see what she was up to. Bribing me. Moving me out of the way so she could take over.”

  “For two weeks.”

  More of that splotchy pallor. “It stretched a bit. The shows were good, L.M. kept getting more bookings, the bus kept going. But I called in regularly. Connie almost always didn’t answer. The few times she did she always said Rambla was sleeping. So I figured she was fine. So yeah, I did another week. Then another …”

  Two weeks stretching to eighty-eight days. I tried to keep my face neutral but maybe I failed because she sighed and threw up her hands and tears flowed down her cheeks. “I screwed up bad, didn’t I, Doc? Just kept going on that bus and let myself be a little happy.”

  I said, “What brought you home?”

  She dabbed with the tissue. “I should make myself look good by telling you it was Rambla brought me back, just her, nothing else. Myron told me I should say that, he threw words at me that I should memorize.”

  “What kind of words.”

  “Separation anxiety, maternal urges. And, sure, that was part of it, I missed her like crazy. That’s why I kept calling in but with Connie telling me don’t worry, keep having fun, it’ll be a missed opportunity, you may never get another, she’s fine, she loves you as much as ever, she’s perfectly fine, I figured …”

  “There was another reason you returned.”

  Three slow nods.

  I waited.

  She said, “I’m telling you the God’s truth so you’ll see I’m an honest person. So you’ll trust everything else I say.”

  “Okay.”

  “The reason, Dr. Delaware, is no more gigs for L.M.”

  “The tour ended.”

  “And we all came home.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  I asked Ree Sykes a few more questions about Rambla’s speech, sleep patterns, appetite, fine and gross motor skills. Everything within normal limits.

  “She’s a wonderful baby.”

  “Look forward to meeting her.”

  “You need to meet her?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Making recommendations without seeing her isn’t a good idea.”

  “She doesn’t like being by herself.”

  “You’ll be with her, Ree.”

  She flashed a strange smile: abrupt, knowing. Hostile. “That’s really the reason, getting to know her?”

  “It is.”

  “Okay.”

  “You think it might be something else?”

  “No, no, you’re the doctor.”

  She slid a hand under one buttock. Sat on her fingers as if afraid what they might do if liberated.

  I said nothing.

  “Fine, I’ll bring her in whenever you say.”

  “Actually, I’ll come to your home.”

  She looked away.

  “Is that a problem, Ree?”

  “No—okay, okay, I’ll be honest. I was thinking maybe you want to see me with Rambla so you can judge if I’m a good mother.”

  “I’m beginning this assuming you’re a good mother, Ree.”

  “Why would you assume?”

  “Because so far I haven’t h
eard anything to the contrary.”

  “Well you just wait. When she comes in you’ll hear all sorts of contrary.”

  “I’m sure I will, Ree.”

  “You believe me? About her being crazy and a liar?”

  “Let’s deal with one thing at a time, Ree.” I made the appointment.

  She said, “Do I need to buy extra toys?”

  “Whatever you have is fine.”

  She flinched. “Well, I guess I’ll have to depend on you being smart. No offense. I mean I know you’re smart, you’re a doctor. You have to be smart to be working for the judge. I just need to have faith.”

  Out came her hand. She studied it briefly, formed a fist that she rested on her knee. Her neck muscles were as tight as bridge cables. The down-slanted eyes had narrowed. “I guess it can only help. Seeing me with Rambla. How much she loves me—will she have to come in here with Connie?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Probably?”

  “Most likely not.”

  “I don’t want her alone with Connie. The last time that happened, Connie tried to take her from me.”

  “The day you came to get Rambla from Connie’s office.”

  Three hard nods. “Connie got crazy, came at me like she was going to hit me, like … clawing. Like she was gonna get Rambla no matter what. Luckily Winky was there—he’s a friend—and I handed Rambla to him and held up my fists.”

  She demonstrated, face flushed, breathing rapid. “I said you just try it, this isn’t like when we were kids, I’ll beat your ass. That freaked her out, she didn’t know what to say, meanwhile Winky’s putting Rambla in the car—in the car seat—and starting up the engine and I make a move on Connie and she steps back and that’s when I jump in, myself, and off we go.”

  “What an ordeal.”

  “Just to get my own baby, yeah, but I figured that was it. Finito. Couple months later, some guy pretending to be a meter reader comes to the door and serves me with papers—does that tell you what I’m dealing with? My lying rich-bitch lying sister and her lying rich-bitch Beverly Hills looow-yer. I know you’re gonna help me, Doctor—so when’s Connie coming in to see you?”

  “Soon enough.”

  “You won’t tell me?”