Jonathan Kellerman - The Clinic

I said, “Someone reading the transcript could get the impression you had a valid claim against Kenny.”

“Well, I didn't. I told you, it was complicated. Yes, because of our parents. Not that Mom asked me to be her… defender. I just… I misread some cues. That's all. Kenny didn't behave himself perfectly, but he's no animal. We could have worked things out. Proof is, we have. ”

She shifted the bag again.

Milo said, “I'd offer to carry that for you but it's probably not PC.”

She started to say something, then shot him an amused look and handed over the bag. In his hands it looked like a lunch sack.

Rolling her shoulders, she glanced back at the Village as we continued to stroll between the parked cars. “Is this going to take much longer?”

“Not much. Your mom and Kenny's dad, how are they getting along?”

“Fine.”

“Dating again?”

“No! They're just friends. Thank God. That would be- incestuous. That was a big part of the initial problem. Kenny and I didn't realize the extent of the baggage. Plus his mother died a year ago. He's still hurting.”

“What about his kicking you out of the car?”

Cindy stopped. “Please, Detective, I'd know if I was a victim.”

Milo didn't answer.

She said, “That night, he- it was stupid. I demanded to get out, he opened the door for me, and I tripped.”

She laughed but she looked as if someone had died. “I felt like such a spaz. We needed to work on our communication, that's all. The proof is empirical: we're fine.”

“You're a good student, aren't you, Cindy?”

The girl blushed. “I work hard.”

“Straight A's?”

“So far, but it's just two quarters-”

“Kenny's not much of a student, is he?”

“He's very bright! It's just that he has to find something that inspires him.” Licking her lips. “Some focus.”

“Motivation.”

“Exactly. People move at different paces. I've always known what I want to be.”

“What's that?”

“A psychologist or an attorney. I want to work for children's rights.”

“Well,” said Milo, “we can sure use people doing that.”

We walked past three more aisles. A car pulled out, the driver a girl no older than Cindy. We waited til it sped away.

“So Kenny's in San Diego,” said Milo. “Thought he was at the College of the Palms in Redlands.”

She shook her head. “He decided not to go.”

“Why?”

“He needed to get his head straight.”

“So he's not in school in San Diego?”

“Not yet. He's interning at a real-estate office in La Jolla. Friend of his dad's. So far he likes it a lot. He's good at selling things.”

“I'll bet.”

Cindy stopped again and snapped her head up at him. “He didn't sell anything to me, if that's what you're implying! I'm not some gullible jerk and I wouldn't settle for a relationship without equity.”

“What do you mean by equity, Cindy?”

“Balance. Emotional fairness.”

“Okay. Sorry if I offended you.” He scratched his chin and we reached the rear of the lot. The fence was backed by tall trees and a soft breeze blew through them.

Cindy said, “I feel good about Kenny and me. The whole reason I agreed to talk to you is because I wanted to do the right thing. Professor Devane's murder was horrible, but you're really wasting your time with me. She wasn't a significant part of my life. Or Kenny's. He only met her that one time and I just sat in on her class a couple of times before we talked about filing a complaint. She was nice, but even then I was ambivalent. The moment I got in there I knew it was a mistake.”

“Why?”

“The atmosphere- the three of them sitting there at a long table. Tape recorder and pens and paper. The whole thing was… inquisitional. Not at all what Professor Devane led me to believe- look, I'm sorry she's dead and I admired her a lot, but I have to say she was… misleading.”

“How so?”

“She made it sound like it would be a counseling session. Everyone communicating their feelings, trying to reach a resolution. More like a discussion group. The moment I saw that table, I knew that was wrong. Kenny said there should have been black candles and he was right. They were clearly out to judge men.”

“Which of Professor Devane's classes did you sit in on?”

“Sex-Roles and Development. I wasn't even enrolled but some of my friends were taking it, they kept coming back to the house- the sorority- and telling everyone how great it was. How they were learning all about gender and human behavior. All about men. I had a free period on Tuesday so I figured why not.”

“Was Professor Devane a good teacher?”

“She was a fantastic teacher. Riveting. The lecture was in Morton Hall 100- that's a huge room, six hundred seats. But she made you feel she was talking right to you. Which, believe me, is rare, especially when it comes to freshman classes. Some of the faculty just go through the motions.”

“She had a way of personalizing things,” I said. Just as she did on TV.

“Exactly. And she knew her stuff. Really a great lecturer.”

“And you sat in two, three times,” said Milo.

“Yes.”

“How'd you come to complain about Kenny?”

“The- what happened- the incident was on a Monday night and I was still very upset on Tuesday when I went to class.” She wet her lips with her tongue. “Professor Devane was lecturing on domestic violence and I started to feel like a victim. It was one of those stupid, impulsive things you do when you're stressed-out. I went up to her after class, said I had a problem. She took me to her office and just listened, made some tea for me. I cried a little and she gave me a tissue. Then, when I calmed down, she told me she might have a solution for me. That's when she described the committee.”

“What'd she say about it?”

“That it was brand-new. Important- in terms of women's rights on campus. She said I could play a significant role in countering women's helplessness.”

She looked at the book bag. “I had doubts but she seemed so caring. I can take the bag, now.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Milo. “So you feel she deceived you.”

“Not- I can't call it deliberate deception. Maybe I just heard what I wanted to because I was upset.”

“Sounds like you had good reason to be upset, Cindy,” I said. “Walking back to campus alone at night must have been scary.”

“Very. You hear all sorts of stories.”

“About crime?”

She nodded. “Weirdos stalking the hills- look what happened to Professor Devane!”

Milo said, “You think a weirdo killed her?”

“I don't know, but a woman in my sorority works on the student paper and she was doing some research over at the campus police station. They told her there are lots of rapes and attempted rapes that never make the news. And there I was- it was pitch-black. I had to find my way back.”

“Not fun.”

“Not much.” Suddenly, she was crying, hands snapping across her face.

Milo shifted the bag from hand to hand several times, hefting it as if it were a ball.

Wiping her eyes with her fingers, she said, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

“Believe me, I'm sorry about plenty. Maybe even about talking to you. 'Cause what's the point? College is rough enough without this kind of shi- mess.” She wiped her eyes again. “Excuse my language. I just never thought I'd know anyone who was murdered.”

Milo pulled a small plastic-wrapped package from a pocket and gave her a tissue. Had he come prepared for tears?

She took it and dabbed, looked around the parking lot. “Can I go, please? I have a two-o'clock all the way on North Campus and my bike's parked over on Gayley.”