Jonathan Kellerman - Dr. Death

Someone other than Richard. Anyone but Richard.

Stretching out on the old leather sofa, I covered myself with a woolen throw, stared up at the ceiling, knowing I'd never fall back asleep.

When I awoke, it was just after seven and Robin was standing over me.

"What a guy," she said, "moves out to the couch even when he hasn't misbehaved." She sat perched on the edge of the cushion, smoothed my hair.

"Morning," I said.

She looked at the file. "Cramming for the big test?"

"What can I say? Always been a grind."

"And look where it's gotten you."

"Where?"

"Fame, fortune. Me. Rise and shine. Fix yourself up so I can take care of you-I seem to be doing that a lot, lately, don't I?"

Showering and shaving provided a veneer of humanness, but my stomach recoiled at the idea of breakfast and I sat watching as Robin ate toast and eggs and grapefruit. We shared a pleasant half hour and I thought I pulled off amiable pretty well. When she left for the studio, it was eight and I turned on the morning news. Recap of the Doss story but no new facts.

At 8:20, I phoned Alice Zoghbie and heard the taped greeting from her machine. Just as I hung up, my service rang in.

"Morning, Dr. Delaware. I have a Joseph Safer on the phone."

Richard's lawyer. "Put him on."

"Doctor? Joe Safer. I'm a criminal-defense attorney representing your patient Richard Doss."

Mellow baritone. Slow pace but no faltering. The voice of an older man-deliberate, grandfatherly, comforting.

"How's Richard doing?" I said.

"We-ell," said Safer, "he's still incarcerated, so I don't imagine he's doing too well. But that should be resolved by this afternoon."

"Paperwork?"

"Not to be paranoid, Doctor, but I do wonder if the boys in blue haven't slowed things down a bit."

"God forbid."

"Are you a religious man, Doctor?"

"Doesn't everyone invoke God when times get rough?"

He chuckled. "How true. Anyway, the reason I'm calling is once Richard does get out, he would like to speak with you about his children. How to best get them through this."

"Of course," I said.

"Terrific. We'll be in touch." Cheerful. As if planning a picnic.

"What's in store for him, Mr. Safer?"

"Call me Joe… We-ell, that's hard to say… we both enjoy the privilege of confidentiality here, so I'll be a bit forthcoming. I don't believe the police have anything one might judge as seriously incriminating. Unless something turns up during the search, and I don't expect it will… Doctor, you've got more latitude than I in terms of your confidentiality."

"What do you mean?"

"Unless your patient poses a Tarasoff risk, you're not obligated to divulge anything. I, on the other hand… There are questions I don't ask."

Letting me know he didn't want to know if his client was guilty. That I should keep my mouth shut if I knew.

"I understand," I said.

"Splendid… Well, then talk about Stacy and Eric for a moment. They seem like nice children. Bright, extremely bright, that's evident even under the circumstances. But troubled-they'd have to be. I'm glad you're on board if therapy's called for."

"There may be a problem with that. Eric's furious with me, convinced I'm aligned with the police. I can understand that because I am friends with one of the-"

"Milo Sturgis," said Safer. "A very effective investigator-I'm well aware of your friendship with Mr. Sturgis. Commendable."

"What is?"

"A heterosexual man enjoying a friendship with a homosexual man. One of my sons was gay. He taught me a lot about having an open mind. I didn't learn quickly enough."

Past tense. His voice had dropped in pitch and volume. "Impetuous youth," he continued. "I'm referring to Eric. I have five of my own, thirteen grandchildren. Four of my own, to be truthful. My boy Daniel passed on last year. His diagnosis sped up my learning curve."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh it was terrible, Doctor, your life's never the same… but enough of that. In terms of Eric's recalcitrance, I'll have a talk with the boy. As will Richard. What about Stacy? I don't have as much of a feel for her. She sits there while Eric does all the talking. Reminds me of my Daniel. He was my firstborn, always a peacemaker-his siblings' ambassador to their mother and me when things got rough."

I heard him sigh.

"Stacy's a good kid," I said. "My primary patient in the family. I had only one session with Eric, and not a complete one. The police showed up before we were through and took Richard away."

"Yes. Dreadful. Rather cossacklike behavior… We-ell, thank you for your time, Dr. Delaware. Take care of yourself. You're needed here."

THURSDAY AT 8:45 A.M. I called Alice Zoghbie, got the same taped message. Fifteen minutes later, I caught a newsbreak. Different reporter, same I've-got-a-scoop smile. Another backdrop that I recognized.

"… the woman, Amber Breckenham, claims that in addition, Haiselden regularly abused her and her daughter during their relationship. We're here at Haiselden's house, where neighbors say he hasn't been seen for well over a week. At the moment this remains a civil case, and no word has come down from LAPD as to whether a criminal investigation will be pursued. From Westwood, with another bizarre twist on the murder of death doctor Eldon Mate, I'm Dana Almodovar, On-the-Spot News."

Shift to the weather report. Hazy skies, low sixties to mid-seventies, for the fortieth day in a row. I played with the remote, finally found a complete story on one of the networks specializing in lurid.

Amber Breckenham, thirty-four, the manager of one of Roy Haiselden's laundromats, in Baldwin Park, had filed a civil suit against her former boss. A shot of Breckenham walking into court with her attorney showed a tall, thickly built bleached blonde. Holding her hand was a dark-haired girl, eleven or twelve. The child kept her head down, but someone called her name-"Laurette!"-and she looked up just long enough for the camera to capture a glimpse of pretty African features and straightened hair brushed back from a high, smooth brow.

Breckenham's story was that she'd had a seven-year affair with Haiselden, during which time he'd claimed to be investing her money but had, in fact, embezzled. Furthermore, he'd abused her physically and intimidated Laurette psychologically. The suit was for five million dollars, most of it punitive damages.

Haiselden's reason for cutting town? Scratch one murder suspect?

But if Amber Breckenham's charges were true, it indicated Mate had been less than a sterling judge of character. Had he misjudged fatally?

Or had choosing Joanne Doss been his big mistake?

And what had been Joanne's mistake-the sin, if there was one, that had caused her to turn herself into the creature in Eric's Polaroid?

I left the house, drove to the U. for my second trip to the research library in as many days.

Only one reference to Joanne's death, a page-20 story in the Times:

Body Found in Desert Motel

Attributed to Dr. Mate's Machine

LANCASTER.

A motel maid entering to clean a room at the Happy Trails Motel on the outskirts of this high desert community discovered the fully clothed body of a Pacific Palisades woman early yesterday morning. While no sightings of "death doctor" Eldon Mate's van in the vicinity have been reported, toxi-cologic analysis of the blood of Joanne Doss, 43, indicating the presence of two drugs used consistently by the self-styled euthanist, as well as puncture marks suggesting intravenous injection, and the absence of forced entry or struggle, have led Sheriff's detectives to suspect assisted suicide.

Lead investigator David Graham stated, "She looked peaceful. Classical music was playing on the radio and she'd eaten a last meal. From what I understand, Dr. Mate encourages his patients to listen to music."