Jonathan Kellerman - The Clinic

“Is Kenny an only child?”

“No, there's a daughter up at Stanford Med.”

“The bright one.”

“Cheryl's a whiz.”

“How do she and Kenny get along?”

“Fine, but Kenny's never been at her level and everyone knows it. My point is, Detective, take those tempers and add all the stress, and without some sort of structure, there's a good chance both of them would eventually get hot under the collar and pop off. Give the wrong impression.”

“Which is?”

“That Kenny's capable of violence. He isn't, believe me. He played football with my kid in high school, had the speed and the muscle but got dropped from the team because he wasn't aggressive enough.”

“No killer instinct, huh?”

Bateman gave a pained look. “Furthermore, he assures me that on the night of the murder he was in San Diego.”

“Does he have someone to back that up?”

“No, but like I said, he's no Einstein.”

“So?”

“What I read about the murder sounded thought-out: stalking the woman, leaving no physical evidence. That just isn't Kenny. He might lose his cool and run his mouth, maybe even punch someone, but he calms down fast.”

“He's smart enough to get into the U,” I said.

“A miracle,” said Bateman. “Believe me. Ken pulled in some alumnus chits, had him tutored, the boy took the SAT four times. Then he worked his butt off, but still couldn't cut it. Couldn't hack College of the Palms either. Now this. It couldn't come at a worse time, in terms of his self-esteem. That's why that cra- your remark about his having free time was hurtful. Being interrogated by the police isn't pleasant. To be honest, Detective, he's pretty scared about today.”

“He didn't seem scared.”

“He puts on a show. Believe me, he's scared.”

Milo finally smiled. “You like him, huh?”

“Yes, I do, Detective.”

The smile widened. “Well, I don't, Mr. Bateman. 'Cause he hasn't done anything to earn my liking him.”

“Det-”

“I've got a brutal, unsolved murder with a lot of angry overtones to it on my hands and what I see in your client is a big, strong, aggressive kid with a very nasty temper who's been playing hard-to-get and finally shows up with Daddy acting antsy and a lawyer trying to block every syllable that comes out of my mouth. What do you want me to do, serve up my questions on a doily with parsley on the side? If I wanted to cater, I'd learn how to cook.”

Bateman bared his teeth again. The affect behind the mannerism was hard to gauge but his body language said submission.

“Of course not, Detective. Of course not, I'm just trying to- all right, let's give it another try. Ask what you want, tape everything, but I'll be taking detailed notes. And do try to remember this is a good kid.”

When we returned to the office, both Storms were smoking cigars and an ashtray had appeared on the desk.

“Panamanian?” said Milo.

Senior nodded and blew enough smoke to hide his facial features. Junior smirked.

Milo set up the tape recorder, recited the date and place, his badge number, and Junior's name as the subject of an “in-person interview with regard to one-eight-seven PC, Coroner's Case Number nine-four dash seven-seven-six-five, Professor Hope Devane.”

Hearing her name wiped the smirk off Junior's face. He smoked and fought back a cough.

Bateman and I sat down but Milo remained on his feet.

“Afternoon, Kenny.”

Grunt.

“Do you know why we're here?”

Grunt.

“How many times did you meet Professor Devane?”

Grunt.

“You're going to have to speak up.”

“Once.”

“When was that?”

“The committee.”

“The hearing of the Interpersonal Conduct Committee chaired by Professor Devane?”

Grunt.

“What's that?”

“Yeah.”

“I've read transcripts of that hearing, son. Sounds like things got pretty heated.”

Grunt.

“What's that?”

“She was a bitch.”

Senior took his cigar out. “Ken.”

“Hey, tell it like it is,” said his son.

“So you didn't like her,” said Milo.

“Don't put words into his mouth,” ordered Senior.

Milo looked down at him. “Okay, we'll stick to quotes: You think she was a bitch.”

Senior's mouth got piggish and Bateman made a go-easy gesture with his hand.

Milo repeated the question.

Junior shrugged. “She was what she was.”

“Which was?”

“A fucking bitch.”

“Ken!”

“Mr. Storm,” said Milo. “Please stop interrupting.”

“He's my son, dammit, and it's my right to-”

“Ken,” said Bateman. “It's okay.”

“Right,” said Senior. “Everything's okay, everything's just great. ”

“Counselor,” said Milo.

Bateman got up and put a hand on Senior's shoulder. Senior shook him off and smoked furiously.

“What,” said Milo, “made you think she was a bitch, Kenny?”

“The way she acted.”

“More specific.”

“The way she set me up.”

“Set you up how?”

“That letter telling me we were just going to discuss things.”

“At the hearing.”

“Yeah. When I got there, the way she tried to get Cindy to say I was some kind of rapist, which is total bullshit.” Sidelong glance at his father. “It was just a dumb hassle between Cindy and me. Later, she called me.”

“Professor Devane did?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Afterward.”

“After the hearing?”

“Yeah.”

“How long after?”

“The next day. At night. I was at the Omega house.”

“Why'd she call?”

“To try to freak me out.”

“In what way, son?”

“She was pissed because her little game was a loser.”

“How'd she try to freak you out?”

“She said even if Cindy didn't want to press charges, I had problems- impulse-control problems, some bullshit like that. She said she could make things rough for me if I didn't behave.”

“She threatened you?”

The boy shifted in his seat, looked at his cigar, and put it in the ashtray. His father stared at him.

“She didn't exactly come out and say it, more like hinting.”

“Hinting how?”

“I don't remember the exact words. Like I'll be watching, I'm in control, you know?”

“Did she use the word “control'?” I said.

“No- I don't know. Maybe- it was more like how she said it, you know? Watch your step. Or something like that. She was a radical.”

“Radical?” said Milo.

“Left-wing.”

“She discussed her political views with you?”

The boy smiled. “No, but it was obvious. Radical feminism, trying to establish a new order, know what I mean?”

“Not really, son.”

“Socialism. Central control.” Glance at his father. “Communism died in Russia but they're still trying to centralize America.”

“Ah,” said Milo. “So you see Professor Devane as part of some kind of left-wing conspiracy.”

Kenny laughed. “No, I'm no militia freak, I'm just saying there's a certain type of person likes to control things, make rules for everyone- like Playboy is evil and should be banned, affirmative action for everyone.”

“And Professor Devane was that type of person.”

Kenny shrugged. “Seemed like it.”

Milo nodded and ran his hand over his face. “And she said she'd be watching you.”

“Something like that.”

“Watching how?”

“She didn't say. I shined her on, anyway.”

“How?”

“Told her to fuck herself and hung up and went back to playing pool. I was leaving the place anyway, what did I care, fuck her.”

“Leaving the University?”