Jonathan Kellerman - The Clinic

“I can't say. Legal complications.”

“Oh,” he said. “The guy got caught for another one?”

“Let's just say she's been validated.”

“Okay. I'll find out from my D.A. wife.”

“She may not know. It's really a ticklish situation. As soon as I can be open I promise I will.”

“Fair enough- hold on, the father wants to speak with you.”

A moment later: “Doctor? Walt Bowlby, here.”

“Sorry to hear about Tessa.”

“Thank you, sir.” His words dragged. “Dr. Emerson says she'll pull through. What can I do for you?”

“I was just checking in to see how Tessa was doing.”

His voice broke. “She's- I guess I should've believed her about the rape.”

“No reason to blame your-”

“The funny thing is she seemed to be getting better, spending more time with Robbie, having some fun. Then she just stopped, didn't want to play with him anymore, even be with him. Started to stay in her room all day, with the door shut. Yesterday, I went in to talk to her, found her in the bathroom. Thank God… anyway, the reason I didn't call you is she didn't say anything more about the professor til today. I was gonna call you about that, but we've been pretty busy.”

“What'd she say today?”

“That the professor was her true friend because she was the only one who believed her. That the bastard tied her up and forced her and no one understood what she'd been through but the professor.”

“He tied her up?”

“Yeah. If I find him, I'll cut his balls off.”

“Mr. Bowlby-”

“I know, I know, my wife tells me I'm stupid to even talk that way and I know she's right. But the thought of his doing that to my little girl… maybe there's a hell… the main thing is Tessa's alive. I'll deal with the other stuff later. Anyway, thanks for calling, Doc.”

“Would it upset you if I came to talk to Tessa?”

“For what?”

“Just to tell her that I believe her, too.”

“Wouldn't upset me but you'd have to check with Dr. Emerson.”

“Is he still there?”

“He went just down the hall, want me to get him?”

“Please, if it's no bother.”

“No bother at all. I'm not doing much, just hanging around.”

I made it to Glendale by ten-thirty that night and La Canada a few minutes later.

Flint Hills Cottages was up Verdugo Road, well into the foothills, on the outskirts of a comfortable residential neighborhood, marked only by a small white sign on an adobe gatepost. The gate was open and the man in the guardhouse wore a blazer and tie and a practiced smile.

No central building, just small hacienda-style bungalows at the end of a curving gravel drive, tucked under hundred-year-old sycamores and cedars. Soft outdoor lighting and bougainvillea trained to the walls gave the place the look of a stylish spa.

Emerson had said Tessa was in Unit C and I found it directly across the parking lot and to the left. The front door was locked and it took a while for a uniformed nurse to answer the bell.

“Dr. Delaware for Tessa Bowlby.”

She gave me a doubtful look.

“Dr. Emerson's waiting for me.”

“Well, he's in back.”

I followed her through a butter-yellow hallway. New chocolate carpeting, framed lithos with a tilt toward flowers, a few rock-concert posters, seven doors, all locked. At the end was a nursing station where a man sat charting.

He looked up and stood. “Dr. Delaware? Al Emerson.”

He was in his early thirties with wavy brown hair trailing down his back and a thick brown beard squared meticulously at the bottom. Tweed hacking jacket, brown wool slacks, chambray shirt, blue knit tie. His grip was confident and quick.

“Thanks, Gloria,” he told the nurse and she left. I read Tessa's name on the chart's tab. The ward was silent.

“Peaceful, isn't it?” he said. “All the pain locked up for the night.”

“How's she doing?”

“She's starting to express regret, which is good.”

“Is her dad still here?”

“No, he left a short while ago. He was in with her but only for a minute or so. Tessa's pretty mad at him.”

“For not believing her?”

“That didn't help but it goes a lot deeper.”

“It usually does.”

He nodded appreciatively. “They're very nice people. Well-meaning, sincere. But simple. Not stupid, just simple.”

“As opposed to Tessa.”

“Tessa's as complex as they come. Creative, imaginative, artistic temperament. Likes to deal with existential issues. In the best of circumstances, she'd be high-maintenance. With this family it's like giving a Ferrari to a couple of perfectly competent Ford mechanics.”

“Fate's little tricks,” I said. “I've seen my share. Will she talk to me?”

“I haven't asked her yet. Why don't we find out?”

“Just pop in on her? The two times I tried she became highly anxious.”

“But now you've got something to tell her. And my wife does know what's going on, heard rumors of a student busted for the Devane murder. If he's Tessa's rapist it would be nice for her to know he's in custody.”

“It would be, but the D.A.'s keeping it quiet for a couple of days.”

“I could convince Tessa to stay here for more than a couple of days. She told me she likes it here, finds it restful.”

“What if I talk to her and she gets agitated?”

“Better here, where I can deal with it. Worse comes to worst, she freaks and I spend the whole night here.” Grinning. “My job. Sure beats sitting with your feet up having a beer, watching Comedy Central, right?”

I laughed.

He laughed, too, then turned serious. “Want to give it a try?”

“Can you keep it confidential?”

“She's got no phone and I ain't known as a blabbermouth.”

“All right,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Come on, she's in Three.”

Effort had been taken to make the room look homey: white wallpaper stamped with pale blue, wavelike abstractions; real wood furniture; a big window; flowers in a vase. But a closer look revealed padding under the paper, no sharp edges on the furniture, the light fixture Allen-bolted into the ceiling, external wooden bars striping the window. The vase was plastic and also bolted. The flowers were real lilies. Lilies are related to onions. Nontoxic.

Tessa sat on the bed reading The Atlantic Monthly. Other magazines were piled nearby. She wore a gray University sweatshirt and denim cutoffs. Both other times I'd seen her she'd been in all black. Her legs were long and skinny, nearly as white as the walls. A triangle of bandage peeked out from under her left sleeve.

She kept reading.

Hunched vulnerability. Muscadine had read it as fair game.

“Hello again,” said Emerson.

She looked up, saw me, and that same look of panic filled her eyes.

“It's all right, Tessa,” Emerson said, striding to her side. “Dr. Delaware's a good guy. I vouch for him.”

Her lower lip shook.

I smiled.

She looked down at her magazine.

“Good article?” said Emerson.

She didn't answer. Her chest was heaving.

Emerson came closer and read over her shoulder. “Reforestation of the Eastern seaboard.” He read some more. “Says here the trees are coming back on their own accord. What, they're allowing in good news for a change?”

Tessa chewed her lip. “The trees are coming back because the economy sucks. As industries close down, people move out of small towns and the land regresses to wilderness.”

“Oh,” said Emerson. “So it's what, bad news? Or a mixed bag?”

“You tell me.”

“What do you think?”

“That I don't want to talk to him .”

“Is it okay if he talks to you a bit?”

“About what?”