Jonathan Kellerman: Self-Defence

"Free psychoanalysis," she said. "Sit down on that couch- on your hands, keep your butt on your hands."

"Such gratitude. I saved your life."

"Gee, thanks." She laughed. "What have you done for me today?"

Meaning it.

A part of him- genetically. Raising selfishness to an art form.

I thought of the way she'd tended her father. Absorbing his sexual comments. Changing his diapers.

Jocasta. Turning his Oedipal joke against him, secretly.

Lowell so estranged from his own child that he didn't recognize her.

The scars remnants of the fall down the mountain. New face…

Nova. New person.

"Anyone with you when you fell off that cliff?"

No answer.

"Wouldn't have been Ken, would it? He tends to damage women. How can you be sure he didn't push you?"

A toilet flushed. Ken came out of the guest bedroom with his hair slicked like a country kid's on Sunday.

Nova said, "I'll take care of him. You get her."

"She's out like a light. I'll have to carry her."

"So?"

He touched his lower back and grimaced.

"Do it."

He left and climbed the stairs.

I said, "He's really the walking wounded, isn't he?"

"He's a dear." The gun hadn't moved, and she was just out of reach.

"Dangerous business being a member of your family. Then again, that'll work to your advantage. Only two slices of the pie, if you and he don't kill each other first."

She smiled.

I said, "Yeah, you're probably right. You and Kenny will find a nice quiet place, get all cozy, and give in to what you've been wanting to do for such a long time. What you wanted to do to Daddy. Changing diapers' a poor substitute for the real thing, isn't it, cutie?"

She was tough and she knew what I was doing, but her eyes wavered for just a fraction of a second. Her grip on the gun must have loosened, too. Because when I chopped down hard at her wrist, she cried out and the weapon fell to the carpet.

She was a strong woman, full of rage, but there are few women who can handle even a small man physically. That's part of rape and battering and a lot of the tension between the sexes.

This time, it worked out for the best.

Milo said, "Can't talk long, got a promising suspect on the copycats. Roofer who was working at the courthouse during the trial."

"Does he have a dog?"

"Big surly mutt," he said gleefully. "Aren't you glad you weren't the poor clown who had to give him an enema?"

"How'd you get on to him?"

"One of the bailiffs gave us the lead. Says the guy used to sit in on afternoon sessions, doodle, and write things down; always had a weird feeling about him. Asshole lives in Orange County and has a bunch of DUI's, Peeping Toms, and a five-year-old attempted rape conviction. Santa Ana says their first interview was encouraging. I'm sitting in on the next one in half an hour."

"So it had nothing to do with the Bogettes."

"Not necessarily. Bailiff thinks he saw the asshole talking to some of the girls a couple of times. Shitbag denies any connection to them, but his room was full of their press clippings and a videotape of a TV interview with the head harpy- Stasha. Plus sundry other toys. That and the bailiff's say-so is enough for us to pull those hags in for questioning and sweat them big-time. We're asking for a pretty inclusive warrant before we come knocking. My bet is we find weapons and dope at that ranch, should be able to put 'em away for something."

"Good luck."

"Either way, I like this bastard for Shannon and Nicolette. Santa Ana found a hoop earring that might have been Nicolette's, as well as receipts for three storage lockers in Long Beach. Be interesting to see what the scrote finds worth storing. Forensic's still going over his place with their vacuum cleaners; it'll be awhile before all the fibers are analyzed. Anyway, I wanted you to know."

"Appreciate it. I can always use a little good news."

"Yeah… something else. We finally ID'd Ms. Nova's prints. Sorry to shatter your shrink's intuition, but she's not the sister."

"What?"

"The real Jocasta Lowell was printed when she was a student at Berkeley. Busted at a demonstration. And again after her body was shipped back from Nepal, so there's no doubt. Ken was there with her, by the way, so maybe he did push her off. But our nasty girl's a piece of work named Julie Beth Claypool. Nude dancer, druggie, biker babe, bad-check artist. String of arrests back to when she was sixteen. Wrote poetry in stir. Ken met her in Rehab, couple of years ago. Love at first bite."

"She pushes him around," I said, still in shock.

"I wouldn't doubt it. SFPD says she's been known to go for the whips and chains."

"The scars," I said. "God, I missed the boat completely- using the Oedipal wedge to throw her off balance- maybe I wanted her to flinch so badly I imagined it."

My heart was hurling itself against my chest wall. I'd broken out in a cold sweat.

"Talk about operating on false premises," I said.

"What'd you tell her, exactly?"

"That she wanted to screw Ken the way she'd wanted to screw Daddy."

"Well," he said, "SFPD says she comes from a real shitty family. Suspected incest- brothers and Dad, back to when she was real little."

"Oh, man. The same old story."

"In this case, lucky for you."

"Yeah… maybe I should buy a lottery ticket."

Lucy said, "Are peaches okay? I've already got pears."

The woman next to her said, "Put them in, honey. Those old people, the fruit's good for them."

They were standing at one of a series of long tables piled high with groceries, along with a dozen other people. Sorting canned goods and boxes of rice and beans and cereal. The Church of the Outstretched Hand's hub was a run-down warehouse.

Men and women of all ages and colors, working side by side, quietly and cheerfully, putting together boxes for delivery and loading them into a couple of old pickups out in back.

There were other places like it, all over the city.

Newspapers, especially those in the cold-weather zones, love to portray L.A. as a Balkanized smog-blinded armed camp with no more substance than a sitcom and no more altruism than a politician. It's not any closer to the truth than a lot of the other stuff in the papers.

Sherrell Best was packing along with his parishioners, distinguishable as the leader only because he had to break to take frequent phone calls.

He came over to us. "This is a wonderful person."

Lucy blushed. "Saint Lucretia."

"The kind of good she's created has to come from a beautiful soul, Dr. Delaware."

"I know."

"Please," said Lucy, placing a packet of cookies into the box.

"Wonderful," said Best. "Can I steal the good doctor from you for a second, Lucy?"

"Only if you bring him back."

He took me into a cubbyhole office and closed a particle-board door that didn't cut out much of the noise. On the wall were some of the same type of biblical pictures he'd had in his kitchen.

"I just wanted to thank you for all you've done," he said.

"It was my pleas-"

"It was exceptional, the way you stuck by her. She's blessed to have met you and so am I." He gave me a troubled look.

"What is it, Reverend?"

"You know, for a time I thought if I ever found what happened I'd take the law into my own hands. The Bible exhorts against revenge, but it also permits the Blood Redeemer his due. There were times I thought I'd do something terrible. My faith was lacking."

Tears filled his eyes.

"I could have been a better father. I could have given her money so she didn't need to-"

"Stop," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm no Solomon, but I know the difference between a good father and a bad one."