Rage

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Did the doctor do anything besides the abortion?”

  “Like what?”

  “Blood tests, a general checkup.”

  “No, nothing. Like I said, she was real fast. Something for the pain before, then scrape scrape, it’s over, here’s some Midol if it starts to hurt.”

  She shivered. “Kind of spooky, no one was there, most of the building was dark. And I was by myself. Drew handed me over to the doctor and left. He was parked out on the street when I came out.”

  “Did you go back for a follow-up visit?”

  “Uh-uh,” she said. “I took the Midols, that’s it. Drew offered me some different pills, I think they were Demerol. I didn’t take them. I’d been pretty clean and sober since they put me in the shelter.”

  Except for a Rohypnol to get things going. “Beth, do you know if he abused any other girls besides Miranda and you?”

  “I never saw anyone, but probably. ’Cause he was like . . . there was no nervousness. It was like something he was used to, you know? And he had only girls in the house. Why are you investigating him?”

  I turned to Allison. She said, “It’s okay.”

  “A girl he cared for committed suicide.”

  Beth’s eyes remained steady. “How?”

  “She cut her wrists.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said. “That would hurt.”

  * * *

  I asked if there was anything else she wanted to know.

  “Nope.”

  Thanking her again, I got up and shook her hand. No warmer.

  Allison said, “I’ll be back in a sec, hon,” and walked me out. It was nearly nine and passersby strolled Montana Avenue.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” she said, “I’ve got no obligation to report because she’s nineteen. He’s a monster but that’s not my problem right now. She may change her mind but in the meantime I insist you don’t bring her into any police investigation.”

  “No argument.”

  She touched my hand. Her lips looked parched. “I need to get back in there. We’ll talk later.”

  “I can come back when you’re through.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m bushed and I’ve still got two more patients. Tomorrow’s pretty heavy, too. I’ll call you.”

  I leaned in to kiss her.

  She squeezed my hand and offered her cheek.

  CHAPTER 35

  Back at my office, I found the citations I’d printed for the Women’s Wellness Place.

  The only full-time physician was the medical director, Marta A. Demchuk, M.D.

  Four hits for her. The oldest, five years ago, was a state medical board listing of doctors facing legal prosecution or ethical censure. The charge against Demchuk was billing fraud.

  Five years ago, but she was still in practice. No answer at Milo’s house but I connected with his mobile.

  “Out on the town, big guy?”

  “If the town’s Van Nuys,” he said. “Just got finished talking to a creepy little lady doc about the specifics of her gynecology practice.”

  “Marta Demchuk?”

  Silence. “What the hell? If you were hiding in a corner, I didn’t see you.”

  I recounted Beth Scoggins’s story.

  He said, “Allison’s patient? Talk about karma.”

  “Unfortunately, she won’t be available for follow-up.”

  “Why?”

  “Allison’s protecting her.”

  “Maybe you could— ”

  “I can’t.”

  Silence. “Okay.”

  I said, “How’d you get onto Demchuk?”

  “The more I thought about that clinic the worse it started to stink. Daney gets minors aborted there, the bills are probably padded, and he’s listed on the board with a fake divinity degree. I ran the same search you did, found out who the boss was and that she was brought up on fraud charges. I did a little more background, learned she’s Ukrainian, had to take the licensing exam three times before she passed. So now I’m figuring some Russian scam and I call a guy I know at the medical board. From what I can tell, abortion’s always been Demchuk’s thing, she started doing it the minute she got licensed. First at other clinics, also run by Ukrainians, then she started her own place nine years ago.”

  “Women’s Wellness.”

  “The main wellness is hers,” he said. “It’s strictly Medi-Cal, she’s into high volume, rakes it in.”

  “She claims to be nonprofit. All those fund-raisers.”

  “What that means is Demchuk filed as a nonprofit and lists herself as an employee. She takes a huge salary, and the clinic never makes it into the black. What got her in trouble six years ago was sloppy record-keeping that led to some duplicate billing. She claimed clerical error, ignorance of what her staff was doing, got a sixty-day suspension of Medi-Cal billing privileges.”

  “Slap on the wrist,” I said. “The right friends?”

  “Her husband’s a big-time immigration lawyer, contributes to politicians.”

  “Hence the fund-raisers.”

  “Hence. I dropped in on her an hour ago. She’s pulling seven figures but the décor’s plain-wrap.”

  “That probably tugs at contributors’ heartstrings,” I said. “You found her working late?”

  “The lights were on and Demchuk’s Mercedes was the only vehicle in the parking lot. I woulda kept going except I noticed another vehicle parked up the block. White Jeep.”

  “Daney was there?”

  “Extremely there. Chilling in the front seat, eating something, and from the way his head was moving, listening to music. I circled around and positioned myself half a block down. Twenty minutes later Demchuk comes out with a girl who’s walking kind of shaky. Daney gets out of the Jeep, puts his arm around the kid, guides her in, and they drive away. I recognized her. The girl Cherish was trying to teach math.”

  “Valerie Quezada. Sixteen years old with A.D.D.”

  “Obviously he likes them young and vulnerable. The thing is, her body language said she liked him, too. Putting her head on his shoulder. Before she got in the Jeep, she kissed his hand. And this is right after she’s had an abortion.”

  “Beth Scoggins said his manner was gentle, solicitous, flattering. Until she got pregnant, then he got stern and broke it off with her.”

  “Well, he hasn’t broken it off with Valerie yet. Meaning even if I could find a way to talk to her, she’d clam up. Now you’re telling me Scoggins won’t cooperate. I’m stuck.”

  “Beth said a girl named Miranda was her successor. Anything like that on the foster list?”

  “I’ll check tomorrow,” he said. “So, Allison’s not impressed by the magnitude of this asshole’s offenses?”

  “Allison’s got to think about Beth Scoggins’s mental health in the short run,” I said. “Also, right now, I don’t hold much sway.”

  “Why not?”

  “She saw me in another light and didn’t like it.”

  “What light’s that?”

  “Deceptive.”

  “A woman who still thinks men don’t lie?” he said. “Thought she dug all the police stuff.”

  “Until it got too close,” I said.

  “You really think it’s useless to talk to her again? Maybe in a coupla days?”

  “I’ll play it by ear. Eventually, Beth might decide to go public. Right now Allison feels it would be too much to handle.”

  “Eventually Daney’s gonna knock up more girls.”

  I didn’t answer.

  He said, “Fine. Anyway, after Daney drove away, Demchuk stayed outside and lit up a cigarette. White coat and she’s puffing away. I decided to take the risk, walked up on her in the dark, flashed the badge, scared the hell out of her, she drops her smoke, gets ashes all over the coat. But she recovered pretty fast, got cagey, told me she had nothing to say, headed back inside. I followed her and she yapped about civil liberties and made empty threats and I postured right back and eventually we ended up finding so
me common ground. Because she doesn’t care for Daney either. Says he’s a greedy fellow.”

  “He gets a kickback? She admitted that?”

  “She claims nyet, that was never part of the plan, it was just a mutually convenient situation. It started when she put his name on the advisory committee at Sydney Weider’s request. Something about Weider wanting him to have credibility for a movie deal. Soon after that, he started bringing her girls.”

  “Demchuk ever suspect he was more than a concerned foster parent?”

  “She denied it, but come on, all those abortions?”

  “All?”

  “The agreement we came to was that when I busted Daney I’d do my best to keep Demchuk’s name out of it. In return, she had to document every Daney ward whose pregnancy she’s terminated and be forthcoming with other information as requested. She had it right there in the computer and printed it out for me. Nine girls in eight years.”

  “My God,” I said.

  “Like you said, Drew’s underage harem. This guy’s beyond bad news.”

  “He’s got the perfect victim pool living under his roof. Abandoned girls with low self-esteem, learning problems, probably histories of sexual activity. He impregnates them deliberately, gets a kick out of destroying the fetus. And the taxpayers pay for everything.”

  “Without getting into the whole when-does-life-begin thing, Alex, he’s basically a prenatal serial killer, right? What’s the thrill?”

  I thought about that. “Create and destroy. Playing God.”

  “Nine girls,” he said. “And not one of them has complained.”

  “He’s gentle— seductive, not coercive. Ties it in with the whole paternal intimacy thing. When he moves on to another girl, they think it’s their fault. Beth admitted being jealous. She dealt with it by escaping.”

  “That place of his,” he said, “main house, converted garage, and that weird-looking cinder-block building? Lots of construction for a small lot. I was figuring dorms for the kids. But who knows what goes on there. No way Cherish couldn’t know, right?”

  “Beth says Drew delighted in going around Cherish. From petty stuff like eating doughnuts on the sly to leaving her with the scut work while he took his ‘assistants’ out on the road.”

  “Okay,” he said, “maybe that worked for a while, but she finally caught on.”

  “And started sleeping with Barnett Malley.”

  “Her own brand of sin.”

  I said, “How did Daney’s greed come into the picture with Demchuk?”

  “He’d been hinting around for a while about getting a cut of the action. Demchuk lent him money to put him off— small amounts he never repaid, she figures three, four grand total. Recently, though, he’s gotten pushier. Coming out and asking for his share, outright. Insisting he’s her best ‘referral source.’ Implying he might go elsewhere. Demchuk’s not the sharing type. And Daney’s timing couldn’t be worse because Demchuk’s ready to retire, wants to sell the clinic. She was figuring she’d buy him off with a screw-you payment. I told her selling the place wasn’t gonna be easy when all the bad stuff about Daney came out. Made that sound more imminent than it is. Demchuk tried to stay cool but I could tell I shook her. That’s why she was willing to deal him off. As in handing over Valerie Quezada’s aborted fetus.”

  “She keeps them?”

  “No, she tosses them in the trash out back, which is a health code violation. I had her fish it out and put it in dry ice, then I brought it over to the coroner’s to be stored with Kristal Malley’s tissue samples. Which is where I am now, breathing in the aroma of decomposition and drinking county coffee. No word on my DNA requisition yet, but now it looks like I’ll have another package to send to Cellmark. We get Daney’s DNA in the fetus, I’ve got a gift for the Juvey Sex Crimes unit they just started downtown.”

  “You’re bringing them into it?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Not until I get closer to Daney for murder. But the pedophilia thing could turn out to be good leverage.”

  “How long can you sit on it?”

  “Eight girls living on Galton Street bothers my sleep, but I can’t risk screwing things up by moving without evidence. First order of business is to get DNA from Daney. Any suggestions about how to approach it?”

  “Arrange a meet by playing his ego. You’ve bought into his suspicions of Barnett Malley but Malley remains a mystery man; ask him if he has any other suggestions.”

  “That part’s true. Still researching Malley and can’t come up with a damn thing. Okay, a face-to-face with Dynamic Drew. Then what? Swipe his toothbrush for the sample?”

  “That’s the easy part,” I said. “He likes doughnuts.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Rain fell the next morning, and the temperatures dropped into the high fifties. L.A. finally auditioning for winter. When Milo pulled the unmarked into the Dipsy Donut lot at ten a.m., the sky had closed and Vanowen Boulevard smelled of wet laundry.

  Drew Daney was there, drinking coffee at the same aluminum table. Exact position he’d occupied the first time— a man of patterns.

  He had on a brown corduroy car coat, rested his denim haunches on newspaper he’d spread to soak up dampness from the bench. When he saw us, he smiled and waved.

  Warm smile. It spread his stubbly silver beard. His eyes crinkled.

  This was the face of evil. He could’ve served as a model for a tool supply catalog.

  Milo pumped his hand as if they were longtime buddies. “Morning. Not hungry?”

  Daney winked. “Waiting for you guys.”

  “How about I get us an assortment?”

  “Sounds good, Lieutenant.”

  Milo left and I sat down opposite Daney. My assignment, should I choose to take it, was to check out nonverbal cues and whatever “psych stuff” I came up with.

  “Way I figure, Alex, having you along will play to his ego. Make him feel like a peer . . . even though you’re peerless.”

  I watched Daney’s teeth disappear as his smile shifted to a closemouthed one. “Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”

  “Hey, anything I can do to help.” Under his car coat he wore a spotless yellow polo shirt, tight across his broad chest. Well-developed musculature. His complexion glowed and his eyes were clear.

  Picture of vitality; sometimes— too often— good things happen to bad people.

  I said, “How’s your wife doing?”

  The question made him blink. “In terms of?”

  “Rand’s death. She seemed pretty affected.”

  “Of course she was,” he said. “We all are. It’s a process— healing.”

  “Your foster kids were affected?”

  “Definitely. Rand wasn’t with us long, but he was a presence. You know what it’s like.”

  “Dealing with death?”

  “That and kids in general,” he said. “The developmental stages they go through.”

  “What’s the age range of your wards?”

  “They’re all adolescents.”

  “There’s a challenge.”

  “You bet.”

  “Is that by choice?”

  “We’re masochists,” he said, chuckling. “Seriously, a lot of people don’t want the baggage teens bring to the table, so Cherish and I figured that’s where our efforts would be best spent.” Boyish shrug. “Sometimes I wonder, though. It can feel like temporary insanity.”

  “That I can believe.”

  He looked over at the doughnut stand. Crowded, just like the first time.

  I said, “Rand wasn’t that long out of his teens. That could also be an issue for your kids.”

  “Sure,” he said quickly, but his eyes told me he wasn’t tracking.

  “Perceived similarity,” I went on. “There’s a whole bunch of data on how it relates to empathy.”

  “If it could happen to him, it could happen to me?” he said. “Sure, makes total sense. But what I was referring to are the core issues they’re wrestl
ing with. Sense of identity, establishing autonomy. And, of course, they think they’re immortal.” Wry smile. “We did, at that age, right? All that stuff we kept from our parents.”

  I forced my own smile. Trying not to think about what this guy did to young girls’ autonomy.