Nutcase

by Hughes, Charlotte

  “He probably does,” I said, “seeing how the baseball bat had his fingerprints all over it.”

  “Police questioned him about the bat. He told them it was his bat, but that he hadn’t seen it in a while.”

  “That’s convenient,” I said.

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “Like I said, the evidence is incriminating as hell.”

  “Mrs. Perez and her daughter swear he is being framed. His mother kept him home from school today, but she couldn’t get off work so he’s with Mrs. Perez. She asked me to see if you could talk to Ricky.”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t so sure of Ricky’s innocence. “How is Father Demarco?”

  “He’s still critical, but he’s going to be okay. Police were finally able to question him late yesterday. He claims he never saw his attacker, and he did not open the door for anyone that morning. He thinks whoever did it was hiding in the church, just waiting. Father Demarco suspects the person who assaulted him was from the Thirty-Eight Specials because he was making trouble for them. He pushed for his congregation to band together and help him take action against gang violence.”

  “Father Demarco sounds like a brave man,” I said.

  “Yes, but look what happened. The police departments in this city need more staff, and they need personnel who are knowledgeable about gangs. That’s where Elizabeth and I come in.”

  “I’d say you found your cause,” I told her.

  She nodded. “Oh, and get this,” she said. “Elizabeth has this hunky bodyguard. I’m thinking I should get one, too.”

  I arched one brow. “Do you feel like your life is in danger?”

  Mona grinned. “No, but I could pretend. I could cut words from a newspaper and mail menacing notes to myself.”

  We both laughed.

  “Will you at least talk to Ricky?”

  “For you? Yes.”

  Evelyn Hunt led me into her office and invited me to sit down. “I’m sorry Jay couldn’t make it,” she said, “but I’ve read about the fires in the newspapers. How are you handling it?”

  “It’s not easy, but what can I do? It doesn’t make sense that someone would target firefighters. I suppose the answer to your question is that I take it one day at a time.” Finally, I told her about Mandy.

  “Do you think Jay is cheating?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so, but they say the wife is the last one to know.”

  “Have you accused him?”

  “I’ve hinted at it.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Do you know other firefighters’ wives?” she asked. “Someone you could talk to who shares your concerns about her husband’s safety?”

  “I sort of backed off from those relationships after Jay and I separated,” I said. “But I know the wives talk among themselves and offer each other support.”

  “Perhaps you should renew some of your old friendships,” she said.

  “It isn’t easy for me to talk to the wives. I know some of them struggle with being married to a firefighter, so I hate to confess my fears and add to their burden.”

  “Who do you talk to?” Evelyn asked.

  I told her about Mona.

  “But your friend Mona isn’t married to a firefighter,” Evelyn said, “so she isn’t going to know what it feels like. If you had a small support system in place, you would be able to talk to somebody who does know what it feels like.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  I was still pondering Evelyn Hunt’s words when I arrived at my office, where Mrs. Perez and Ricky were waiting. Mrs. Perez made a small fuss over the new decor, but I could tell she had more on her mind than my fancy furniture. I invited Ricky into my office and closed the door.

  He was dressed in jeans and an Atlanta Falcons jersey with the number nineteen on it. “I didn’t know you were an Atlanta Falcons fan.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Which player is number nineteen?” I asked.

  “What?” He blinked at me.

  “You’re wearing number nineteen,” I pointed out.

  He shifted on the sofa and avoided eye contact. “I don’t remember. I guess I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I heard about the baseball bat, Ricky.”

  His eyes flitted about the room. “The police act like it is some big deal that my fingerprints were on it,” he said. “I told them it was my bat. My grandfather bought it for me when I was in Little League. Of course it would have my prints on it.”

  “But it doesn’t explain why it was at the site where a priest was beaten, does it?”

  “I don’t know how the bat ended up there,” he said. “I haven’t played baseball since I was maybe fourteen. I could have lent it to somebody. I don’t remember.”

  “Your grandfather bought you a special bat, and you don’t know what happened to it?”

  He gave me an odd look. “Who said it was special? It was just a regular baseball bat like you can buy anywhere.”

  “I figured it was special because your grandfather bought it for you.”

  His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sick of all these questions. You’re no different than the police.”

  “You’re not required to answer my questions,” I said. “You aren’t even required to be here. Why are you here, Ricky?”

  “Because of my mother and grandmother. And because of my attorney,” he added.

  “Oh, right. Your attorney wants me to go to court for you. Even if I could, I don’t think you’d want me to, because I think you’re lying. You’re lying about Father Demarco, and you’re withholding information about a murder that took place last night in your neighborhood.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Here’s what I know,” I said. “I know there was a young man who was an honor student and dreamed of becoming a doctor. I know he got the crap stomped out of him three weeks ago by a gang called the Thirty-Eight Specials. I know there was an old priest who was viciously attacked for making a lot of noise against this gang, and that you were closer to that priest than most people. You would have known how to get in and out of that church, you would have known where to hide, and you would have known when he was most vulnerable.”

  Ricky buried his face in his hands.

  “You’re in way over your head, Ricky,” I said.

  He looked up. “What you don’t know is what it’s like living in my neighborhood,” he said. “Say somebody hurts your mother or your sister or your girlfriend. Are you going to call the police?” He gave a grunt. “The police don’t even want to come into our neighborhood.”

  “So you’re saying the guy who was shot to death last night hurt mothers and sisters and girlfriends?”

  “I’m saying he may have deserved exactly what he got.”

  “What did he do to your sister, Ricky?” I asked. I could see that I’d caught Ricky off guard with my question.

  We both looked at each other but said nothing.

  Finally, Ricky held his head up. “This guy that got shot last night?” he began. “Well, the cops would take him in, and the next thing you know he was back on the street again. And even if a young girl was to go to her parents, which doesn’t often happen, do you think she’s going to point a finger at a Bloods member in a police lineup or testify against him in court?” he said. “She would know better.”

  I leaned back in my chair and regarded Ricky, noting the changes in him that had taken place since I last saw him; changes that his family had missed.

  “You know what I do when I get really stressed?” I said. He looked at me. “I count things. I do multiplication tables in my head.”

  “That’s weird,” Ricky said.

  I nodded. “You know what’s even weirder?” I asked. “I know how much that jersey you’re wearing cost, because I purchased one for my husband a couple of years ago. And you’re telling me you have no idea who number nineteen for the Atlanta Falcons is. You’re walking around wearing an expensive jersey
with the number nineteen plastered on the front and back, and you’re clueless about the player.”

  “So what? Who cares?”

  “Nobody,” I said, “because the number nineteen means nothing unless you multiply it by two and get thirty-eight. And I’m looking at the guy who plays for Thirty-Eight.”

  Silence. Ricky stared down at his feet. “They weren’t supposed to kill him,” he said softly.

  I stood and walked to the window that looked out over the parking lot. I did not want Ricky to know how sad and angry and helpless I felt. I was so sad and angry that I wanted to cry. I wanted to kick something. “What about medical school, Ricky?” I asked quietly.

  “We don’t have a lot of doctors come out of our neighborhood,” he said.

  I sat in my chair and pulled one of my cards from a plastic holder. I handed it to Ricky. “Call me when you’re ready to be the first.”

  Eddie Franks wore a sheepish expression as he followed me into my office and sat down. “Your place looks real nice, Doc,” he said.

  “Thanks, Ed.”

  He winced. “Please don’t call me Ed.”

  “Don’t call me Doc, and I won’t call you Ed.”

  “I know you’re mad at me,” he said.

  I arched one brow. “You think? Did you tell your parole officer that you made arrangements to take a naive, never-been-married woman to Las Vegas to elope?”

  “Oh no,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly tell—”

  “But I can,” I said and had the pleasure of watching him squirm.

  He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “Dr. Holly,” he said, giving me his best smile, “you’ll have to agree that, in the end, I did the right thing. I told Trixie the truth. I delivered her home safely, and I apologized to everyone for making them worry.”

  “After my poor mother almost had a nervous breakdown,” I said, reaching over and punching him hard in the shoulder.

  “Ouch!” His eyes widened. “Are you supposed to hit a patient?”

  I hit him again, this time harder. He yelped, rubbed his shoulder, and moved to the other end of the sofa. “You could get into trouble for that, you know.”

  I looked around. “Gee, I don’t see any witnesses, do you? It’s your word against mine, and I’ve never been in the big house. I could stick my letter opener through your gizzard and get away with it.”

  He eyed the door.

  “Don’t even think of trying to leave,” I said. I crossed my arms. “Where did you take my aunt when you were supposed to be at all-night bowling?”

  He looked surprised. “We were at all-night bowling.”

  I gave him my look.

  “I swear!” He stiffened as though preparing himself for another blow. “I never laid a hand on Trixie. I have the utmost respect for her.”

  “So what are your plans?”

  He gave me a blank look. “Other than trying to get out of this office alive?”

  “Don’t joke with me, Ed.”

  He winced again. “Please don’t call me Ed.”

  I pulled a book from beneath my chair that my mother had purchased at a flea market when I’d started dating. It had been weathered and dated even then, the pages yellowed and tattered. “I want you to read this book from cover to cover,” I said.

  Eddie took the book and opened it. Some of the pages fell from it. “The Etiquette of Dating?” he read aloud.

  “The nineteen fifty-four edition,” I said. “It doesn’t say anything about keeping a young lady out all night and making her twin sister crazy with worry. It doesn’t say one word about having the young lady’s niece drive across town at dawn because the stupid guy thought it would be fun to go to Vegas and get married after only a week of knowing each other.”

  “I didn’t go through with it,” he said.

  “Read the damn book, Eddie. Not once but twice. In the meantime, you’re going to take care of all your old business. Then, when I’m convinced that you can act like a gentleman, I might just let you date my aunt.” I leaned closer. Eddie leaned away. “Do we understand each other, Ed?”

  He winced. “Please don’t call me Ed.”

  “I’ll see you next week. Same place, same time.”

  He looked relieved as he got up and started for the door.

  “Ed?”

  He turned.

  “Try not to do anything else to piss me off.”

  Lying on my sofa, Alice Smithers listened quietly as I led her to a state of total relaxation. I saw her body go limp and her cheek muscles slack, and I knew she had gone into trance successfully.

  “Alice, I’d like you to remember a time when you were a little girl and you felt very safe,” I said. I waited. “Can you remember?”

  The woman on the sofa nodded, but it was not a woman’s voice I heard. “Yeth.”

  “Where are you?”

  “With my daddy. We are at a fair. I am riding a horsey. It goes round and round.”

  “A carousel horse?”

  “Yeth. My daddy is standing by me. He wants to make sure I don’t fall.” She sniffed the air.

  “What do you smell?”

  “Cotton candy. My daddy bought me a big bag.” She giggles. “It’s sticky.”

  “Is there anyone else with you?” I asked.

  “My granny. She tells Daddy the cotton candy will spoil my dinner, but he laughs.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  Alice frowned. “I don’t have one of those. Just Daddy and Granny.”

  “Where are you living?”

  “We live in a small white house and grow beans and tomatoes and corn in our garden. I help Granny pull the bad stuff.”

  “Bad stuff?”

  “Weeds. Weeds are bad. They choke the beans and tomatoes and corn. Weeds hurt them.”

  “How old are you, Alice?”

  “Four.”

  “Okay, let’s move ahead in time. You’re five years old now. Can you tell me where you are?”

  Alice frowns. “I don’t know this place.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Dark.” She started to cry.

  “Take my hand, Alice,” I said. I reached for her hand and held it. “You don’t have to be in that dark place by yourself.”

  “I can’t see anything,” she said, gulping back tears. “There is a door.”

  “Can you open it?”

  “No.” She started to cry. “I can’t get out.”

  “Where is your daddy?”

  “I don’t know. He and Granny got lost at the fair.”

  “How did they get lost?”

  “They got lost after I rode the horsey that went round and round.”

  “But you must’ve seen where they were before they got lost.”

  “They were on this big wheel that went high in the sky.”

  “A Ferris wheel?”

  “Yeth.”

  “Where were you?”

  She spoke quickly. “On a bench watching them. I did not want to ride the big wheel. I was watching them go round and round and round and—” She suddenly stopped talking. “Oh no,” she said. “No, I don’t want to.”

  Alice’s body went rigid. I studied her closely, wanting to learn as much as I could but prepared to stop everything if she became too distressed.

  “No, I don’t want to,” the little girl voice repeated, whining.

  “Who are you talking to, Alice?”

  “This lady is saying I have to come with her, but I tell her I’m supposed to sit on the bench and wait for my daddy.” Alice started sobbing. She squeezed my hand until it hurt.

  Alice had returned to her four-year-old self at the fair, and I assumed she was being abducted by her mother, Carmen. I wondered if we should keep going. “Take a deep breath, Alice,” I said, my tone gentle but authoritative as I tried to guide her safely. “You’re standing in front of the ocean, and the breeze is blowing through your hair.”

  She immediately relaxed, and her grip loosened.
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  “Okay, Alice, I want you to go back to watching the Ferris wheel, and when the lady comes up to you I want you to keep holding my hand and try to hold on to feeling very safe with me. And while you see the scene, imagine you are watching it on TV. You can turn the volume up or down, and you can turn your feelings up or down too, okay?”

  I waited. “Is she there?”

  “Yeth.”

  “Who is the lady, Alice?”

  She frowned. “I saw her before, but I don’t remember when. I think I saw her with Daddy one time. She might be my mother. I don’t want to go with her, but she picks me up and tells me I must be polite because she is all grown up and I’m not. And she puts me in a car that I have not seen before. And then I start crying and . . . Ouch!” Alice reeled.

  “What happened?”

  “She slapped me! My whole face stings, and I’m crying louder. I don’t like the way she looks and smells and I don’t like the dark place. The dark place is like weeds. It chokes me and I feel like a green bean or a tomato that is dying. And I hear these noises in the walls, and I can feel something crawling over my legs, and—” Alice screamed and screamed and tried to jerk her hand free.

  “Alice,” I said, trying to talk over the screaming and twitching. “You’re back at the beach with the wind and surf. I’m holding your hand.”

  She stopped screaming.

  “I’m going to count to three and you’re going to wake up, but you’re still going to be a little girl.”

  When Alice opened her eyes, I was holding Bubba Bear, the stuffed animal that was well loved by my young patients. I noted her look of excitement, and I introduced her to him. I got up and sat on the sofa beside her. “Would you like to hold him?”

  She reached out, and I placed the soft bear in her arms. We sat there quietly. From time to time, I took her hand and squeezed it gently, and I continued to sit there as she sank against me, still holding Bubba Bear.

  I was getting ready to leave for the day when Mona peeked inside my office. “Lewis Barnes is on the line,” she said. I could see the worry on her face, but, despite being best friends, I couldn’t discuss the session I’d had with Ricky. I didn’t have to tell Mona it wasn’t good; she knew me well enough.