Jonathan Kellerman - When The Bough Breaks

"I know." Anger and disgust made it hard to see straight. Kicking his head in would have been prim ally satisfying, but it was a pleasure I was going to have to deny myself…

"I'm not one of them," he was insisting, sounding almost as if he'd convinced himself. "I think it's disgusting, actually."

I bent down and grabbed him by the throat.

"You went along with it, asshole!"

His face purpled, the butterscotch eyes bulging. I let go of his head. It dropped to the floor. He landed on his nose and it started to bleed. He writhed in confinement.

"Don't say it. You were just following orders."

"You don't understand!" he sobbed. Real tears mixed with the mustache of blood on his upper lip creating a momentary illusion of harelip. But for his degree in drama I might have been impressed. "Gus took me in when the rest of them - my so - called friends and family, everyone - blackballed me for the Saxon thing. You can think what you want but that wasn't murder. It was - an accident. Saxon was no innocent victim. He wanted to kill me - that's the truth."

"He's in no position to state his case."

"Shit! Not one believed me. Except Gus. He knew what it could be like at that place. They all thought I was a washout - shame of the family and all that crap. He gave me responsibility. And I lived up to his expectations - I showed my stuff, showed you don't need a degree. Everything was perfect, I ran La Casa as smooth as - "

"You're a terrific storm trooper Tim. Right now I want answers."

"Ask," he said weakly.

"How long has the Brigade been a cover for child molesters?"

"From the beginning."

"Just like in Mexico?"

"Just like. Down there, to hear him tell it - the police knew all about it. All he had to do was grease a few palms. They let him bring in rich businessmen from Acapulco - Japanese, lots of Arabs - to play with the kids. The place was called Father Augustine's Christian Home - whatever that is in Spanish. It went good for a long time until a new police commissioner, some religious nut, took over and didn't like it. Gus claims the guy ripped him off for thousands in payoff then double - crossed him and shut the place down anyway. He moved up here and set up camp. Brought Crazy Earl with him."

"Earl was his boy in Mexico?"

"Yup. I figure he did the shit work Followed Gus like a lap dog. The guy spoke Spanish like a beaner - I mean the accent was fine but what he said was gibberish - we're talking brain damage, man. A robot with the screws loose."

"McCaffrey had him killed anyway."

Kruger gave the closest approximation to a shrug the ropes would allow.

"You have to know Gus. He's cold. Loves power. Get in his way and you're done. Those suckers didn't have a chance."

"How did he get set up so fast in L.A.?"

"Connections."

"Cousin Willie?"

He hesitated. I prodded him with the .38.

"Him. Judge Hayden. Some others. One seemed to lead to another. Each one knew at least one other closet sicko. Amazing how many of those guys there are. Cousin Will was a surprise to me, 'cause I knew him really well. Always seemed such a priss, holier than thou. My folks held him up as an example to follow - fine, upstanding Cousin Doctor." He laughed hoarsely. "And the guy's a kiddy boffer." More laughter. "Though I can't say I actually saw him take a kid home - I set up the schedules and I never set him up with anything. All I know he did was patch injured kids up whenever we called. Still, he must be as sick as the rest, why else would he be kissing up to Gus?"

I ignored the question and asked one of my own.

"How long was the blackmail going on?"

"A few months. Like I told you we screened the kids, to make sure they wouldn't talk. One time we blew it. There was this one boy, an orphan, just perfect. Everyone thought he was mute. Jesus, he never talked to us. We had speech and hearing tests - the government pays for all of that - and everything came back no speech. We were sure, and we were wrong. The kid talked all right. He told the teacher plenty. She freaked out and reported it to Cousin Will - he was the kid's pediatrician. She didn't know he was involved in it himself. He told Gus."

And Gus had him killed. Gary Nemeth.

"Then what?"

"I - do we have to talk about it?"

"We goddamn as hell do! How did it happen?"

"They ran him down with a truck. They took him out of bed in the middle of the night, must have been close to midnight. Nothing's out there at that hour. Put him on the road, walking. In his pajamas. I remember the pajamas. Yellow, with baseballs and mitts all over. I - I could have tried to stop it but it wouldn't have made a difference. The kid knew, he had to go. Simple as that. They would have done it later and probably me, too. It was wrong to do that to a little kid. Coldblooded. I started to say something. Gus squeezed my arm. Told me to shut up. I wanted to scream. The kid was walking on the road, all alone, half - asleep, like he was dreaming. I kept quiet. Halstead got into the truck, drove it a ways down the road. I could hear him revving it up, from around the bend. He came back speeding, headlights on high beam. Hit the kid from behind - he never knew what happened, he was half asleep."

He stopped talking, panting, and closed his eyes.

"Gus talked about doing the teacher right then and there but he decided to wait, see if she'd told anyone else. He had Halstead follow her. He staked out her place. She wasn't there. Just her roommate. Halstead wanted to kidnap her, beat it out of her, see if she knew anything. Then he saw the teacher come back with some guy - it was Handler - to pick up her stuff. Like she was moving in with him. Halstead reported it back to Gus. Now it was getting complicated. They kept watching the two of them and finally saw them meet with Bruno. We knew Bruno - he'd volunteered at La Casa, seemed like a great guy. Very outgoing. The kids loved him. It was clear, at that point, that he'd been a spy. Now it was three mouths that had to be closed.

"The calls came a few days later. It was Bruno, disguising his voice, but we knew it was him. Saying he had tapes of the Nemeth kid telling all. He even played a few seconds over the phone. They were amateurs, they didn't know Gus had them from day one, right in the crosshairs. It was pathetic."

Pathetic was the word for the scenario: Take one nice girl. Elena Gutierrez, up from the barrio, attractive, vibrant. A little materialistic, but warm - hearted. A gifted teacher. Depressed about her job, burned out, she seeks help, enters therapy with Morton Handler, M.D." psychopath cum psychiatrist. Ends up going to bed with Handler but continues to tell him her problems - one major one being the kid who never talked before who's suddenly opening up and telling her terrible things about strange men doing bad things to him. He opens up to Miss Gutierrez because she's warm and understanding. A real talent for drawing them out, Raquel Ochoa had said. A talent for working with the ones who didn't respond to anyone else. A talent that cost Elena her life. Because what was human tragedy to her smelled profitable to Morton Handler. Nasty things in high places - what could be juicier?

Of course Handler thinks these things but he keeps them to himself. After all, maybe the kid is making it all up. Maybe Elena is overreacting - you know women, especially Latin women - so he tells her to keep listening, emphasizes what a good job she's doing, what a source of support she is for the child. Bides his time.

Shouldn't I report this to someone? she asks him. Wait, dear, be cautious, until you know more. But the child is crying out for help, the bad men are still coming for him… Elena takes it upon herself to call Gary's doctor. And thus signs his death warrant.

When Elena hears of the child death, she suspects the awful truth; she falls apart. Handler shoves tranquilizers down her throat, calms her down. All the while his psychopathic mind is going click click click, because now he knows there's money to be made.