Jonathan Kellerman - Deception

Head shake. "Stubborn, like his mother. Maybe it helps with baseball. Saturdays he went to the U-pitch. Throwing all day. One time he came home with the arm all black under the skin, he threw so much the muscles were bleeding under the skin. It looked like a disease, his mother screamed, I called his coach-this was middle school, he was twelve, thirteen, say talk to Martin, no more bleeding. He tells me Martin's gifted, maybe he overdoes a little but that's better than being lazy. Stupid man, I hang up, talk to Martin myself. Martin says Sandy Koufax used to pitch with black arms. I say who's Sandy Koufax? Martin laughs and walks away. Later, I look up Sandy Koufax, he's the greatest pitcher ever lived, fine, good for him, I still don't like my son with a black arm."

Another look at his watch. "I go to Martin's games, he says don't embarrass me by screaming and going crazy like the other fathers, just sit there. That's all I can tell you, I need to get back to work."

I said, "How did Martin adjust to the tougher curriculum at Prep?"

"Did he feel stupid?" said Mendoza. "Oh, yeah, and he let me know all the time I made him feel stupid by moving him."

"Did his grades suffer?"

"Sure, this was a real school. No more easy A's, now it's B's if he's lucky. I tell him a B from Prep is worth more than a public school A. He walks away."

Mendoza threw up his hands.

"That's when Elise Freeman stepped into the picture."

"She was their idea-the school's. What happened was Martin wrote a composition-a term paper, it was no good, sloppy, he can do better, I've seen him do better. Maybe he did it on purpose, you know?"

"To prove a point," I said.

"Exactly. Making himself look stupid so the school say bye-bye. I tell him instead of making a scheme, study hard, you're a smart boy, now with no baseball, you got extra time. He hands the paper in anyway. Got a D."

As if announcing a terminal diagnosis. "Never, ever before did he get a D, not him or his sister, never did I see a D anywhere in my house. I was ready to… I got angry, okay, I admit it. There was loud yelling. That's the first time Martin took the bus to his sister."

"How long did he stay away?"

"Just the weekend. Gisella convinced him to go home, she bought him an airline ticket. I paid her back every penny."

"What about the second time?" I said.

"A few weeks later." Blinking.

"What was that about?"

Sigh. "Her. Ms. Freeman. The school arranged a tutor for him, all paid. To Martin that was saying, You're stupid. Stubborn, like I said. Maybe for baseball it's okay but not for life."

Anger had winched his voice higher. No more fatherly protectiveness. He leaned closer. "Everyone helping him, he's spitting in everyone's face-not really spitting, you know what I mean."

Milo said, "Attitude."

"Oh, boy, he's got attitude." Mendoza swigged coffee, narrowly missed sloshing liquid onto his white shirt. He inspected the placket. Flicked off a speck of dust. "Lucky, I only got one more clean in my locker." Another glance at his watch. "I got to go, they need me."

I said, "How long did Martin stay in Texas the second time?"

"Same thing, three days, that time Gisella put him on the bus 'cause I told her no more airplane."

"There's no chance he returned to Gisella's?"

"Gisella never lies."

Milo said, "Could we have her phone number, please?"

"You don't believe me."

"Of course we do, sir. But just in case Martin shows up sometime in the future."

"You think he could?" said Mendoza.

"Kids do all sorts of things."

"That would be good. His mother could stop throwing up."

Milo copied as he recited.

I said, "You're sure Martin doesn't have any friends he could find refuge with?"

"That's part of the problem, he didn't like the kids there. Too rich, too snobby, too white-even the Latino kids and the black kids were white according to him. I say you're the one being a snob. Judge people by what they do not by who their parents are. He laughs, like you'd understand. I say you're a star athlete, good-looking guy, you're smart, what's not to like? He gets really mad with the attitude, starts screaming."

"About what?"

"About everything nice I said. I'm a star athlete? He shakes his bad shoulder. This is an athlete? He pinches his cheek, stretches the skin out. This is good-looking? Martin's dark, not like me, his mother's side, sometimes her brother-the basketball player-gets taken for a Brazilian. I say calm down. He keeps going. You think this is good-looking at a place like that? I'm a fucking outcast. Excuse the language, that's how he said it."

"He was pretty upset."

"He's waving his arms, gonna hurt that rotator cuff. He walks out but this time he comes back. With the D term paper. Rips it up, starts eating it." Still incredulous. "Chewing the paper, swallowing, I'm screaming now, what are you doing, fool, you'll get sick. He says since you stuck me in that place, I been eating shit, what's a little paper for dessert? Then he leaves the house, I don't see him until I get home from work the next day."

"Where'd he go?"

"He never says where he goes."

"He didn't want to be tutored but he showed up."

"He's a good boy," said Emilio Mendoza.

"How did he like it?"

"He says it's a waste of time and money, she doesn't care about him, all she wants is the money, all she does is sit there while he reads and writes, then she gives him extra homework that no way he's going to do." Mendoza's eyes shot to the sky.

I said, "Anything else about her bother him?"

"Not really." He gripped his cup with both hands, dented the cardboard.

"What is it, Mr. Mendoza?"

"Look," he said, "Martin can think things that are wrong. Like one time, he knew one of Gisella's friends was interested in him. But she wasn't. Gisella told him, they had a fight."

"Martin thought something about Ms. Freeman that you don't think was true."

"He said she touched him too much. Nothing sexy, his arm, his hand. I say what's the big deal, she's friendly. He says, what the hell, Papi, does touching have to do with English? I say you're making a big deal, she's there to help you."

I said, "Ms. Freeman tutored English and history. What about Martin's science and math grades?"

"In science-biology-he's better, got the B's. He hates writing, said Ms. Freeman figured that out and that's why she gave him extra writing. I say she's trying to fix what you need to be fixed."

"Then he walked out."

"You got it," said Mendoza. "He's a good boy, please don't think he did anything. The whole thing with her-Ms. Freeman-it's no big deal, he went three times, maybe four. Martin's a good boy, he has a lot of pressure, maybe I did the wrong thing by putting him in Prep, my wife says I did."

Split second of reflection. "But no, I don't think so, you need a challenge, without a challenge, you dress up in a bow tie and serve rich people who look at you like you're a piece of furniture. Now I have to go, please don't say a little more, Emilio. I have to go."

Mendoza 's white Hyundai rolled down to PCH.

Milo said, "He started off protective but ended up giving up info. Way I see it, one of two things happened: Elise came on to Martin and it creeped him out. She got pissed at being rejected, he got pissed that she was pissed, it escalated and Martin bore a grudge. Or he succumbed to her charms but she made him feel inadequate. Or played around with him and rejected him later."

"There's a third possibility: He had nothing to do with killing her."

"He rabbited, Alex. That's his pattern, when the tension piles up, he leaves."

"Like you said, a teen with a short fuse still doesn't sync with the planning that went into the murder and nothing Martin's father told us depicts Martin as a good planner. Just the opposite, he's impulsive."