Jonathan Kellerman - Rage

He twisted and faced me. “The hit on Troy Turner? Where’d that come from?”

“Free association.”

“Turner was written up as a gang thing. He assaulted a Vato Loco.”

“And maybe it even happened that way,” I said.

“Why wouldn’t it be righteous, Alex?”

“Why would a thirteen-year-old kid hang in a supply closet for an hour bleeding before anyone noticed?”

“Because C.Y.A.’s a mess.”

“Okay,” I said.

He shoved the seat back violently and stretched his legs. “Malley puts a hit on Turner a month into Turner’s sentence but waits eight years to take care of Rand?”

“That is problematic,” I said.

“Sure is.”

“I can offer an explanation but it would be broad conjecture.”

“As opposed to wild speculation?”

“Malley craved immediate vengeance for his daughter’s death. He saw Troy Turner as the primary killer so Troy paid quickly. After that satisfaction, Malley’s rage subsided. It’s possible he hadn’t even decided that Rand deserved the ultimate penalty. But the two of them got together and something went wrong.”

“Malley does own wife quickly but cuts Rand eight years of slack?”

“If he blamed Lara for Kristal’s death, that was a whole different level of rage.”

“You only kill the one you love? I don’t know, Alex. It’s a big jump.”

“Lara’s own mother’s still angry at her. There was a picture of Kristal in her house but none of Lara. Put yourself in Barnett’s place. All those years of infertility and she blows it big time.”

“I guess,” he said.

“There’d also be a practical reason not to hit Rand immediately after Troy. Both boys dying so close together would set off suspicions about revenge. Lara was different, there was no reason to assume her death was anything other than suicide.”

“Sue didn’t suspect. And she was a smart cop. Maybe…”

“If Malley did kill Lara and managed to fool the coroner and the cops, that implies cunning and planning. Which is consistent with an ability to delay gratification. So is Malley’s lifestyle- ascetic. Perhaps he mulled Rand’s fate for years, decided to check out the quality of Rand’s atonement.”

“You flunk you die,” he said. “Thirty-eight revolver. Cowboy gun… still, eight years is a helluva long time to wait.”

“Maybe the eight years were broken up by periodic contact- an extended testing period for Rand.”

“Malley visited Rand in prison? Spent face time with the punk who killed his kid?”

“Face time or letters or phone calls,” I said. “You’ve seen it, victims and offenders making contact after the disposition. The initiative could’ve come from Rand. He wanted to unload his guilt and made the first move.”

“You see Malley responding to that? We’re not talking Mr. Touchy-Feely.”

“Eight years changes people. And just because he hoards guns doesn’t mean he’s not hurting.”

“That sounds like a defense brief.” The police band burped. His hand shot out and switched it off. “Guess I’d be a putz not to check out Rand’s visitors’ list. Which, given the fact that C.Y.A.’s a big mess, isn’t gonna be simple. As long as I’m churning paper, I’ll also try to learn what I can about Turner’s death. And let’s not forget the joy of excavating Barnett Malley’s personal history.”

“Always happy to brighten your day.”

“Hey,” he said. “It’s more than I had before you started free associating. ”

Five messages on my machine. Four junkers and Allison, sounding cheerful.

“I’m free! Seven a.m. flight tomorrow on JetBlue. I should arrive in Long Beach by ten-thirty.”

I reached her cell. “Got the good news.”

“Dropped a whole lot of guilt on cousin Wesley,” she said. “My Ph.D. put to practical use. He gets in from Boston tonight. I’m packed and ready to go.”

“How did Grandma take it?”

“There were a few genteel sniffs but she’s saying the right things.”

“Seven a.m. flight in New York means a drive in the dark from Connecticut.”

“Got a car picking me up at three-thirty,” she said. “Does that tell you how motivated I am? The day after I arrive I’ve got patients, but if you have time tomorrow, we could have some fun.”

“Fun is good,” I said. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I booked a car in Long Beach, too.”

“Unbook it.”

“Ooh,” she said. “Tough guy.”

At nine p.m., my service called. I’d downed a sandwich and a beer, was ready to kick back with some journals.

“It’s a Clarice Daney, Doctor,” said the operator.

“Cherish Daney?”

“Pardon?”

“I know a Cherish Daney.”

“Oh, could be, this is Loretta’s handwriting- yeah, that could be it, Doctor. You want me to hold her number or give it to you? She said it was no emergency.”

“I’ll take it.”

She clicked me in.

“Oh,” said Cherish Daney. “Sorry, I was just going to leave a message. They didn’t need to interrupt your evening.”

“No problem. What’s up?”

“I was actually trying to reach Lieutenant Sturgis, but they told me he’s out of town. So I thought of calling you. I hope that’s okay.”

Out of town?

“It’s fine. What’s on your mind, Ms. Daney?”

“After you left I realized I didn’t get a chance to talk much about Rand. My husband spoke to you but there’s something I thought I should add.”

“Please.”

“Okay,” she said. “This is probably nothing, but I thought you should know that Rand was really upset the entire weekend. More than upset. Highly agitated.”

“Your husband said he was afraid.”

“Did Drew say why?”

I remembered Daney’s protectiveness. Decided she was an adult and that I cared more about her reaction. “He said Rand thought someone had prowled near his window at night. In the morning Rand spotted a dark truck driving away from your house and for some reason that worried him.”

“The dark truck,” she said. “Drew told me all that, but I’m referring to something different. Something heavy on Rand’s mind right before he was released. It actually started a few weeks before. I wanted to open Rand up but felt I should take it slow because of all he’d been through.”

“Open him up,” I said.

“I’m not a psychologist, but I do have a certificate in spiritual counseling. The nonverbal signs were all there, Doctor. Lack of concentration, drop in appetite, insomnia, general restlessness. I put it down to prerelease jitters, but now I wonder. And it began well before we got Rand home, so I don’t think it had anything to do with being stalked by a truck.”

“Can you tell me more about it?” I said.

“As I said, he’d been jumpy for a while. But when we picked him up in Camarillo, he looked awful. Pale, shaky, really not himself. During the drive home we stopped off to get some gas and my husband went to the men’s room and Rand and I had a few minutes alone. By that time, he was barely able to sit still. I asked him what the matter was but he didn’t answer. I decided to be a little persistent and finally he said there was something he wanted to talk about. I asked what and he hemmed and hawed and finally he said it was about what had happened to Kristal. Then he started to cry. Which made him real embarrassed, he started gulping back his tears and forcing himself to smile. Before I had a chance to probe, Drew was back with the drinks and the snacks and I could tell Rand didn’t want me to say anything. I planned to follow up over the weekend, but somehow the timing was never right. I so wish I had, Doctor.”