“Such as?”
“Integrating his atonements into his consciousness. Perhaps by making proactive gestures.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I know,” she said. “This must sound like gobbledygook to you. And I’m not sure I understand it myself. I guess I can’t help but think there was something Rand wanted to say that he hadn’t said before. Whatever it was, I’m kicking myself for not prying it out of him.”
“Sounds like you did more for him than anyone else did.”
“That’s kind, Doctor, but the truth is, with all the other fosters, there are so many demands on my attention. I should have reacted more . . . affirmatively.”
“Are you saying Rand’s guilt had something to do with his murder?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty foolish right now. For bothering you.”
“No bother,” I said. “What had Rand told you before?”
“At first, he claimed he didn’t remember a thing. Maybe that was even true— you know, repression. Even if it wasn’t, the psychodynamic would be the same, right, Doctor? The enormity of his transgression was just too much for his soul to bear, so he closed up and marshaled his defenses. Am I making sense?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I mean, it was all that boy could do just to get through each day. They claim it’s a juvenile facility but it’s not that at all.”
“There were old scars on Rand’s body,” I said.
“Oh, I know.” Her voice broke. “I heard about each assault but was never allowed to visit him when he was in the infirmary. When we got home he changed into fresh clothes and I took the old ones to wash. When he slipped off his T-shirt, I had a quick look at his back. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but it was hideous.”
“Tell me about the assaults.”
“The worst was when he was jumped by some gang members and stabbed several times for no reason at all. Rand wasn’t a fighter, just the opposite. But did that stop them?”
“How seriously was he hurt?”
“He ended up in the infirmary for over a month. Another time he was surprised from behind and hit on the head while taking a shower. I’m sure there were other incidents he didn’t talk about. He was a big strong boy, so he recovered. Physically. After the stabbing, I complained to the warden but I might as well have spit into the wind. The guards beat the inmates, too. Do you know what they call themselves? Counselors. They’re hardly that.”
“Those types of experiences could make someone jumpy,” I said.
“Of course they could,” she said. “But Rand had adjusted, it wasn’t until his release approached that the symptoms began. He was an amazing person, Doctor. I don’t know if I could’ve coped with eight years of that place and not gone crazy. If only I could’ve guided him better . . . One thing about working with people, you constantly get reminded that only God is perfect.”
“Did you visit Troy as well?”
“Twice. There wasn’t much time, was there?”
“Did Troy ever express any guilt?”
Silence. “Troy never got the chance to grow spiritually, Doctor. That child didn’t have a chance in the world. Anyway, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Whether it’s relevant, I don’t know.”
“I’ll pass it along to Detective Sturgis.”
“Thanks . . . one more thing, Dr. Delaware.”
“What’s that?”
“Your report on the boys. I never got a chance to tell you at the time, but I thought you did a very fine job.”
* * *
Rick Silverman answered at Milo’s house. “I’m out the door, Alex. Big Guy flew to Sacramento a couple of hours ago.”
“Where’s he’s staying?”
“Somewhere in Stockton, near some youth prison. Got to run, car crash, multiple traumas. I’m off-call but the hospital needs extra docs.”
“Go.”
“Nice talking to you,” he said. “If you speak to him before I do, tell him I’ll handle Maui.”
“Vacation plans?”
“Allegedly.”
CHAPTER 20
Fun.
A woman’s body curled next to yours, inhaling her skin, her hair.
Cupping your hand over the swell of hip, tracing the xylophone of ribs, the knob of shoulder.
* * *
I propped myself up and watched Allison sleep. Absorbed the rhythm of her breathing and followed the slow fade of the flush that had spread across her chest.
I got out of bed, slipped on shorts and a T-shirt, and made my escape.
* * *
By the time she wandered into the kitchen wearing my ratty yellow robe, I’d made coffee and checked my service for messages and thought a lot about Cherish Daney’s call.
Rand wanting to talk about Kristal. Same thing he’d told me.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He had mumbled and I’d raised the topic and he’d agreed.
Opening him up.
Allison mumbled something that might’ve been “Hi.” Her gait was unsteady and her black hair was loose and unruly in that nice way really thick hair can pull off. She blinked a few times, struggled to keep her eyes open, made it over to the sink, ran the tap and wet her face. Cinching the robe’s belt tight, she patted herself dry with a paper towel, shook her head like a puppy.
Gaping yawn. Her hand reached her mouth belatedly. “ ‘Scuse me.”
When I took her in my arms she fell against me so heavily I wondered if she’d dropped back to sleep. In heels, she’s no giant. Barefoot, she barely reaches my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head. She patted my back, a curiously platonic gesture.
I steered her to a chair, filled a mug with coffee, put some ginger cookies on a plate. She’d bought them weeks ago. They’d never been opened. I keep telling myself to learn some serious cooking skills, but when I’m alone it’s whatever’s easy to fix.
She stared at the cookies as if they were some exotic curiosity. I placed one at her lips and she nibbled, chewed with effort, swallowed with a gulp.
I got some coffee in her and she smiled up at me woozily. “What time is it?”
“Two p.m.”
“Oh . . . where’d you go?”
“Just here.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“I had a catnap.”
“I passed out like a wino,” she said. “I don’t even know what time zone I’m in . . .”
Her eyes swung to the mug. “More? Thanks. Please.”
* * *
Half an hour later, she was showered, made-up, hair combed flat down her back, wearing a white linen shirt, black slacks, demi-boots with heels too thin to support a chihuahua.
She hadn’t eaten since tea with Grandma the previous afternoon and wondered aloud about protein. The choice was mutual and easy: a steak house in Santa Monica that we frequented when we needed quiet. Dry-aged beef, good bar. Also, the place we’d first met.
The air outside was a brutal seventy-five and we took her black Jaguar XJS because it’s a convertible. I drove and she kept her eyes closed during the trip, rested a hand on my thigh.
Glorious day. I wondered about the weather in Stockton.
I’d been there once, years ago, on a court-ordered evaluation. It’s a nice aggie town east of Sacramento, in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley, with a river port. That far inland, all those flat fields, it had to be hotter.
By now, Milo would be sweating, probably cursing.
Thinking about Maui?
The case that had drawn me to Stockton was for Family Court. A recently divorced Croatian taxi driver had absconded with his three children only to be picked up three months later outside Delano, trying to rob a convenience store while using the kids as lookouts. Sentenced to ten years, he settled himself in jail and demanded joint custody and regular prison visits. The fact that the mother was a meth addict who started riding with outlaw bikers gave his claim enough substance to nudge the legal machinery.
I’d done my best to protect the kids. A stupid judge had wreaked havoc with that. . . .
Allison’s hand left my knee and pressed against my cheek. “What’re you thinking about?”
Robin had always hated hearing about the ugly stuff. Allison loves it. She carries a little gun in her purse, but my impulse is always to shield her.
“Alex?”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t a trick question, dear.”
We were a block from the restaurant. I started talking.
* * *
Brief interruption as we ordered a T-bone for two and a bottle of French red.
She said, “It sounds as if Mr. and Mrs. Daney don’t communicate that great.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Mister keeps a secret from Missus and tells you about Rand’s fear of being stalked, the dark truck. All of which seems well founded, Rand was murdered. But Missus minimizes that and points you in another direction.”
“She really didn’t point me anywhere,” I said. “Mostly recited a bunch of psychobabble.”
“Her guilt about not ‘opening him up.’ She actually used those words?”
I nodded.
“Is she some kind of therapist?”
“She’s got some sort of certificate in spiritual counseling.”
“In the future everyone will be doing therapy, so there’ll be no time for anyone to get therapy. Maybe I should retrain in veterinary medicine.”
“You’d consider that after meeting Spike?”
“You love Spike like a brother. Admit it.”
“Do the names Cain and Abel ring a bell?”
She laughed, poured more wine, grew thoughtful. “It sounds as if Rand was this woman’s project and she figured she could heal him. Now that he’s dead, she’s tormenting herself that he was harboring a deep, dark secret that should’ve been brought to light. Which may be true, he implied the same thing to you. The big question is, Was his secret relevant to his murder? Doesn’t sound as if Ms. Daney has anything of substance to say about that. She’s basically preoccupied with her own guilt.”
“So why’d she try to reach Milo?”
“To feel she’s done her civic duty.” She played with my fingers. “On the other hand, Rand called you for a reason, and a few hours later he was dead.”
The food came.
Allison said, “You have no idea what Rand wanted to talk about?”
“He ended by saying he was a good person. I figured he was after some kind of absolution.”
“Makes sense, we’re not that dissimilar from priests.”
“What puzzles me,” I said, “is why he’d reached out to me. My role in the case was pretty minimal.”
“Maybe not to him, Alex. Or maybe he simply wanted to square things with everyone related to the case. Which would certainly include Kristal’s father. Who happens to drive a black truck.”
“Full circle to Barnett,” I said.
“What do you know about this guy?”
“Lara’s mother is certain he and Lara were dopers, suspects Barnett might’ve sold dope. She also says Barnett isolated Lara, which got me thinking about abuse. He lives out in the boonies, stockpiles guns.”
“Sounds like a charmer.”
“Lara’s mom also wondered out loud if Lara could’ve been high when she lost Kristal.”
“Lost her,” she said. “That sounds like misplacing your keys.”
* * *
We finished dessert and coffee, took a long time metabolizing. Allison fought for the check, finally won. A flush sparked her cheeks.
“It’s good to have you back,” I said. “Even if you won’t let me pay.”
“Good to be back . . . something bothers me, Alex. I can see Lara getting high being an issue for her husband. But why would Rand care— or even know about that?”
I had no answer for that.
She played with my sleeve. “Am I being a bore? Sorry, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“Anything but. Go on.”
“This was supposedly a random crime, right? The boys never knew Kristal before they abducted her.”
“They said they just happened to spot her wandering around by herself. Why?”
“It seems odd,” she said. “A little girl in a mall, all those shoppers. You’d think she wouldn’t get very far before someone intervened.”
“Post-Christmas sales,” I said. “Everyone was out for a bargain. Maybe no one noticed because there wasn’t an obvious struggle. To a casual observer it could’ve looked like a couple of teenagers babysitting a younger sib.”
“I suppose,” she said.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Kristal was two, right?”
“A month shy.”
“That’s a peak period for separation anxiety. Why wouldn’t there be a struggle?”
“Some kids are more trusting than others,” I said.
“And some neglected and abused kids show no stranger anxiety at all. Was there any indication of child abuse?”
“The autopsy didn’t reveal any old breaks or scars and the body was well-nourished. I suppose that if Nina’s claims about drugs and isolation are true, there could have been some level of neglect.”
“How close did the Malleys live to the mall?”
“About half a mile.”
“So Lara probably shopped there often.”
“She did.”
“How far were they from the housing project?”
“Around the same distance. You’re thinking the boys knew Kristal even though they claimed they didn’t?”
“They hung out at the arcade, would’ve had opportunity to see her. Perhaps they’d noticed Lara’s attention span lapsing before, had even talked to Kristal when she took her eyes off her. That would’ve made it easier for them to take her.”
“Premeditation,” I said. “The boys plotted the whole thing beforehand and they lied about that because it would’ve made them look worse? You think that was what plagued Rand?”
“Or just the opposite, Alex. Rand told you he was a good person. He was trying to minimize his guilt, and what better way to do that than to pin the bulk of the blame on others? Troy, for one. But also Lara, because Rand had seen her let Kristal wander off before. It’s certainly nothing Lara would ever admit, but it could’ve plagued her, contributed to her depression and her suicide. All of which Barrett had put behind him. Until Rand brought it up. Talk about pushing buttons.”
My digestion had come to a halt and steak sat in my gut. “Rand wasn’t bright, I suppose he could’ve read the signals wrong, been that clumsy. You have a fertile mind.”
“I’m just thinking out loud, sweetheart. Like you do.”
“What a fun couple we are,” I said.
“We really are, Alex. Anyone can talk about stupid stuff.”
CHAPTER 21
Unseasonably warm,” said Milo. “Unlike the reception I got at Chaderjian.” His broad back rounded as he stuck his head inside the fridge.
He’d been back from Stockton for an hour, had driven straight to my house, announced that the airlines were out to starve him. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter were already out on the counter. He’d drunk half a carton of milk without bothering to use a glass.
“You’re running low on provisions,” he said, voice muffled by enamel. “The lack of jelly, jam, preserves, or reasonable facsimile is inexcusable.”
“Want some potato chips and a cupcake in your school lunch, junior?”
“Hnh.” He foraged, straightened, massaged his sacroiliac with one palm. “This will have to do.” His big hand concealed whatever he carried to the counter. He set it down next to the bread.
Carton of peach yogurt. Something else Allison had brought over . . . had to be weeks ago.
“It could be bad,” I said.
“So am I.” Flipping the lid, he sniffed, frowned, spooned gobs of glossy, beige stuff into the sink, flushed with a spur
t of tap water that spotted his tie.
Another sniff. “Jam at the bottom’s still good.” A spoonful of orange goop landed on a slice of bread. Peanut butter got slathered on another slice and he slapped the two halves together. Folding the sandwich double, he ate standing up.
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