Jonathan Kellerman - Therapy

“Something bother you, Bennett?”

“What’d she do to piss Ray off?”

“You don’t know?”

“I swear I don’t.”

“You said Ray implied he’d done women.”

“Yeah, but like I said he just hinted around- you’re saying that was her? Flora? Shit.”

“That bother you, Bennett?”

“Sure it does. I liked her. Nice girl. After Ray said he wasn’t dating her anymore, I told him maybe I’d give her a try. He got irritated with me, told me sloppy seconds was for losers.” Hacker licked his lips. “I thought about doing it anyway, I liked Flora. But you didn’t want Ray irritated at you. Was it in the papers?”

“Nope,” said Milo. “Small-time story.”

“Flora,” said Hacker. “Unreal.”

“You guys have fun rooming in the Marina?”

“His idea, not mine,” said Hacker. “He was supposed to split the rent, so I thought, why not, we’d go our separate ways. He paid one month.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Milo. “You didn’t complain.”

“Like I said.”

“Ray a good roomie?”

“Actually, yes,” said Hacker. “Made his bed, vacuumed. You know cons, they can be real neat. I thought it would save me some money. My plan was to own the place, not just rent. My main place is a shithole, you saw it. I like the water- you’re sure the federal thing is buttoned down? I won’t be close to anyone I might’ve worked with in California? I don’t want to be watching my back all the time.”

“Buttoned tight.”

Hacker smoked, smiled. All thoughts of Flora Newsome vanished.

Milo said, “Something amusing, Bennett?”

“I was thinking,” said Hacker. “When the six years are over, I’m gonna be assigned to someone like me.”

It would be a long time before Jerry Quick’s entire story would be told.

“Maybe never,” said Milo.

There was a dash of false hope. A week after I’d seen Kelly Quick and her mother, Kelly made the mistake of using a conventional cell phone, not a prepaid, when she called Rio de Janeiro. Milo had gotten a subpoena for her account, and he traced the call.

“Staybridge Suites Hotel, São Paulo, Brazil.”

“Brazil has no extradition treaty with the U.S.,” I said.

“Funny thing about that. Quick checked in four days ago with a woman, paid cash, checked out yesterday, no indication where. The registration book lists them as Mr. and Mrs. Jack Schnell, Englewood, New Jersey, and they had passports to prove it. The desk clerk describes it as a May-December thing. Gray-haired guy, younger woman, dark, slim.”

“She have blue fingernails?”

“Ka-ching, you get the kewpie doll. Clerk said they looked deeply in love. Clerk said Mr. Schnell bought Mrs. Schnell a string bikini and various other baubles.”

I said, “Schnell means ‘quick’ in German.”

“Yeah, I know. Ha-ha-ha.”

Mistake number two: A MasterCard belonging to Sheila Quick had been used to rent a room at a Days Inn in Pasadena. Milo and I drove out there, spotted Sheila reading a softcover by the pool, covered by a bulky robe; no string bikini, there. She looked pale and small, and we avoided her and walked up to her room.

Milo’s knock was answered by a young female voice. “Yes?”

“Housekeeping.”

Kelly Quick opened the door. Saw him, then me. Said, “Oh, no.” She was barefoot, had her hair pinned up, and wore glasses, cutoffs, and an oversized olive drab T-shirt that read US ARMY SPECIAL FORCES. WE GET THE JOB DONE. In her hand was ten pounds of law book.

Milo said, “Hi, Kelly,” and showed her his badge.

She said, “I haven’t done anything.”

“How’s the weather in São Paulo?”

She sagged. “I screwed up, should’ve used a pay phone. He’s going to…” Her mouth clamped shut.

“Going to what, Ms. Quick?”

Tears filled her eyes. “Going to be disappointed in me.”

Milo steered her back into the room. Twin beds, neatly made up. Soda cans and take-out cartons and female clothing all over the place. More law books piled up on a nightstand.

He sat her down on one of the beds. “How’s the studying going?”

“It’s hard to concentrate.”

“Going back in the fall?”

“Who knows.”

“No need for this to be difficult, Kelly.”

“You think?” she said. “That’s a laugh.”

“How long are you planning to live this way? Taking care of your mom.”

Kelly’s dark eyes flashed. “I don’t take care of her. She’s… you can’t take care of her, you can just watch her.”

“Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“Whatever.”

I said, “She needs real help, Kelly. And you need to get on with your life.”

She glared at me. Foam collected at the corners of her mouth. “You’re so damn smart, tell me how to do that.”

“Let’s call your aunt-”

“Eileen’s a bitch.”

“She’s also an adult, and she lives in California. You need to be back in Boston.”

“Whatever.” Blink blink.

I said, “We can help you with all that.”

“Sure you can.”

Milo said, “Where’s your dad headed?”

“Uh-uh, screw your help- leave me alone.”

“That T-shirt,” said Milo. “Dad give it to you?”

No answer.

“I’ve done some research, Kelly. Found a website where he attended his army reunion. What the site didn’t say was that he was in a Special Forces unit. Qualified as a sniper.”

Kelly closed her eyes.

Milo said, “I was in Vietnam, myself, know the unit. He was in some pretty hairy situations.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I’d bet you would, Kelly. Bet Dad told you plenty.”

“Then you’d lose your bet.”

“The other thing my research turned up was that no one can seem to find any evidence your dad ever traded metals. We know what he really did for a living, Kelly. His latest freelance was for a gentleman from Africa. He tell you about that? Tell you what he did to pay the bills?”

She turned away from us. “He was a businessman. He supported us.”

“So where is he now?”

She shook her head.

“Brazil,” said Milo. “With a girl not much older than you.”

“He’s entitled,” Kelly blurted. “He did his best with… her. My mom. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Mom’s tough.”

“Mom’s…” She threw up her hands. “She’s who she is.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be forced to be her nurse.”

“I’m not her nurse; you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look,” said Milo, “it’s just a matter of time. We’re going to dig, and we’re going to find out where he got his money and where he keeps it. That happens, any financial support for your mom’s going to be turned off.”

Kelly faced him. “Why are you doing this? My brother’s dead and my mother’s sick and he’s gone. Don’t I deserve a life?”

“You do. You do, indeed.”

“Then leave me alone!” she screamed. “Everyone leave me alone!” She lay down on the bed, curled up, scrunched her face, and began pounding the mattress.

Milo gave me a helpless look.

I said, “Let’s go.”

We stopped at a place on Colorado Boulevard for coffee and theory.

“Protais Bumaya existed,” he said. “You saw him, I saw him. But no one’s got any record of him entering or leaving the country, and those names he gave us- his supposed friends? Bogus. I never bothered to check. Guy snookered me good.”

“He probably tagged along on some kind of diplomatic mission.”

He aimed an index finger at me. “Another ka-ching. Matter of fact, last month a trade delegation from Rwanda toured the country. Bumaya’s name wasn’t on the roster, but what the hell does that mean? Meanwhile, Mr. McKenzie, the erstwhile Rwandan consul in S.F., is charming but not very helpful.”