Jonathan Kellerman - Silent Partner

“No! No, no, no, no! You slime-bastard, you lying fucking bastard! No! Shut up! Get out, you fuck, you piece of shit!”

The filth poured out of her, the way I’d heard it pour out of her sister. The look on her face, that of the girl in the flame dress, loathing me. Murderous.

I said, “Two birds with one stone, Sharon. Turn Sherry on Kruse, then wait for her to come for you. You’d been planning it for months- at least half a year. That’s when you told Elmo to get another job. You knew Resthaven was closing down, because Resthaven was something Uncle Billy had set up for Shirlee and you were taking Shirlee out of there. To your new home. You and me and Shirlee makes three. A new partnership.”

“No, no! That’s fucking crazy- you’re out of your mind! She had D.J.- dangerous, violent, you said so yourself. Two against one! I’d have been crazy to put myself in that kind of danger!”

She fought one hand loose, finally got a nail in and ripped downward. I felt pain, wetness, shoved her away from me, hard. She flew backward, the backs of her legs hit the bed, and she sprawled. Panting. Sobbing. Mouthing silent obscenities.

I said, “D.J. was no threat to you. Because all along, he thought it was you he’d been making-it with, you who’d paid him to kill Kruse. Sherry couldn’t risk blowing that, telling him he’d been deceived and having him turn on her. She had to take care of you by herself. Thought she’d be able to surprise you. But you had the advantage. She stepped right into your trap and you were ready. With your gold-plated twenty-two.”

She kicked her feet in the air, waved her arms. Tantrum. Early trauma. Bad genes…

“Fucking… bastard… fuckdick slimebastard…”

“First you shot her,” I said. “Then you poured dope and booze down her throat. A good forensic analysis would be able to show she’d swallowed all of it after she died, but there’ll never be a forensic analysis, because Uncle Billy took care of it. Along with everything else.”

“Lies, all lies, you fuck!”

“I don’t think so, Sharon. And now you’ve got everything. Enjoy it.”

I backed away from her.

“You can’t prove a fucking thing,” she said.

“I know,” I said. And made it to the door.

A gurgling, roaring sound- the only thing I could think of was a cesspool overflowing- came from deep inside her. She picked up the water glass she’d gotten for me, drew her arm back, and threw it at me.

If it had hit, it would have done damage. I ducked. It bounced off the plastic wall, landed on the carpet with an ineffectual thud.

“Your right hand,” I said. “At least I’m finally sure which side of the mirror I’ve been looking at.”

She whipped her eyes down to her hand, stared at it as if it had betrayed her.

I left. Had to walk for a long time in the darkness before I stopped hearing her screams.

I heard the buggy before I saw it, a night-moth hum, coming from somewhere to my left. Then headlights swept the desert like some prison searchlight, washing over me, halting its arc, preserving me like a specimen in amber.

Within moments it was at my side.

“Step in, Doctor.” Vidal’s rasp. Only he, in the driver’s seat.

As I took my seat he ran his penlight over the blood on my hand. The desert air had dried it to maroon grit.

“Superficial,” I said.

“We’ll take care of that when we get back.”

Unconcerned.

“You heard everything,” I said.

“Constant monitoring is necessary,” he said. “She needs care, watching. You saw that for yourself.”

“You’re a big fan of show-and-tell,” I said. “Taking Sharon to see Joan, hoping that would dissuade her. Putting Sharon on display for me, in hopes of shutting my mouth.”

He began driving.

“What makes you think,” I said, “that you’ll be any more successful?”

“One can only try,” he said.

We crossed the desert. More stars had come out, flooding the earth with icy light. Glazing it.

I said, “When did Belding die?”

“Years ago.”

“How many years ago?”

“Before the girls were reunited. Is the exact date important?”

“It was to Seaman Cross.”

“This isn’t about Cross, is it?”

“What was the diagnosis?” I asked.

“Alzheimer’s disease. Before the doctors gave us that, we just called it senility. A gradual, nasty fade.”

“Must have been a strain on the corporation.”

“Yes,” he said, “but on the other hand, we had time to prepare. There were early signs- forgetfulness, wandering attention- but he’d always been an eccentric. His quirks concealed it for a while. Contacting Cross was the first thing that made me take notice- it was totally out of character. Leland had always been obsessed with his privacy, detested journalists of any sort. A change in habits indicated something seriously wrong.”

“Like the playboy phase that preceded his breakdown.”

“More serious. This was permanent. Organic. I realize now he must have felt his mind slipping away and wanted to be immortalized.”

I said, “The things that Cross described- the long hair and nails, the altar, defecating openly. They were true, then. Symptoms.”

“The book was a fraud,” he said. “Fictional trash.”

We drove on.

I said, “Convenient of Belding to die when he did. It spared him- and you- confronting Sharon and Sherry.”

“Ever so rarely Nature acts in benevolent ways.”

“If She hadn’t, I’m sure you would have figured something out. Now he can remain a benevolent figure for her. She’ll never know he wanted to kill her.”

“Do you think that knowledge would be good for her- therapeutic?”

I didn’t answer.

“My role in life,” he said, “is to solve problems, not create them. In that sense, I’m a healer. Just like yourself.”

The analogy offended me less than I’d have imagined. I said, “Taking care of others really has been your thing, hasn’t it? Belding- everything from his sex life to his public image, and when that got hard to handle, when he started going for the night life, you were there to assume executive responsibility. Your sister, Sherry, Sharon, Willow Glen, the corporation- doesn’t it weigh on you once in a while?”

I thought I saw him smile in the darkness, was certain he touched his throat and grimaced, as if it were too hard to talk.

Several miles later he said, “Have you reached a decision, Doctor?”

“About what?”

“About probing further.”

“My questions have been answered, if that’s what you mean.”

“What I mean is, will you continue to stir things up and ruin what’s left of a very ill young woman’s life?”

“Not much of a life,” I said.

“Better than any alternative. She’ll be well taken care of,” he said. “Protected. And the world will be protected from her.”

“What about after you’re gone?”

“There are men,” he said. “Competent men. A line of command. Everything’s been worked out.”

“Line of command,” I said. “Belding was a cowboy, never had one. But once he was dead, it was a different story. With no one to churn out patents, you had to hire creativity, reorganize the corporate structure. That made Magna more vulnerable to outside attack- you had to solidify your power base. Having all three of Belding’s daughters under your thumb was one big step in that direction. How’d you get Sherry to back off from her legal threats?”

“Quite simple,” he said. “I took her on a tour of corporate headquarters- our research and development center, the highest of high-technology enterprises. Told her I’d be happy to step down and have her run everything- she could be the new chairperson of Magna, bear the responsibility for fifty-two thousand employees, thousands of projects. The very thought terrified her- she wasn’t an intellectual girl, couldn’t balance a checkbook. She ran out of the building. I caught up with her and suggested an alternative.”