Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

“He hung up!”

“Who?” said Ramp.

“ Prick ering! That ass hung up on me!”

“What did he have to say?”

Still gazing at the phone, she said, “McCloskey. They found him. Downtown L.A. The L.A. police questioned him and let him go !”

“Christ!” said Ramp. He snatched the phone out of her hand, punched buttons hurriedly. Twisting his shirt collar and grinding his teeth. “Cliff? This is Don Ramp. Melissa said you… I understand that, Cliff… I know she is. It’s a frightening thing, but that’s no… All right. I know you are… Yes, yes…” Frowning and shaking his head. “Just tell me what happened… Uh-huh… Uh huh… But how can you be sure, Cliff? This isn’t some goddam saint we’re talking about, Cliff… Uh-huh… Yes… Yes, but… Still, wasn’t there some way… Okay. But what if… Okay, I will. Thanks for calling, Cliff. Stay in touch.”

Hanging up, he said, “He apologizes for hanging up on you. Says he told you he was busy, trying to find your mom, and you continued to… lip off to him. He wants you to know he has your mother’s best interests at heart.”

Melissa stood there, glassy-eyed. “They had him and they let him go.”

Ramp put his arm over her shoulder and she didn’t resist. She looked numb. Betrayed. I’d seen more life in wax models.

“Apparently,” said Ramp, “he can account for his whereabouts every minute of the day- they have no grounds to hold him. They had to release him, Meliss. Legally.”

“The asses,” she said in a low voice. “The goddam asses ! What does it matter where he was all day? He doesn’t do things himself- he hires people to do things.” Raising her voice to a shout: “He hires people ! So what if he wasn’t there him self !”

Wrenching herself away from Ramp, she grabbed her face and let out a squeal of frustration. Ramp started to approach her, thought better of it, and looked at me.

I went over to her. She retreated to a corner of the room and faced the wall. Stood in the corner like a child being punished, sobbing.

Ramp gave a sad look.

Both of us knowing she could have used a father. Neither of us able to fill the bill.

Finally she stopped crying. But she stayed in the corner.

I said, “Neither of you has confidence in Chickering. Maybe a private investigator’s called for.”

Melissa said, “Your friend!”

Ramp looked at her with sudden curiosity.

She looked at me and said, “Tell him.”

I said, “Yesterday, Melissa and I discussed investigating McCloskey. A friend of mine’s an LAPD detective on leave. Very competent, lots of experience. He agreed to do it. He’d probably agree to look into your wife’s disappearance as well. If she shows up soon, you might still want to consider checking out McCloskey. Of course, your attorneys may have someone else they work with-”

“No,” said Melissa, “I want your friend. Period.”

Ramp looked at her, then me. “I don’t know who they use- the lawyers. We never had to deal with anything like this. Is this friend of yours really good?”

Melissa said, “He already said he was. I want him, and I’m paying.”

“That won’t be necessary, Melissa. I’ll pay.”

“No, I will. She’s my mother and that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Ramp sighed. “We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, Dr. Delaware, if you’d be kind enough to call your friend-”

The phone rang again. Both of them jerked their heads around.

This time Ramp got there first. “Yes? Oh, hello, Doctor… No, I’m sorry. She hasn’t… Yes, I understand…”

Melissa said, “ Her. If she’d called sooner, we could have started looking sooner.”

Ramp covered his ear. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I couldn’t hear… Oh. That’s very kind of you. But no, I don’t see any pressing reason for you to… Hold on.”

Covering the mouthpiece with his other hand, he looked at me. “Dr. Cunningham-Gabney wants to know if she should come over. Any reason she should?”

“Does she have any… clinical information about Mrs. Ramp that would help locate her?”

“Here,” he said, handing me the phone.

I took it, said, “Dr. Cunningham-Gabney, this is Alex Delaware.”

“Dr. Delaware.” The well-modulated voice stripped of some of its melody. “I’m very alarmed by today’s events. Did Melissa and her mother have any sort of confrontation before she disappeared?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Gina called me this morning and intimated there had been some unpleasantness- Melissa staying out all night with some boy?”

Keeping my eyes off Melissa, I said, “That’s accurate, as far as it goes, Doctor, but I doubt it’s a causal factor.”

“Do you? Any unusual stress could cause someone like Gina Ramp to behave unpredictably.”

Melissa was staring straight at me.

I said, “Why don’t you and I get together? Discuss any clinically relevant factors that might shed light on what’s happened.”

Pause. “She’s right there, isn’t she? Hovering?”

“Basically.”

“All right. I don’t imagine my coming down there and provoking another confrontation is very wise. Would you like to come over to my office, right now?”

“Sounds good,” I said, “if Melissa thinks that’s okay.”

“That child has too much power as is,” she said sharply.

“Maybe so, but clinically I think it’s advisable.”

“Very well. Consult her.”

I covered the receiver and said to Melissa: “What do you think of my getting together with her? At the clinic. To share facts- psychological data- in order to see if we can figure out where your mother is.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” said Ramp.

“Sure,” Melissa said sourly. “Whatever.” Waving her fingers. The same offhandedness she’d used two days ago to drop clinical bombs.

I said, “I’ll stay here as long as you want me to.”

“No, no. You can go right now. I’ll be fine. Go talk to her.”

I got back on the phone. “I’ll be there within the half hour, Dr. Cunningham-Gabney.”

“Ursula. Please. At times like this a hyphen’s a damned nuisance. Do you know how to get here?”

“Melissa will tell me.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Before I left, I called Milo’s home and got Rick’s voice on a machine. Both Melissa and Ramp sagged when I told them he wasn’t in, making me realize how much stake they were putting in his powers of detection. Wondering if I was doing him a favor by drawing him into the haut monde, I left a message for him to call me at the Gabney clinic during the next couple of hours; at my home, after that.

As I got ready to leave, the doorbell chimed. Melissa jumped up and ran out of the room. Ramp followed her, walking with long, tennis-bred strides.

I brought up the rear, to the entry hall. Melissa opened the doors and let in a black-haired boy of around twenty. He took a step toward Melissa, looked as if he wanted to hug her. Saw Ramp and stopped himself.

He was on the small side- five seven, slim build, olive skin, full bowed lips, brooding brown eyes under heavy brows. His hair was black and curly, worn short on top and sides, longer in back. He had on a short red busboy’s jacket, black slacks, white shirt, and black bow tie. A set of car keys jangled in one hand. He looked around nervously. “Anything?”

Melissa said, “Nothing.”

He moved closer to her.

Ramp said, “Hello, Noel.”

The boy looked up. “Everything’s okay, Mr. Ramp. Jorge’s handling the cars. There aren’t that many tonight. It’s kind of slow.”