Jonathan Kellerman - The Clinic

“She said it happened when she was little- a baby, two or three.” He shook his head. “It's not true, sir. They believed me- the hospital and the police and my wife. The law said they had to investigate and I went through the whole thing. It was pure hell. Temple City police, again. A Detective Gunderson. Nice guy, maybe he's still there. Anyway, the bottom line was that it was Tessa's imagination. It just runs away with itself. When she was a real little kid she'd watch something on TV, then wanna be it- cartoon characters, whatever. You understand? Flying around being Supergirl, whatever. So all I can figure is she musta saw some movie and started to believe something had happened to her.”

He smoothed his mustache. “Before I got married I was a rough kid, spent a little time at the Youth Authority for burglary. But then I accepted my responsibilities, learned mechanics- I'm telling you all this so you see I'm straight. Know what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“The thing is, with Tessa, you can never be sure what she's gonna do. After the investigation, she admitted she was wrong, said she felt guilty and wanted to kill herself. Her mom and I told her that would be the worst thing and we still loved her. To make matters worse, the insurance money for the hospital ran out and we had to take her home just then, when things were bad. The hospital said watch her closely. We didn't let her out of our sight. Then we did family counseling at a county clinic and she seemed to take to that, we thought she was okay. And to show you how smart she is, she got good grades through all of it, got accepted to the U. We thought everything was okay. Then, this year, she announces she's coming home. Then she breaks down and tells us about the rape thing. Some guy on a date. I told her I believed her but…”

He stubbed the second butt out in the ashtray. “If I was sure it was true, I'da looked for the guy, myself. But I know she falsely accused me. And that boy. So what was I to think? And she never complained right away, not til she heard that professor lecturing. Then the professor gets murdered. I heard that, I got scared.”

“Scared in what way?”

“Guy like me, high-school dropout, I used to think college was safe. Then you hear about something like that.”

“Did Tessa tell you anything about Professor Devane?”

“Just that she liked her. For believing her. She never thought anyone would believe her again. Then she got into what she'd said about me and started crying real hard. Saying she's sorry, doesn't want to be the girl who cried wolf. I told her, honey, what's past is past, you tell me this happened, I believe you, let's go to the police and nail the sucker. But she got really scared about that, said no, no one would believe her, it was a waste of time, there was no evidence, it was date rape, anyway, and no one took that seriously.”

“Except Professor Devane.”

“Except her. Yeah. I think that's the only reason she brought it up to us- the professor had been killed, she was scared. I said, are you telling me you think the guy who… assaulted you mighta killed her? But she wouldn't answer that, just kept saying the professor had believed her, treated her good and now she was dead, life sucked, the good die young, that kind of stuff. Then she said, I changed my mind about coming home, Daddy, I'm going back to the dorm. And she left. We let her go but we called her the next day and she didn't answer. So we went over there and found her lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. All this food all around her- trays of food, but she hadn't eaten any of it. She was just staring at the ceiling. We'd seen her that way, before. When she stopped taking her medicine.”

“What medicine is that?”

“Used to be Nardil, then Tofranil, then Prozac. Now she's on something else- Sinequan? When she takes it, she does pretty good. Even with all the problems she's still pulling B's, which is amazing in my opinion. If she didn't have problems, she'd be straight A's. She's a smart girl, always was. Maybe too smart, I don't know.”

He held his hands out, palms up.

“So you found her in bed,” I said. “Not eating.”

“We checked her out of the dorm and took her home. She was only in two classes, anyway, 'cause her doctor didn't want her to be pressured. We said why don't you drop out for a quarter, you can always come back. She said, no, she wanted to keep going. And her doctor said that was a good sign- her being motivated. So we let her.”

He turned to me. “She's enrolled but she doesn't do nothing. No reading, no homework.”

“Does she still go to classes?”

“Sometimes. My wife drives her and picks her up. Sometimes she sleeps in and doesn't go. We don't like it but what can we do? You can't watch 'em twenty-four hours. Even the psychiatrist says so.”

“So she's still seeing a psychiatrist?”

“Not regularly but we still call him because he's a nice guy, kept seeing her even after the money ran out. Dr. Emerson, out in Glendale. You want to talk to him, be my guest. Albert Emerson.” He recited a number that I copied.

“Did he ever give you a diagnosis?”

“Depression. He says she uses her imagination to protect herself.”

He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“Rough,” I said.

“Them's the breaks. My little boy's great.”

“How old is he?”

“Be four next month- big for his age.”

“Any other children?”

“No, just the two. We weren't sure we should have more 'cause of all the time we put into Tess. And she- my wife- has got a retarded brother, lives in an institution. So we didn't know if there was something inbred or anything.”

He smiled. “Then we got surprised.”

“Nice surprise,” I said.

“Oh yeah. Robbie's a great little guy, throws a ball like you wouldn't believe. Being with him's about the only thing that makes Tess happy. I let her baby-sit but I keep an eye out.”

“For what?”

“Her moods. He's a happy kid and I want to keep it that way. Like when we were watching the news about that professor and Tess started to scream, it got Robbie really upset. That's how I calmed her down. Telling her, honey, get a grip, look at Robbie. After that she was okay. After that she didn't even want to talk about it. She's calmed down, so far so good. But I keep my eye out.”

I had him write me out permission to speak to Dr. Albert Emerson and drove home. Robin's truck was gone and I found a note in the kitchen saying she'd left to do some emergency repair work for a country singer out in Simi Valley and would be back by seven or eight.

I called the psychiatrist, expecting a service or a receptionist, but he answered his own phone in an expectant, boyish voice- someone ready for adventure.

I introduced myself.

“Delaware- I know the name. You were involved with the Jones case, right?”

“Right,” I said, surprised. Rich defendant and a plea bargain; it had all been kept out of the papers.

“The defense called me,” he said, “when they were figuring out which place to send the bastard. Wanted me to testify on his behalf, get him a cushy bed. I said wrong number, counselor, my wife's an assistant D.A. and my sympathies tend to run in the other direction. Did they put him away for long?”

“Hopefully,” I said.

“Yeah, you never know when there's money involved. So, what can I do for you?”

“I'm working with the police on another case. A psychology professor who was murdered a few months ago.”

“I remember it,” he said. “Near the U. You like criminal cases?”

“I like closure.”

“Know what you mean. So what's my connection?”

“Tessa Bowlby. She knew the victim. Accused another student of date rape and brought him up before a sexual-conduct committee chaired by Professor Devane. We're talking to all the students involved with the committee but Tessa doesn't want to talk and her problems make me reluctant to push it.”