Jonathan Kellerman - When The Bough Breaks

I could hear her snoring ever so slightly.

"Goodnight, Melody." I leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

She mumbled one word.

"Dada."

I closed the door to her room. Bonita was in the kitchen, wringing her hands. She wore a frayed man's terrycloth robe. Her hair had been pulled back in a bun and covered with a scarf. She looked paler than I remembered as she busied herself cleaning up.

Towle bent over his black bag. He clicked it shut, stood and ran his fingers through his hair. Seeing me he raised himself up to his full height and glared down, ready to give another lecture.

"I hope you're happy," he said.

"Don't start," I warned him. "No I - told - you so's."

"You can see why I was reluctant to tamper with this child's mind."

"Nobody tampered with anything." I could feel tension rising in my gut. He was every hypocritical authority figure I'd detested.

He shook his head condescendingly.

"Obviously your memory needs some polishing."

"Obviously you're a sanctimonious prick."

The blue eyes flashed. He tightened his lips.

"What if I bring you up before the ethics committee of the State Medical Board?"

"You do that, Doctor."

"I'm seriously considering it." He looked like a Calvinist preacher, all stern and tight and self righteous.

"You do it and we'll get into a little discussion on the proper use of stimulant medication with children."

He smiled.

"It will take more than you to tarnish my reputation."

"I'm sure it will." My fists were clenched. "You've got legions of loyal followers. Like that woman in there." I pointed toward the kitchen. "They bring their kids to you, human jalopies, and you tinker with them, give 'em a quick tune - up and a pill; you fix them to their specifications. Make them nice and quiet, compliant, and obedient. Drowsy little zombies. You're a goddamn hero."

"I don't have to listen to this." He moved forward.

"No you don't, hero. But why don't you go in there and tell her what you really think of her? Piss poor protoplasm, and let's see - bad genes, no insight."

He stopped in his tracks.

"Easy, Alex." Milo spoke from the corner, cautiously.

Bonita came in from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" she wanted to know. Towle and I were facing each other like boxers after the bell.

He changed his manner and smiled at her charmingly. "Nothing, my dear. Just a professional discussion. Doctor Delaware and I were trying to decide what was best for Melody."

"What's best is no more hypnotizing. You told me that."

"Yes." Towle tapped his foot, tried not to look uncomfortable. "That was my professional opinion." He loved that word, professional. "And it still is."

"Well, you tell him that." She pointed at me.

"That's what we were discussing, dear."

He must have been just a little too smooth, be cause her face got tight and her voice lowered suspiciously.

"What's to discuss? I don't want him or him - " the second jab was at Milo " - around here no more." She turned to us. "You try and be a good Samaritan and help the cops and you get the shaft! Now my baby's got the seizures and she's screamin' and I'm gonna lose my place. I know I'm gonna lose it!"

Her face crumpled. She buried it in her hands and began to cry. Towle moved in like a Beverly Hills gigolo, putting his arms around her, consoling her, saying now, now.

He guided her to the couch and sat her down, standing over her, patting her shoulder.

"I'm gonna lose my place," she said into her hands. "They don't like noise here." She uncovered her face and looked wet - eyed up at Towle.

"Now, now, it's going to be all right. I'll see to that."

"But what about the seizures!?"

"I'll see to that, too." He gave me a sharp look, full of hostility and, I was sure, a bit of fear.

She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"I don't understand why she has to wake up screaming Daddy Daddy! That bastard's never been around to lift a finger or give me a cent of child support! He has no love for her! Why does she cry for him, Doctor Towle?" She looked up at him, a novitiate beseeching the pope.

"Now, now."

"He's a crazy man, that Ronnie Lee is. Look at this!" She tore the scarf from her head, shook her hair loose and lowered her head exposing the top of it. Giving a whimper she parted the strands at the center of her crown. "Look at this!"

It was ugly. A thick, raw red scar the size of a fat worm. A worm that had burrowed under her scalp and settled there. The skin around it was livid and lumpy, showing the results of bad surgery, devoid of hair.

"Now you know why I cover it!" she cried. "He did that to me! With a chainl Ronnie Lee Quinn." She spat out the name. "A crazy, evil bastard. That's the Daddy Daddy she's cryin' out for! That scum!"

"Now, now," said Towle. He turned to us. "Do you gentlemen have anything more to discuss with Mrs. Quinn?"

"No, Doctor," said Milo and turned to leave. He took hold of my arm to guide me out. But I had something to say.

"Tell her, Doctor. Tell her those were not seizures. They were night terrors and they'll go away by themselves if you keep her calm. Tell her there'll be no need for phenobarbitol or Dilantin or Tofranil."

Towle continued to pat her shoulder.

"Thank you for your professional opinion, Doctor. I'll manage this case as I see fit."

I stood there rooted.

"Come on, Alex." Milo eased me out the door.

The parking lot of the apartment complex was crammed full of Mercedes, Porsches, Alfa Romeos and Datsun Zs. Milo's Fiat, parked in front of a hydrant, looked sadly out of place, like a cripple at a track meet. We sat in it, glum.

"What a mess," he said.

"The bastard."

"For a minute I thought you were going to hit him." He chuckled.

"It was tempting. The bastard."

"It looked like he was baiting you. I thought you guys got along."

"On his terms. On an intellectual level we were good old boys. When things fell apart he had to find a scapegoat. He's an egomaniac. Doctor is omnipotent. Doctor can fix anything. Did you see how she worshipped him, the goddamned Great White Father? Probably slit the kid's wrists if he told her to."

"You're worried about the kid, aren't you?"

"You're damn right I am. You know exactly what he's going to do, don't you - more dope. She'll be a total space cadet in two days."

Milo chewed on his lip. After a few minutes he said:

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it. I'm sorry I pulled you into it in the first place."

"Forget it. It wasn't your fault."

"Nah, it was. I've been lazy, trying for an instant miracle on this Handler mess. Been avoiding the old wear - down - the - shoe - leather routine. Question Handler's associates, get the list of known bad guys with razor - happy fingers from the computer and plod through it. Go through Handler's files. The whole thing was iffy in the first place, a seven - year - old kid."

"She could have turned out to be a good witness."

"Is it ever that easy?" He started up the engine, after three attempts. "Sorry for ruining your night."

"You didn't. He did."

"Forget him, Alex. Assholes are like weeds - a bitch to get rid of and when you do, another one grows back in the same place. That's what I've been doing for eight years - pouring weed - killer and watching them grow back faster than I can clear them away."

He sounded weary and looked old.

I got out of the car and leaned in through the window.

"See you tomorrow."

"What?"

"The files. We have to go through Handler's files. I'll be able to tell faster than you will which ones were dangerous."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I'm carrying around a huge Zeigarnik."

"A what?"

"Zeigarnik. She was a Russian psychologist who discovered that people develop tension for unfinished business. They named it after her. The Zeigarnik effect. Like most overachievers I've got a big one."