Jonathan Kellerman - Time Bomb

It was a cassette tape, white plastic with black lettering that had smeared. The title was KEEPING A CLEAR MIND, AGES 5-10. Copyright 1985, Lance Dobbs, Ph.D. Cognitive-Spiritual Associates, Inc.

“This is what Little Miss Phony Doc was handing out before you aced her,” she said. “I confiscated all of them, took one home, and listened to it last night. Far as I can tell, what it comes down to is brainwashing. Literally. Dobbs goes on about how bad thoughts make children sad and angry. Then he tells them to imagine their mommies taking their brains out and scrubbing them hard with soap and water until they’re all clean, all the bad thoughts are gone, and what’s left are good, clean, sparkly thoughts. Sounds hokey to me. Is there any way something like that could be beneficial?”

“Doubtful,” I said. “Techniques like that have been used with chronically ill people- positive thinking, guided imagery, trying to get them to focus away from their discomfort. But generally those patients are screened and counseled first- encouraged to express their feelings before they try to clean their heads. That’s what our kids need right now. To unload.”

“So you’re saying this could hurt them- jam them up?”

“If they took it too seriously. It could also cause guilt problems if they started to view their fear and anger as ‘bad.’ To kids, bad means they’ve misbehaved.”

“Damn quacks,” she said, glaring at the cassette.

“Was there anything on the tape that would hold a child’s interest?”

“Not that I heard,” she said. “Just some ditsy music in the background and Dobbs droning on like some kind of oily guru. Real low budget.”

“Then there’s probably not much risk. The kids wouldn’t sit through it long enough to be damaged.”

“Hope so.”

“Low budget,” I said. “Just like Massengil’s interior decorating. I can see why that kind of thing would appeal to him- a quick fix, no mucking around with anything psychologically threatening. And outwardly cost-effective- two hundred kids treated at one time. Dobbs could probably rig up some computerized test showing the kids were doing great; then the two of them throw a press conference and end up heroes.”

I put the tape in my pocket. “I’ll take it home and give it a listen.”

She said, “What really burns me is the grief we go through trying to get mental health funds out of the legislature. They’re always demanding outcome studies, proof of efficacy, pages of statistics. Then a creep like Dobbs gets his mouth on the government tit with this kind of nonsense.”

“That’s because the creep has a special in.”

“What?”

“I can’t be certain but I’d be willing to bet he’s Massengil’s therapist.”

She lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows. “Old Blowhard in analysis? C’mon. You just said he wouldn’t go for anything psychologically threatening.”

“He wouldn’t. Dobbs probably couches it in nonthreatening- non therapeutic terminology. Muscle-relaxation training, management efficiency. Or even something quasi-religious- one of the seminars had something to do with the soul.”

“Down on the old knees and emote?”

“Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between them.” I told her what I’d seen of the interchange between Dobbs and Massengil, the cues and covert looks. “When I hinted at exposing the nature of their relationship, Massengil almost lost his cookies.”

“Oh, boy,” she said. “There’s a charming image for you.” She touched a finger to her lips. “Wonder what kink he’s having straightened.”

“Maybe it’s temper control, or relief of some kind of stress-related symptom like hypertension. Dobbs seemed accustomed to calming him down and Massengil obeyed him. As if they’d practiced together.”

“A minor league Eagleton,” she said, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t play too well with the good folks of Ocean Heights, would it?”

“Hence the seminar cover,” I said. “And extra payoffs to Dobbs for being discreet- like referrals after the earthquake. And the tapes. How much you want to bet Massengil’s office paid for them? For a minor investment Massengil’s buying the chance to come out of this whole thing smelling fragrant. He and Dobbs had no way of knowing I’d get there first- after Dobbs had already started talking to the press. The scandal potential is there. At the very least Massengil would look like a damn fool.”

She shook her head. “Same old story. You’d think I’d get used to it. I hope all of this hasn’t soured you too much.”

I realized that talking about it had leeched the anger out of my system. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse. Anyway, I’m here to work. How many kids showed up?”

“A few more than yesterday, but not nearly enough. A lot of the parents couldn’t be reached by phone during working hours. Carla and I will try again tonight.”

I noticed how tired she looked and said, “Nice to see you haven’t been soured.”

She examined a cuticle. “One does what one can.”

I said, “I see the school guard is gone.”

“Must mean we’re safe, huh?”

“You don’t feel safe?”

“Actually, I do. I truly believe Massengil brought things to a head. The worst is over.”

The look on her face didn’t jibe with her words. I said, “What is it, then?”

She opened a drawer, pulled out a manila envelope, and handed it to me.

Inside were three sheets of paper, one blue-ruled and torn from a spiral notebook, the others cheap white stationery, unmarked. The message on one of the white sheets had been typewritten on an old manual; the other was handwritten in very dark penciled block letters. The blue-ruled sheet was covered with bird-scratch red-ballpoint cursive.

Different hands, the same message:

SPICK LOVER!!! FUCK YOU MONGREL RACEMIXER BICHES!!!

YOUR DAY OF RECKON IS SOON. REPENT OR BURN WITH ALL NIGGER TYPES IN DAMN NIGGER HELL…

ILLEAGALS GO BACK TO BEANERLAND. NO MORE STEALING JOBS FROM AMERICAN WORKING PEOPLE… WHITE PEOPLES LIBERATION FRONT.

She said, “I used to get this kind of swill regularly, but it had stopped. Guess it brings back memories of how rough things were in the beginning.”

“Have you told the police?”

She nodded. “I called that detective from the terrorist squad- Frisk. He had me read all of it to him over the phone, said he’d send someone over to pick up the letters. But he didn’t sound too hurried- kind of bored, actually. Didn’t care that I’d gotten my fingerprints all over it or that Carla had thrown out the envelopes. I asked him about putting the guard back on duty, just for a while. The guy was no great shakes but better than nothing, right? Frisk said the guard had been supplied by the school district and it was out of his bailiwick, but that it really didn’t seem to be anything to worry about- the perpetrator had acted alone. I asked him what about copycats, and he said that was highly unlikely.”

“Did you tell him about the crossbearer?”

“Old Elijah? That’s how I think of him- crazy prophet, down from the hills. I mentioned it, but Frisk said there was nothing he could do unless the turkey actually broke a law or unless I went to court and got a restraining order. Incidentally, he showed up again this morning- Elijah. Shouting through the fence about hell and perdition. I went out to him and told him he’d done good work here- everyone had heard the word. Then I asked if I could read his Bible with him. He jumped on that, turned to something from Jeremiah, death and destruction of the Holy Temple. You should have seen the two of us, reciting out on the sidewalk. After we finished I told him he should check out Hollywood Boulevard- lots of needy spirits aching for salvation over there. He called me a woman of valor, blessed me, and marched away singing.”