Jonathan Kellerman - Deception

Marty laughed. Charlie remained serious.

"We had to do it," he said. "We don't deserve credit because there was no other logical choice. They made explicit threats against him."

The chief said, "Son, there's no need to get into-"

"They hated Marty because they're insubstantial posers and his abilities threatened them. It was a matter of life and death."

Marty said, "Maybe not that bad. At least I got to learn surfing."

Garret said, "You learned to flop on your ass."

I said, "So you stayed in Malibu."

"Yes, but not at my grandfather's estate because we knew… we just figured it wasn't a good idea. My grandfather rents me my own place in Trancas, I'm taking a couple of years off to do a documentary on surfing. Probably come to nothing, but I'll give it a try then maybe head to UC Santa Cruz." To Marty: "At least you're neat, dude."

"Like you'd know the difference."

I said, "Nice setup. You even got him his own surfboard."

All three boys stared.

"Your grandfather's house was under surveillance, Garret. You were seen bringing a board out and the following day you left with a guy in a beige cap."

Garret Kenten said, "Whoa."

Charlie shrugged.

The chief said, "Okay, everyone got to share feelings, now go inside, guys, I need to talk to the doctor alone."

Martin Mendoza stood but the other two hesitated.

"Don't push it," said the chief.

Garret and Charlie flanked Marty. As they turned to leave, I walked up to him. "I'm glad you're okay."

He said, "History class there was all that talk about good Germans saving Jews. I wasn't sure I believed it."

The three of them trudged to the house.

The chief said, "You know what I'm going to ask you now."

"Not really."

"This mess, every single application from Prep is being looked at like a slice of freeze-dried dogshit. Charlie earned his way into Yale. I want you to write him a letter of recommendation and make it good."

"How does he feel about that?"

"Look, Doctor, anything from his teachers and that asshole Helfgott's gonna be poison. You, on the other hand, still stand for truth, justice, and all that good stuff. And you've got that professorship at the med school, they like that kind of thing."

"Be happy to do it," I said. "After I talk to Charlie."

"About what?"

"For me to write a good letter, I need to know him."

"I'll tell you what you need to know: 4.0 GPA and he takes the hardest classes-honors, APs. His extracurricular activities are off the chart, I'm talking a broad range of-"

"Not that," I said.

"Then what?" he barked.

"I want to know him. Not his circus tricks."

Charlie slouched out of the house with the look of every other teenager pushed into doing something he despised.

I said, "Let's walk."

"Why?"

"I feel like it and you're too young to have sore feet."

"Whatever."

We began circling the motor court. He jammed spidery hands into his pockets, stared at the ground.

"You know what your dad wants."

"Emphasis on 'your dad.' As opposed to what I want."

"That's why I'm talking to you."

"He's utterly obsessed."

"With you?"

"With me getting into some weenie emporium."

"He said you chose Yale."

"That's like saying I hate cheese and someone says your choice is Gruyere or Cheddar."

"You couldn't care less."

"No," he said, "if I said that, I'd be just another phony cretin. Sure, I care. I've been conditioned to care."

Two steps. "Sometimes I think about going to junior college. Just to show them how stupid the whole thing is."

"That would be something," I said.

"Where'd you go to school?"

"The U."

"No pressure from your parents?"

"The Ivies weren't in my universe. I was just glad to get the hell away from Missouri."

"What's wrong with Missouri?"

"Absolutely nothing."

He stared at me. "Oh. Anyway, don't feel you have to do anything that contradicts your principles."

"Writing a letter for you doesn't," I said. "On the contrary."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough."

"Whatever-if I say don't write it, you won't?"

"Not a comma."

"He doesn't take well to being told no."

"I've told him no before."

Brown eyes widened. "In what context?"

I said, "He's been bugging me for years to give up my practice and work for the department. Keeps tossing more money and better titles my way."

"Yeah, that's his style. So what, you shine him on because you don't like him?"

"I could deal with him, Charlie, but the money still sucks and always will and, more important, I prize my independence. You can relate to that."

His look turned sour. Don't Patronize Me.

I said, "Don't get all sensitive, I'm stating a fact. No need for me to kiss your ass."

The follow-up look, saucer-eyed and confused, said Who Is This Space Alien?

We walked a bit more before he said, "It's utterly absurd, his thinking I deserve a prize. I just did what was necessary."

"Were you and Marty friends?"

"I don't have any friends," he said. "Neither did he, at Prep."

"Common enemy's as good a reason as any for rapport."

First smile of the day. "True… he used to sit by himself, a couple of times I went over and talked to him. He was polite but didn't have much to say. After he hurt his shoulder he wasn't much for any kind of sociability, I could see he wanted to be alone, so I stayed away. But then I heard some of their clique trash-talking about Marty killing Ms. F., I knew I had to do something. Planting lies is so typical. They live to deceive."

"T and Q," I said.

"They take no responsibility and the system feeds their narcissism."

"Finding scapegoats."

"Finding and tossing them over cliffs. That's the original concept. Of scapegoat, I mean. It's from the Old Testament, used to be literal. When the community deteriorated to utter corruption, they picked two goats. One was designated godly, the other was the Azazel and they tossed it over to atone for everyone's sins." Huffing. "As if."

"They teach Bible at Prep?"

"Oh, sure." He snickered. "Between agonizing analysis of Malcolm X and Catcher in the Rye there isn't much time left for ancient texts. No, I've been known to read on my own. Even when I should be studying for the SAT."

I said, "You like the Old Testament."

"Old, New, the Prophets, the Gospels, the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita. The truth is, all religions promote kindness as well as incredible brutality."

I said, "So T and Q's clique had pinned Ms. Freeman on Martin. Think they believed it?"

"Who knows? Are they even capable of belief?"

"They talked about it openly?"

"No way," he said. "But one time I was being my usual asocial loser self and walking near the back of the campus-right at the back, there's a dense, kind of foresty area where no one goes, which is precisely why I do, I need peace and quiet so I can read what I want to, cut myself off from all the-anyway, I was back there. Reading Job, actually, and for the first time I heard someone else. It was T, smoking weed. Then Q joined him and he lit up. I said, Great, there goes my last refuge. I thought of leaving but didn't want them to see my-I just didn't want to deal with them. So I stayed, I was behind some thick bushes, it's a place I always go, just me and the beetles, once in a while there's a squirrel. They had no idea. I had no interest whatsoever in anything they had to say but they were close by and talking loud enough for me to hear. Then some of their clique joined them and they all started talking about it."

"Ms. Freeman."

"Yes. No one was exactly grieving. Mostly because they're superficial. But in T's case and Q's, there was anger. 'Ding dong the bitch is dead,' that kind of thing. Then T started going off on Marty, blaming him for it, saying he was going to call in an anonymous tip to the police and name Marty. Everyone thought that was a great idea. Then everyone lit up and the air started stinking of weed and I wanted out of there but I waited until they were gone, then took out my cell and texted Garret and he called his grandfather and he called the Mendozas. They decided they needed to keep Marty safe until it became clear if those threats were real. Mrs. Mendoza packed up a suitcase and drove Marty to Garret's."