by Ben Rehder
We had agreed not to approach him, but under these circumstances, I made a judgment call.
I walked faster, and when I got within five yards, I removed the eyeglasses and called out, “Hey, Dennis.”
He stopped walking and turned to look at me. I saw recognition slowly dawn on his face. Then he grinned. “Oh. Hey.”
“Good to see you again,” I said, now close enough to extend a hand, which he shook.
“You’re, uh, that guy,” he said.
“That’s me,” I said. “That guy.”
“What’s going on?” he asked. He was still grinning. I interpreted this to mean he knew I’d seen him walking normally, and now we shared a little secret.
I laughed. “Maybe you should tell me.”
“Uh, it’s all good, you know?”
“Roscoe and Lorene are worried about you,” I said. “But I’d say it’s more likely they’re worried about your disability check.”
Now he really smiled. “Sounds about right.”
“How do you put up with them?”
“It ain’t easy. Roscoe especially.”
“He’s a world-class asshole, isn’t he?”
“No doubt.”
“Did he talk you into it?” I asked.
“Well...”
“Might as well tell me,” I said. “Think of it this way. If the truth comes out, he might wind up in jail. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“You wanna know something?”
“What?”
“I’m way ahead of you on that.”
“How so?”
He hesitated, then said, “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” I said. “Hey, are you hungry? My partner Mia is parked right over there. Remember her? Why don’t we all go somewhere and get a bite to eat?”
He chose pizza. Mr. Gatti’s. We had a table in a quiet corner. I was worried he might be apprehensive, but instead he appeared relaxed and even enthusiastic about telling his story. I noticed right off that he was more focused on Mia than on me. Great. I’d also noticed that he had walked to Mia’s SUV, and then into the restaurant, with his arms down. No more pretense.
“I stopped taking my meds a few days after I got the tetanus shot,” he said, pausing after he’d eaten one slice of pepperoni pizza. “I know I shouldn’t do that, but I hate the way they make me feel.”
“How do they make you feel?” Mia asked, and I knew that the empathy in her voice was genuine.
“Like I’m not myself. They make me tired and slow. Like I’m numb. Would you want to feel that way all the time?”
“Absolutely not,” Mia said. “And I’m really sorry there aren’t better options for you.”
The expression on Dennis’s face was simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking. He appeared amazed that anyone would show such concern for his well-being.
He said, “Sometimes I just need to take a break from it, and the problem then is that my head starts filling up with all kinds of weird stuff. It’s like I sort of know it’s not true, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s hard to explain.”
“But you’re doing a good job,” Mia said. “It’s helping me to understand.”
She was so good with him.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Are you on your meds right now?”
He nodded. “I started again last week.”
“When, specifically?”
“I think it was Wednesday.”
“And you were also on your meds when you got the shot?”
He said, “Yeah, and I had been for several months, but getting that shot—or any shot—well, those things always freak me out a little, because you never know what’s in them. How can I be sure there aren’t a lot of chemicals and other crap in there?”
“I understand,” Mia said.
“It’s like getting a flu shot, which I would never do. Why risk it?”
I suspected that even when Dennis was medicated, there was a certain amount of paranoia and delusional thinking he had to deal with on a daily basis—and he might not recognize it for what it was.
“So,” Mia said, “tell me about the days after the tetanus shot.”
“Okay, I stopped taking my meds a couple days later. Or maybe it was the next day.”
“Did you stop taking them because of getting the shot?” Mia asked.
“Not really, no. I just didn’t want to take them anymore. I was feeling off. That’s the best word for it. Off.”
Dennis picked up another slice of pizza. Mia and I waited patiently while he took several bites.
“And what happened after that?” Mia asked.
“I started to think the shot had some bad stuff in it, and one morning when I woke up, I couldn’t walk right. I was, like, all cramped up. I couldn’t extend my arms and legs completely. I was convinced the shot had been designed to do that to me. Not everybody, just me, because someone at the place where they make the shot was after me. But then I figured out I could walk okay if I held my hands above my head. I was totally stoked that I’d figured out a solution, you know? I beat them.”
I said, “Dennis, speaking of the flu shot, have you ever seen the video of the woman who claimed she couldn’t walk right after getting one? And she also suddenly had a Scottish accent?”
His sly grin returned. “Yeah, and I know what you’re thinking. I saw that and it put an idea in my head. Right?”
“I’d say it’s a possibility. One time I saw a video of Tom Brady and I decided I could become a Hall of Fame NFL quarterback.”
He looked at me for a minute, puzzled, before he realized I was kidding. Then he gestured at Mia with a sly look on his face and said, “I think she has a better chance of being Gisele.”
I had to laugh. “Oh, man, you’re right.”
I held my hand over the table for a high five, and Dennis obliged with enthusiasm.
“That’s very sweet,” Mia said.
It was a good moment, and I’d say we’d earned Dennis’s trust by this point.
“I’m curious about something,” I said. “When you’re on your meds, are you able to understand that some of the things you’re thinking aren’t right? They aren’t real?”
Mia had explained to me a condition called “anosognosia,” which prevented people with schizophrenia from recognizing their mental illness. Anosognosia was present in about half of schizophrenics, and it could be either partial or complete, meaning that those with the condition could have moments when they were aware of their illness, and other moments when they weren’t.
“Sometimes,” Dennis said. “Like when I lost my driver’s license. I ran from the cops because I was thinking they were really assassins pretending to be cops, and they were trying to abduct me. So, yeah, it freaked me out and I ran. But later, on my meds, I knew they just wanted to write me a stupid speeding ticket.”
I said, “Let me make sure I understand the timeline. You were on your meds when you got the tetanus shot, but you stopped taking them a few days after that, and then you started again on Wednesday of last week.”
“Right.”
I said, “So when you dropped the note for Mia in the parking lot last Sunday, that was legit. Not a prank or anything like that.”
“Yeah.”
“And the note was referring to Roscoe, right?” Mia asked.
“Yeah.”
She said, “If you thought he was going to kill you, why didn’t you get out of there or call somebody?”
“That’s kind of complicated,” Dennis said. “See, in my mind, Roscoe didn’t know that I knew he was going to kill me, but if I took off, then he’d know. So it was better if I stayed, because then I’d be fooling him. I know it doesn’t make sense, but as Dr. Creech says, I can’t expect an irrational mind to make rational decisions. That’s what she says to keep me on my meds.”
“And once you were back on your meds, you no longer thought he was going to kill you?” I asked.
“Right.”
“Okay, if you started your meds again on Wednesday, when we met with you and Roscoe and Lorene on Friday...”
He knew what I was getting at.
“Yeah, you caught me,” he said, grinning again.
I grinned back. “So you suckered us? You were faking the walk and everything?”
“Yeah. Pretty good, huh? I’ve had practice.”
“But why?” I said. “By then you knew Roscoe was trying to run a scam, right? You weren’t planning to help him with that, were you?”
“Oh, no way. In fact, I told Roscoe I wasn’t gonna take part in his stupid plan, because it was illegal, you know, and we’d get caught. He got all pissed off, and then you know what he did?”
“What?”
“He hid my meds from me.”
Mia said, “What a son of a —” But she stopped herself.
“I had some more in a different bottle, though, and I stayed on them,” Dennis said.
“But why didn’t you tell anyone what he was doing?” I asked. “You could’ve told us on Friday.”
“Because by then I’d come up with a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” Mia asked.
He started to talk, but he giggled at his own thoughts. Then he said, “I figured if I played it just right—and told the right people what was going on—I might be able to get Roscoe busted. I hate him so much. I wish he was gone forever.”
I nodded in agreement, then said. “Who are ‘the right people’? Tell me more about the plan.”
He had taken another bite of pizza, but when he was done chewing, he said, “Well, at first, I thought maybe I should just refuse to go along with the scam. But then Roscoe might not get in trouble, and I’d have to listen to him bitch all the time. So then I decided I needed to tell somebody, but I wasn’t sure who to tell. I’m not a big fan of the cops, you know. But I looked around on the Internet and finally figured it out.”
I was doing my best to remain patient, but I wanted him to get to the bottom line. “So then you did it? You reported it to someone?”
“Yeah, finally. I snuck out to the library yesterday so I could have some privacy, and then I wrote a long email explaining everything, and making sure to say that none of it was Lorene’s idea, or mine, and then I sent it.”
“When?” I asked. “Yesterday?”
“No, I was gonna do it yesterday, but I chickened out. So I stayed at a motel last night and went back to the library today.”
“And this time you sent the email?” I asked.
“Yep. Right before you showed up.”
“Who did you send it to?”
“That, uh, lawyer guy. I already forgot his name.”
“A lawyer?” Mia asked. “Why to a lawyer?”
“No, not just a lawyer,” Dennis said. “He’s like the top lawyer guy for the state.”
I said, “Are you talking about the Texas attorney general?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Dennis said.
I laughed. “Oh, man. That’s good.”
“I wasn’t sure who I should tell.”
“No, that’s a good start,” I said. “A great start. I’ve got a couple more in mind, though, if you really want to shake things up. Might as well go big, right?”
33
And so the Dennis Babcock case finally drew to a close for us.
Of course, before we left the pizza joint, Mia and I encouraged Dennis to send a copy of his email—which was surprisingly cogent and well written—to the fraud unit in the Texas Department of Insurance, as well as to the manufacturer of the tetanus shot, their attorneys, and their insurance company.
In short, there was a good chance that Roscoe would face criminal charges. The only hold-up I could think of was the issue that started all of this: Dennis’s illness. Would the TDI fraud unit, who would head the case, pursue charges when their star witness was a man with a tenuous grasp on reality? Possibly not. Sad, but true.
We had to caution Dennis that if any prosecutory action was taken against Roscoe, it would be a slow process. In the meantime, Roscoe would know what Dennis had done, and Dennis needed to prepare for that. In fact, if we’d found Dennis before he’d sent the email, Mia and I would’ve come up with some other way to remove Roscoe from Dennis’s life. If we’d known everything Roscoe had done—like hiding Dennis’s meds, which was a crime—we would’ve demanded that Roscoe clear out of the house within twenty-four hours or face charges for that. It was a moot point now, so we advised Dennis to find some other place to stay for a few days.
Then I called Roscoe, got voicemail, and left a message: “Roscoe, it’s Roy Ballard. We found Dennis. He is fine and has been taking his meds. You, on the other hand, are not going to be fine. In fact, some bad things are going to be happening to you very soon. Because of that, I want you to know that I’m going to be in touch with Dennis on a regular basis, and if you do anything to him that crosses any lines, including verbal abuse, hiding his medication, or any other bullshit like that, I’ll be there to make sure you don’t do it again. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s important that you do. Leave Dennis alone or deal with me. If you have any questions, feel free to call me back. I’d be happy to come over there and explain things in greater detail. Have a nice day.”
When I ended the call, Mia said, “I worry about him.”
“Why on earth would you worry about Roscoe?” She knew I was kidding. I added, “Dennis will be fine. Roscoe’s a bully, and now that Dennis has a support system around him, Roscoe won’t have the guts to do anything.”
We rode in silence for a moment.
I said, “If this were a movie, right now you’d say, ‘I hope you’re right.’”
Mia smiled, and it was the highlight of my day. “I hope you’re right,” she said.
The rain and clouds had cleared, and now it was a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon. The temperature was in the seventies. We drove the SUV to Mia’s house and quickly decided we needed to decompress. So we jumped into Mia’s Mustang and drove with no destination in mind. We wound our way up to 2222 and went west, and eventually we were skirting Lake Travis on Bullick Hollow Road.
“Sorry,” Mia said. “I didn’t intentionally come over here. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I’m emotionally scarred or anything, having been just moments from certain death.”
She reached over from the driver’s seat and placed a hand on my knee.
“I need to get a new phone,” I said.
“You want to do that now?”
“Nah, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
The windows were down, and the breeze flowing through the car seemed like it could whisk away anyone’s troubles or concerns. Didn’t work for me, though. I began to stew. To ponder ways to pay Holloway and his punks back. I acknowledge that I have a temper, plus an impressive ability to hold a grudge, and sometimes my imagination takes me to some dark places, where I commit some atrocious acts.
I tried to derail my train of thought by turning and looking at Mia. That’s a mood lifter, right there. Anytime. Anywhere. She’d pulled her long blond hair into a ponytail to stop it from whipping around in the wind.
“Think Dennis went home?” she asked.
“Don’t know, but at some point, we have to let him stand on his own. He hasn’t called, so I’m sure everything is fine.”
He had the number for my back-up phone, and when I replaced my iPhone tomorrow, I’d let him know to use that number instead.
Mia turned right on FM 2769, then left on Anderson Mill Road. I hadn’t been in this area in years. Not my neighborhood. Wrong side of the lake. She took another left on 1431, and we followed that curvy road through Jonestown, then Lago Vista, and all the way to Marble Falls, where we stopped for a piece of pie at the Blue Bonnet Café, which was packed with locals and tourists alike.
When we were done, we sat quietly, with no pressure to do anything except enjoy the moment. No cases. No clients. No ex-boyfriends.
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“You’re the most beautiful woman in the room,” I said. “As usual.”
Mia smiled bashfully and took my hand. She looked like she was just about to say something important when the waitress arrived with our check.
34
Six days passed and we didn’t hear from Dennis Babcock. I was tempted to call him a few times, but I resisted. I assured Mia that this meant he was doing well.
I knew one of the investigators from the Texas Department of Insurance’s fraud unit and she told me, off the record, that it appeared they would be taking action against Roscoe. Yes, it took them nearly a week simply to make that determination, but that’s how it worked. You can’t expect a large government organization to act swiftly.
I’d gotten myself a new iPhone, but it used the same number as the one in the lake, and late that afternoon, I got a call from Ruelas.
“Want to hear some depressing news?” he asked. “Holloway is dropping the charges against you.”
I’d been wondering why I still hadn’t heard from an investigator about that. Those investigators—or the experienced ones, at least—usually had an intuition for knowing which cases were a waste of time. Even on legit cases, it could take a backlogged investigator several weeks to make contact with a suspect.
“Guess you’re crushed,” I said.
He didn’t come back with some bullshit remark, which was unusual. And he didn’t hang up.
“You’re wondering why he did that,” I said. “He had no reason—except that I was no longer investigating the Jeremy Sawyer case. He hasn’t seen me in a week and he figures that’s all done, because I hit a dead end. I can’t prove that Starlyn was driving the boat, so why poke the ant bed? Why give me a reason to keep going after him? Sound about right?”
“Here you go again with your theories.”
“Look,” I said. “I know we have our differences, and I guess we always will—and I apologize for that snide remark I made the other day—but if you think I’m wrong, just come right out and tell me.” Silence. After a couple more seconds, I said, “That’s good to know.”
