Jonathan Kellerman - Time Bomb

“My journal articles gave you hope?”

“Your articles were good- scientifically sound. Relatively hard methodology for a very soft science. That showed me you’re a thorough thinker- not some civil servant just coasting. But what really heartened me were the data I obtained from the lay press- newspaper articles. The Casa de Los Niños case. The Cadmus scandal. You’re obviously a man who seeks the truth singlemindedly, doesn’t run from challenges. I’m a good judge of character. I know you’re the man for me.”

More A-student hubris. And something else: a hunter’s smile.

Where had the grief gone? A spooky little man.

I said, “Speaking of the truth, how about showing some identification. Just to be thorough.”

“Certainly. It always pays to be thorough.” He produced a cheap wallet and from it plucked a driver’s license, Social Security card, and several credit cards. The photo on the license had a furtive, sullen look that reminded me of a dead girl. I glanced at the credit cards, all gold, all in the name of Mahlon M. Burden. Returned to the license photo and stared at it some more.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, “but for the most part, she resembled her mother.”

I gave him back his ID.

“She had her mother’s innate goodness, as well,” he said. “Compassion for all living things. This whole thing is a travesty- you’ve got to help me.”

“Mr. Burden, what is it exactly you think I can do for you?”

“Conduct a psycho-biography. The life and times of Holly Lynn Burden.” Mention of her name made his gaze waver for an instant; then it hardened with intent. “Apply the same tools of scholarship you apply to your research and become the resident expert on my little girl- on what made her tick. Delve as deep as you like. Be unsparing with your questions. Do whatever it takes to get to the root of this mess. Learn the truth, Dr. Delaware.”

I took my time answering. His eyes never left me.

“Sounds like you’re talking about two separate things, Mr. Burden. Reconstructing your daughter’s life- what’s known as a psychological autopsy. And vindicating her. One may not lead to the other.”

I waited for the explosion. What I got was more of the hunter’s smile.

“Oh, it will, Dr. Delaware. It will. A father knows.”

A father knows. A mother knows. How many times had I heard that before.

“There’s something you should know,” I said. “You’re obviously not happy with the way the police are handling things, but it was the police who called me in.”

“Unless you’d lie to make them happy, that doesn’t bother me.”

“Something else. I can’t promise you confidentiality. On the contrary. My first allegiance is to the children at Hale. My main goal is helping them cope with what happened, and I can’t let anything distract me from that. If I found out something negative about Holly and disclosing it would serve a therapeutic purpose, I’d disclose. Unpleasant things could become public knowledge.”

“I’m not frightened of the truth, Dr. Delaware. Solid data never scare me.”

Boasting. I thought of him surveilling me, from behind blackened windows. Using his “files” to invade my privacy. Using tears to gain entry into my lovely home .

Assuming the patient role so that I’d play therapist?

No matter what his motivation, I’d been manipulated. I took another sip of spiked coffee and experienced a wave of lightheadedness. Alcohol or the strangeness of the moment?

I put the cup down, sat back, crossed my legs, and studied him. Tried to regain objectivity, pull out of the sorrow-sympathy circuit that he’d instigated on my doorstep.

“I absolutely accept your contingencies,” he said. “Will you help me?”

He leaned forward on the sofa. Dry-eyed.

One part of me- the invaded householder- wanted him out of there. But I found myself considering his proposition. Because what he was offering me was exactly what I’d been telling everyone I wanted. A chance to understand the bogey-woman. The opportunity to mine some bit of information that might speed up the healing of the kids at Hale.

Delve as deep as you like. Be unsparing with your questions.

Given the recency of his tragedy, his inability at this point to confront what had really happened in the storage shed- that pledge meant little. He might start out by answering my questions and end up seeing me as the enemy. But somewhere in between, I might very well learn something.

At what price?

I said, “Give me some time to think about it.”

That didn’t please him; he tugged at the zipper-pull of his windbreaker, opened and closed the jacket, and kept staring at me, as if waiting for me to change my mind.

Finally he said, “That’s all I can ask, Doctor.”

He stood. Out came the cheap wallet. He handed me a white business card.

NEW FRONTIERS TECHNOLOGY, LTD.

MAHLON M. BURDEN, PRES.

A phone number with a Pacific Palisades exchange had been penciled beneath his name.

He said, “That’s a private line- very few people have it. Call me, twenty-four hours a day. Chances are I’ll be out of the office most of tomorrow- downtown, at Parker Center. Trying to get the police to release the… her body. But I’ll be picking up messages.”

His chin quivered and his face started to sag. Trying not to look at him, I saw him out the door.

I was still thinking about him when Milo called.

“Got a fix on your Honda,” he said. “New Frontiers Tech is Burden’s father’s company.”

“I know.” I told him about the visit.

“He dropped in on you, just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Traced you by running your plates?”

“That’s what he said.”

“You get any sense he was dangerous?”

“Not really. Just odd.”

“Odd in what way?”

“Calculating. Manipulative. But maybe I’m being too hard on him. The guy’s been through hell. Lord knows I’m not seeing him at his best.”

“Sounds to me like he piqued your professional curiosity.”

“Somewhat.”

“Somewhat. That mean you’re gonna take him up on his proposition?”

“I’m thinking about it. Any problem if I do?”

“Doesn’t bother me, personally, Alex, but are you sure you want to get in any deeper?”

“If I can learn something that would help the kids, I do. I made it clear to him that my first allegiance was to them . No confidentiality. He accepted it.”

“He accepts it for now. But look at the guy’s state of mind. Heavy denial: he’s still claiming she’s innocent. What happens when reality hits him? What happens after you go in and do your thing and come out concluding his little girl was a wacko with blood on the brain? How do you think he’ll accept that?”

“I raised that possibility with him.”

“And?”

“He said he was willing to take his chances.”

“Right. He also tell you it was his rifle she took to that shed? Apparently the guy’s a gun collector and she lifted one of his collectibles. What do you think that does to his ability to think straight about this?”

She hated my …

“When did you learn this?”

“Extremely recently.” Pause. “Sources at the ballistics lab.”

He cursed. I couldn’t tell how much of his resentment came from having to get facts on the investigation secondhand, how much from the possibility I might work with Mahlon Burden.

“So,” I said, “you’re saying I should turn him down?”

“ Me telling you what to do? Perish the thought. I just want you to think carefully about it.”