Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

“How long’s he been out of prison?”

“Six years. That I found out from Jacob. I’d been bugging him for a while, wanting to know- wanting to understand. He kept putting me off, but I wouldn’t give up. Finally, when I was fifteen he admitted he’d been keeping an eye on McCloskey the whole time, had found out he’d been released a couple of years before and had left the state.”

She made tiny white fists and shook them. “The creep served thirteen years out of a twenty-three-year sentence- time off for good behavior. That really stinks, doesn’t it? No one cares about the victim. He should have been sent to the gas chamber!”

“Did Jacob know where he’d gone?”

“New Mexico. Then Arizona and, I think, Texas- working with the Indians on the reservation or something. Jacob said he was trying to fool the Parole Department into thinking he was a decent human being and that they’d probably be fooled. And he was right, because they did set him free and now he can do anything he wants. The parole officer was a nice guy, just about ready to retire. His name was Bayliss and he really seemed to care. But he said he was sorry, there was nothing he could do.”

“Does he think McCloskey’s a threat to your mother- or anyone else?”

“He said he had no evidence of that but that he didn’t know. That no one could be sure with someone like him.”

“Has McCloskey tried to contact your mother?”

“No, but what’s to say he won’t? He’s crazy- that kind of craziness doesn’t change overnight, does it?”

“Not usually.”

“So he’s a clear and present danger, isn’t he?”

I had no easy answer for that. Said, “I can see why you’re concerned,” and didn’t like the sound of it.

She said, “Dr. Delaware, how can I leave her? Maybe it’s a sign- his coming back. That I shouldn’t leave. I mean, I can get a good education here. UCLA and USC both accepted me. In the long run, what difference is it going to make?”

Different tune from the one she’d sung just a few moments ago.

“Melissa, a person with your brains can get a good education anywhere. Is there a reason, besides education, that you considered Harvard?”

“I don’t know… maybe it was just ego. Yes, that’s probably what it was- out to show myself I could do it.”

“Any other reason?”

“Well… there’s Noel. He really wants me to go there and I thought it would be- I mean, it is the best college in the country, isn’t it? I figured, why not apply? It was actually kind of a lark. I really didn’t think I was going to get in.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I think it would have been easier being a C student. Fewer choices.”

“Melissa, anyone in your position- the situation with your mother- would be in conflict. And now McCloskey. But the harsh truth is that even if he does pose a danger, you’re not in any position to defend your mother against him.”

“So what are you saying?” she said angrily. “That I should just give up?”

“I’m saying McCloskey should definitely be looked into. By a professional. To find out why he came back, what he’s up to. If he’s judged to be dangerous, there are things that can be done.”

“Like what?”

“Restraining orders. Security precautions. Is your home well guarded?”

“I guess. There’s an alarm system and gates. And the police patrol regularly- there’s so little crime in San Labrador the police are basically just like rent-a-cops. Should we be doing more?”

“Have you told your mother about McCloskey?”

“No, of course not! I didn’t want to freak her out- not with how well she’s been doing.”

“What about your- Mr. Ramp?”

“No. No one knows. No one asks me my opinion about anything anyway, and I don’t volunteer.”

“Have you told Noel?”

She gave an uncomfortable look. “Yes. He knows.”

“What does he say?”

“To just forget about it. But that’s easy for him- it’s not his mother. You didn’t answer my question, Dr. Delaware- is there something else we should be doing?”

“I’m not the one to say. There are professionals who specialize in that kind of thing.”

“Where do I find them?”

“Let me check,” I said. “I might be able to help you with that.”

“Your court connections?”

“Something like that. In the meantime, why don’t we proceed as planned. I’ll contact the Gabneys and see if it’s okay for me to meet with your mother. If it is, I’ll let you know and you can set up an appointment for me to come by. If it isn’t, we’ll take another look at our options. In either event, you and I should be talking some more. Want to make another appointment?”

“How about tomorrow?” she said. “Same time. If you’ve got the time.”

“I do.”

“Thank you- and sorry if I got too hot under the collar just now.”

“You’re fine,” I said, and walked her to the door for the second time.

“Thanks, Dr. Delaware.”

“Take care of yourself, Melissa.”

“I will,” she said. But she looked like a kid overloaded with homework.

After she was gone, I thought about the way she’d dropped a crumb-trail of crucial facts: her mother’s remarriage, the young man in her life, Dutchy’s death, McCloskey’s return. All of it delivered parenthetically. With an offhandedness that screamed self-defense.

But given everything she had to deal with- loss, ambivalence, crucial decisions, the erosion of personal control- self-defense was damn reasonable.

The control issue had to be especially hard for her. An inflated sense of personal power was the logical legacy of all those years of raising her parent. She’d used it to guide her mother to the brink of change.

Playing matchmaker. Referral service.

Only to be defeated by her own success: forced to stand back and surrender authority to a therapist. To share affection with a stepfather.

Add to that the normal strains and doubts of young-adulthood and it had to be crushing.

Who, indeed, was taking care of Melissa?

Jacob Dutchy had once filled that role.

Though I’d barely known the man, thinking of him gone saddened me. The faithful retainer, ever protective. He’d had a certain… presence.

For Melissa, that amounted to paternal loss number two.

What did that bode in terms of her relationships with men? The development of trust?

If her comments about Don Ramp- and Noel Drucker- were any example, that road hadn’t been smooth, so far.

Now the folks from Cambridge, Mass., were demanding a decision, raising the specter of further surrender.

Who was really afraid of separation?

Not that her fears were totally without foundation.

A Mikoksi with acid.

Why had McCloskey come back to L.A., nearly two decades after his conviction? Thirteen years of imprisonment plus six on parole made him fifty-three years old. I’d seen what prison years could do. Wondered if he was nothing more than a pallid, weary old con, seeking out the comfort of like-minded losers and dead-end haunts.

Or perhaps he’d used the time at San Quentin to let his rage fester. Nursing acid-and-blood fantasies, filling his bottle…

A discomfiting sense of self-doubt began nagging at me, the same feeling of missing the mark that I’d experienced nine years ago- bending all my rules to treat a terrified child.

A feeling of not really having a grip on the core of the problem.

Nine years ago, she’d gotten better despite that.

Magic.

How many rabbits were left in the hat?

A machine answered at the Gabney Clinic, listing numbers and emergency beeper codes for both doctors. No other staff members were named. I left a message for Ursula Cunningham-Gabney, identifying myself as Melissa Dickinson’s therapist and requesting a call-back as soon as possible. During the next few hours several calls came in, but none from Pasadena.