David Jackson - The Helper

Doyle stares back at Gonzo for several seconds. He brings his hand out of his pocket in a sudden move that causes Gonzo to flinch. In his hand is the key to his car.

‘Get in.’

Doyle opens up the car, and they both clamber inside. Doyle doesn’t start the engine.

He says, ‘How do you know it’s a homicide?’

‘This computer belongs to Cindy Mellish. Her name is in lots of her files on here. She’s the same Cindy Mellish who worked in that bookstore, right?’

‘Maybe,’ says Doyle. He thinks about it for a while. Realizes he has to admit at least something if this conversation is to go anywhere. ‘Okay, yes. The computer belongs to the homicide victim from the bookstore. Happy now?’

Gonzo pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Get what?’

‘This. The cloak and dagger stuff. I mean, it’s really cool and everything, but-’

‘Wait! Wait a minute. Cool? Why is it cool?’

‘Well. . it’s exciting. Working with you like this. I don’t normally get to-’

‘Gonzo! Hold on. We are not working together, okay? I’m not looking to set up some kind of long-term relationship here. I just asked you to do a little job for me. That’s it. End of story.’

Gonzo looks crestfallen. Like he’s just had his favorite toy snatched away.

Doyle adopts a more mellow tone. ‘Look, it’s complicated. Don’t ask me to explain. There are things happening on this case that I can’t tell anyone about. It’ll all come out eventually, but right now it has to be kept quiet.’

‘A secret,’ Gonzo says.

‘Yes.’

‘Just between us.’

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Good.’

‘Does Lonnie know?’

‘No, not even Lonnie knows about this.’

‘Just you and me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow.’

Gonzo sits there nodding and smiling and staring into space. This is the high point in his week. Maybe even in his whole sad life. It almost pains Doyle to break the spell.

‘So. .’ he prompts.

Gonzo raises his face. ‘What?’

‘Did you find anything?’

‘Where?’

Jesus, thinks Doyle, not for the first time.

‘On the computer?’

It’s as if Gonzo suddenly realizes where he is and what he’s doing here.

‘Oh. Oh! The diary. What you asked me to look for.’

‘Yes. Did you find the diary?’

Gonzo unzips his bag and starts rummaging around inside. ‘You are gonna love this. You are so gonna. .’

‘Gonzo.’

‘. . love this. I mean, when you see what. .’

‘Gonzo!’

‘. . I found on this baby, you will just. .’

‘GONZO! Did you find the freakin’ diary?’

Gonzo pulls out a sheaf of paper and holds it up triumphantly. ‘I found it. It was hidden in her pictures folder and it was encrypted.’

‘It was what?’

‘Encrypted. It was in code. That’s what took me so long to get back to you. I had to break the encryption.’

Doyle reaches out for the paper. ‘That’s fantastic, Gonzo. Good job.’

Gonzo makes no attempt to hand over his document. ‘Don’t you want to know what’s in it?’

‘Well, I thought I’d just read it through and-’

‘It’s mostly crap. Girly stuff, you know?’ He gives Doyle a knowing wink, as if to lay claim to being a man of the world who knows all about girly stuff. ‘Most of it was written a while back, when she was with her boyfriend. What she thought about him. All that lovey-dovey stuff that makes you want to puke, you know?’

‘Okay, Gonzo. That’s great. So if I could just-’

‘And of course then he goes and dumps her, doesn’t he? That’s when she gets really emotional, and her whole universe is falling around her ears, and nobody loves her any more, and life isn’t worth living. I mean, puh-lease!’

Doyle puts his fingers on the papers. ‘Maybe if I was to take a look at-’

‘But then there’s the therapist. And that’s when it gets interesting.’

They both fall quiet. Each studies the other.

Doyle lets his fingers drop from the printout. ‘Therapist? What therapist?’

‘A certain Dr Andrew Vasey. Likes to be called Andy, apparently. She gets depressed about her boyfriend, goes to see this guy, and-’

‘Wait a minute. She goes to see a shrink? She’s a college student. Her mom doesn’t look like she ever earned much. How the hell does she afford to see a shrink?’

‘She can’t. It’s a favor. Cindy gets introduced to him by a friend at NYU. She gets talking to him, tells him her woes. Next thing you know, he’s offering to let her lie on his couch. He says it won’t cost her a cent. What he doesn’t tell her is that he’s got a different form of payment in mind.’

‘What do you mean?’

Gonzo slaps the sheaf of paper. ‘It’s all in here. Guy was a lech. Kept asking her all sorts of weird sexual things. Then he sat real close to her and put his hand on her knee. She got out of there fast. It really freaked her out.’

Doyle thinks about it. It’s strange, totally unprofessional behavior, all right, and he needs to check it out. But all the same, could this really be a precursor to murder?

‘Is that it?’

‘That, and the visit.’

‘What visit?’

‘When he came to see her. Ask me where.’

Doyle is reminded of the way Norman Chin engages his audience. He wonders if all scientists have such an annoying habit.

‘Where?’

Gonzo practically sings the next bit, which in his voice sounds comical. ‘In the bookstore.’

Doyle finds himself sitting up straighter. ‘He saw her at the bookstore?’

‘Yup. Told her he was crazy about her. When she told him she wasn’t interested, he started getting frisky again. He even touched her on the. .’ Gonzo drops his voice to a whisper and circles a finger in the air close to his chest, ‘. . in the thoracic region.’

‘He fondled her breast?’

Looking a little embarrassed, Gonzo clears his throat. ‘She slapped him then, and when he left he was really pissed. He told her she’d be seeing him again.’

‘When was this?’

‘Last November.’

Doyle stares through the windshield for a minute, thinking that this changes everything. Vasey coming on strong, showing up at the bookstore, making inappropriate comments, then getting his face slapped and threatening a return encounter — well, that’s a disturbing progression if ever there was one.

‘Okay, Gonzo. You done good. Thanks.’

‘So this Vasey. We need to go see him, right? I mean, the way he’s been acting-’

‘Whoa! Did you say we ?’

‘I looked him up. His practice is on Fifty-second and Fifth. I thought we-’

‘Gonzo! Watch my lips. It’s the same message I already gave you. I ain’t looking to do a duet with you.’

‘But if you’re working alone-’

‘Who says I’m working alone?’

‘Well, aren’t you? If you’re trying to keep this so quiet for whatever reason, then I guess-’

‘Yes, okay, I’m working solo. But for now it has to stay that way, all right? You did a great job, kid, but you’re not a cop. Your contribution ends here.’

The disappointment on Gonzo’s face is so unmistakable it almost breaks Doyle’s heart.

‘Here,’ says Gonzo, pushing the printout toward Doyle. ‘You better take this.’

Doyle accepts the document in silence. He has the feeling that anything he adds will only make Gonzo feel worse.

‘I better get back,’ says Gonzo. ‘I’m supposed to be on my lunch break.’

Doyle watches him get out of the car. Before Gonzo closes the door, Doyle says to him, ‘Uhm, you forget something?’

Gonzo peers into the car interior, then gives Doyle a blank look.