"It could have been twenty-five hours," I said. "Or twenty-five years.
She inhaled deeply. "We fit," she said. "I forgot how well."
She came to me, reached up and held my shoulders. "Alex, what we had it's like a tattoo. You've got to cut deeply to remove it."
"I was thinking in terms of fishhooks. Yanking them out."
She flinched and touched her arm.
I said, "Choose your analogy. Either way it's major pain."
We stared at each other, tried to temper the silence with smiles, and failed.
She said, "There could be something again, Alex-why shouldn't there be?"
Answers flooded my head, a babel of replies, contradictory jabber.
Before I could pick a reason, she said, "Let's at least think about it.
What can we lose by thinking about it?"
I said, "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't not think about it. You own too much of me."
Her eyes got wet. "I'll take what I can get.
I said, "Happy carving," and turned to leave.
She called out my name.
I stopped and looked back. She had her hands on her hips and her face was contorted in that little-girl scrunch that women never seem to outgrow. Prelude to tears-probably carried on the X chromosome.
Before the valves opened full-force she yanked down her goggles, picked up her file, turned her back on me, and began to scrape.
I left hearing the same rasp-rasp samba that had greeted me upon waking. Felt no desire to dance.
Knowing I had to fill the day with something impersonal or go mad, I drove to the University Biomedical Library to seek out references for my monograph. I found plenty of stuff that looked promising on the computer screen, but little that turned out to be relevant. By the time noon rolled around I'd generated lots of heat, very little light, and knew it was time to buckle down and wrestle with my own data.
Instead I used a pay phone just outside the library to call in for messages. Nothing from San Labrador, six others, no emergencies. I returned all of them. Then I drove into Westwood Village, paid too much for parking, found a coffee shop masquerading as a restaurant, and read the paper while chewing my way through a rubbery hamburger.
By the time I got home I'd managed to push the day along to 3:00 RM. I checked the pond. A bit more spawn, but the fish still looked subdued.
I wondered if they were all right I'd read somewhere that they could damage themselves in the throes of passion.
The uniforms changed, but the game never did.
I fed them, picked dead leaves out of the garden. Three-twenty.
Light housekeeping took up another half hour.
Bereft of excuses, I went into the library, pulled out my manuscript, and began working. It went well. When I finally looked up, I'd been going for almost two hours.
I thought of Robin. You know how it is the momentum.
The fit.
The impetus of loneliness, propelling us toward each other.
Fishhooks.
Back to work.
The drudgery defense.
I picked up my pen and tried. Kept at it until the words ran out and my chest got tight. It was seven by the time I got up from the desk, and when the phone rang I was grateful.
"Dr. Delaware, this is Joan at your service. I've got a call from a Melissa Dickinson. She says it's an emergency."
"Put her on, please."
Click.
"Dr. Delaware!"
"What is it, Melissa?"
"It's Mother!"
"What about her?"
"She's gone! Oh God, please help me. I don't knowhatodo!"
"Okay, Melissa. Slow down and tell me exactly what happened."
"She's gone! She's gone! I can't find her anywhere not on the grounds or in any of the rooms. I was looking we all were looking and she's not here! Please, Dr. Delaware "How long's she been gone, Melissa?"
"Since two-thirty! She left for the clinic for her three o'clock group, was supposed to be back by five-thirty, and it's.. seven-ohfour and they don't know where she is either. Oh, God!"
"Who's they?"
"The clinic. The Gabneys. That's where she went she had a group meeting... from three to... five. Usually she goes with Don or someone else. Once I took her, but this time Panting.
Gulping for air.
I said, "If you feel you're losing your breath, find a paper bag and breathe into it slowly."
"No... no, I'm okay. Got to tell you... everything."
"I'm listening."
"Yes, yes. Where was I? Oh, God.
"Usually she goes with someone but this time "She was supposed to go with him Don but she decided to go herself! Insisted on it! I told her I didn't think that was But she was stubborn insisted she could handle it, but she couldn't! I knew she couldn't and I was right she couldn't! But I don't want to be right, Dr. Delaware. I don't care about being right or having my way or anything! Oh, God, I just want her back, want her to be okay!"
"She didn't show up at the clinic at all?"
"No! And they didn't call till four to let us know. They should have called right away, shouldn't they?"
"How long a ride is it to the clinic?"
"Twenty minutes. At the most. She gave herself a half hour, which was more than enough. They should have known when she didn't If they'd called right away, we could have looked for her right away. She's been gone for over four hours. Oh, God!"
"Is it possible," I said, "that she changed her mind and went somewhere else instead of the clinic?"
"Where! Where would she go!"
"I don't know, Melissa, but after talking to your mother, I can understand her wanting to... improvise. Break free of her routine.
It's not that uncommon in patients who conquer their fears sometimes they get a little reckless."
"No!" she said. "She wouldn't do that, not without calling. She knows how much it would worry me. Even Don's concerned, and nothing gets to him. He called the police and they went out looking for her but they haven't found her or the Dawn "She was driving her Rolls-Royce?"
"Yes "Then she shouldn't be too hard to spot, even in San Labrador."
"Then why hasn't anyone seen it? How could nobody have seen her, Dr. Delaware!"
I thought of the empty streets and had a ready answer for that.
"I'm sure someone did," I said. "Maybe she ran into mechanical problems it's an old car. Even Rolls aren't perfect."
"No way. Noel keeps all the cars in top shape, and the Dawn was like new. And if she did run into problems, she'd call! She wouldn't do this to me. She's like an infant, Dr. Delaware she can't survive out there, doesn't have any idea of what it's like out there. Oh, God, what if she had an attack and drove off a djf or something and is lying there, helpless.. I can't take this anymore. This is just too much, too much!"
Sobs poured out of the receiver, so loud I pulled my ear away involuntarily.
I heard a catch of breath. "Melissa "I'm... freaking out can't.
.. breathe "Relax," I commanded. "You can breathe. You can breathe just fine. Do it. Breathe regularly and slowly."
Strangulated gasp from the other end.
"Breathe, Melissa. Do it. In. and out. In... and out. Feel your muscles loosen and expand with every breath you take. Feel yourself relax, just relax. Relax."
"I.
"Relax, Melissa. Don't try to talk. Just breathe and relax.
Deeper and deeper-in... and out. In... and out. Your whole body's getting heavier, deeper and deeper relaxed. Think of pleasant things your mother walking through the door. She's okay. She's going to be okay."
"But "Just listen to me, Melissa. Do what I say. Freaking out can't help her. Getting upset can't help her. Worrying can't help her. You need to be at your best, so keep breathing and relaxing. Are you sitting down?"
"No, I uh "Find a chair and sit down."
Rustle and bump. "Okay. I'm sitting."
"Good. Now find a comfortable position. Stretch your fe
et out and relax. Breathe slowly and deeply. Every breath you take will make you deeper and deeper relaxed."
Silence.
"Melissa?"
"Okay... I'm okay." Whoosh of breath.
"Good. Would you like me to come out there?"
A whispered yes.
"Then you'll have to hold on long enough for me to get out there. It will take at least half an hour."
"Okay."
"You're sure? I can stay on the phone until you're settled."
"No Yes. I'm okay. Please come. Please."
"Hang in there," I said. "I'm out the door."
Empty streets made lonelier by the darkness. As I drove up Sussex Knoll, a pair of headlights appeared in my rearview mirror and remained there, constant as the moon. When I turned off at the pine gates of Number 10, a blinking red light appeared over the two white ones.
I stopped, switched off the engine, and waited. An amplified voice said, "Out of the car, sir."
I complied. A San Labrador police cruiser was nudging my rear bumper, its brights on, its engine running. I could smell the gasoline, feel the heat from its radiator. The red blinker colored my white shirt pink, erased it, colored again.
The driver's door opened and an officer got out, one hand on his hip.
Big and wide. He lifted something. A flashlight beam blinded me and I raised an arm reflexively.
"Both hands up in the air where I can see them, sir.
More compliance. The light traveled up and down my body.
Squinting, I said, "I'm Dr. Alex Delaware Melissa Dickinson's doctor.
I'm expected."
The cop stepped closer, caught some of the light from the halogen fixture over the left gatepost, and turned into a young white man with a heavy, prognathous jaw, baby skin, and pug features. His hat was pulled low over his forehead. On a sitcom he'd be called Moose.
"Who's expecting you, sir?" The beam lowered, illuminating my trousers.
"The family."
"What family?"
"Dickinson Ramp. Melissa Dickinson called me about her mother and asked me to come over. Has Mrs. Ramp shown up yet?"
"What'd you say your name was, sir?"
"Delaware. Alex Delaware." With a tilt of my head I indicated the talk box. "Why don't you call over to the house and verify that?"
He digested that as if it were profound.
I said, "Can I put my hands down?"
"Move to the rear of your car, sir. Put your hands on the trunk."
Keeping his eyes on me, he advanced to the box. Push of a button and Don Ramp's voice said, "Yes?"
"This is Officer Skopek, San Labrador police, sir. I'm down by your front gate, got a gentleman here who claims to be a friend of the family."
"Who's that?"
"Mr. Delaware."
"Oh. Yes. It's okay, officer."
Another voice came out of the box, loud and dictatorial: "Anything yet, Skopek?"
"No, sir.
"Keep looking."
"Yes, sir." Skopek touched his hat and turned off his flashlight.
The pine gates began sliding inward. I opened the door of the Seville.
Skopek followed me and waited until I'd turned the ignition on.
When I put the Seville in gear, he stuck his face in the driver's window and said, "Sorry for the inconvenience, sir." Not sounding sorry at all.
"Just following orders, huh?"
"Yes , sir.
Spotlights and low-voltage accent beams set among the trees created a nightscape Walt Disney would have cherished. A full-size Buick sedan was parked in front of the mansion. Rear searchlight and lots of antennas.
Ramp answered the door wearing a blue blazer, gray flannels, blue-striped button-down shirt with a perfect collar roll, and winecolored pocket square. Despite the fashion statement, he looked drawn. And angry.
"Doctor." No handshake. He walked ahead of me, fast, leaving me to close the door.
I stepped into the entry. Another man stood in front of the green staircase, examining a cuticle. As I got closer, he looked up. Looked me over.
Early sixties, just under six feet and hefty, with a big, hard paunch, thin, gray, Brylcreemed hair, meaty features filling a broad face the color of raw sweetbreads. Steel-rimmed glasses over a fleshy nose, bladder jowls compressing a small, fussy mouth. He had on a gray suit, cream shirt, gray-and-black striped tie. Masonic stickpin.
American flag lapel pin. VFW lapel pin. Beeper on his belt. Size thirteen wingtips on his feet.
He kept scrutinizing.
Ramp said, "Doctor, this is our police chief, Clifton Chickering.
Chief, Dr. Delaware, Melissa's psychiatrist."
Chickering's first look told me I'd been the topic of discussion.
The second one let me know what he thought of psychiatrists. I figured telling him I was a psychologist wouldn't alter that much, but I did it anyway.
He said, "Doctor." He and Ramp looked at each other. He nodded at Ramp. Ramp glared at me.
"Why the devil," he said, "didn't you tell us that bastard was back in town?"
"McCloskey?"
"Do you know of some other bastard who'd want to harm my wife?"
"Melissa told me about him in confidence. I had to respect her wishes."
"Oh, Christ!" Ramp turned his back on me and began pacing the entry hall.
Chickering said, "Any particular reason for the girl to keep it confidential?"
"Why don't you ask her?"
"I did. She says she didn't want to alarm her mother."
"Then you've got your answer.
Chickering said, "Uh-huh," and shot me the kind of look viceprincipals reserve for teenage psychopaths.
"She could have told me," said Ramp, stopping his pacing. "If I'd known, I'd have looked out for her, for God's sake."
I said, "Is there evidence McCloskey was involved in the disappearance?"
"Christ," said Ramp. "He's here, she's gone. What more do you need?"
"He's been in town for six months."
"This is the first time she's been out on her own. He hung around and waited."
I turned to Chickering. "From what I've seen, Chief, you keep a pretty tight lid on things. What's the chance McCloskey could have been hanging around the neighborhood for six months stalking her without being noticed?"
Chickering said, "Zero." To Ramp: "Good point, Don. If he's behind it, we'll know it soon enough."
Ramp said, "Why all the confidence, Cliff? You haven't found him yet!"
Chickering frowned. "We've got his address, all the particulars.
He's being staked out. When he surfaces, he'll be snapped up faster than a free turkey dinner on Skid Row."
"What makes you think he'll surface? What if he's off somewhere, with "Don," said Chickering. "I understa "Well, I don't!" said Ramp. "How the hell is staking out his address going to do a damn thing when he's probably long gone!"
Chickering said, "It's the criminal mind. They tend to return to roost.
Ramp gave a disgusted look and resumed pacing.
Chickering went a shade paler. Parboiled sweetbreads. "We're interfacing with LAPD, Pasadena, Glendale, and the Sheriffs, Don.
Got everyone's computers on the job. The Rolls' plates are on all their alert lists. There's no car registered to him, but all the hot sheets are being scrutinized."
"How many cars on the hot sheets? Ten thousand?"
"Everyone's looking, Don. Taking it seriously. He can't get far."
Ramp ignored him, kept pacing.
Chickering turned to me. "This wasn't a good secret to keep, Doctor."
Ramp muttered, "That's for damn sure."
I said, "I understand how you feel, but I had no choice Melissa's a legal adult."
Ramp said, "What you did was legal, huh? We'll see about that."
A voice from the top of the stairs said, "Just get off his case, Don!"
Melissa stood on the landing, dressed in a man's shirt and jeans, her hair tied b
ack carelessly. The shirt made her look undernourished.
Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes Page 18
