Jonathan Kellerman: Private Eyes

I leaned over and touched her shoulder. Bird bones beneath cotton.

“Do you want to talk about what goes into the bag, Melissa?”

She closed her eyes and kept rocking. Trembled and hugged herself. A tear rolled down her cheek.

I patted her again, got a tissue, and wiped her eyes, half expecting her to pull away. But she allowed me to dab the tears.

Dramatic first session, movie-of-the-week perfect. But too much, too fast; it could jeopardize the therapy. I dabbed some more, searching for some way to slow it down.

She killed that notion with a single word:

“Kids.”

“The burglar puts kids in the sack?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So the burglar is really a kidnapper.”

She opened her eyes, stood up, faced me, and held up her hands as if praying. “He’s a murderer!” she cried, emphasizing each word with a shake. “A Mikoksi with acid!”

“A Mi kok si?”

“A Mikoksi with acidthatmeanspoison ! Burning poison! Mikoksi threw it on her and he’s going to come back and burn her again, and me, too!”

“Who did he throw poison on, Melissa?”

“ Mother! And now he’s going to come back!”

“Where is this Mikoksi now?”

“In jail, but he’s going to get out and hurt us again!”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he doesn’t like us. He liked Mother but then he stopped liking her and he threw poison acid on her and tried to kill her but it only burned her on the face and she was still beautiful and could get married and have me!”

She began pacing the office, holding her temples, stooped and muttering like a little old woman.

“When did all this happen, Melissa?”

“Before I was born.” Rocking, face to the wall.

“Did Jacob tell you about it?”

Nod.

“Did your mother talk to you about it, too?”

Hesitation. Shake of head. “She doesn’t like to.”

“Why’s that?”

“It makes her sad. She used to be happy and beautiful. People took pictures of her. Then Mikoksi burned her face and she had to have operations.”

“Does Mikoksi have another name? A first name?”

She turned and faced me, truly puzzled. “I don’t know.”

“But you know he’s in jail.”

“Yes, but he’s getting out and it’s no fair and no justice!”

“Is he getting out of jail soon?”

More confusion.

“Did Jacob tell you he was getting out soon?”

“No.”

“But he did talk to you about justice.”

“Yes!”

“What does justice mean to you?”

“Being fair!”

She gave me a challenging look and put her hands on the flat place where one day her hips would be. Tension rumpled the sliver of brow beneath her bangs. Her mouth curled and she wagged a finger. “It was no fair and stupid! They should have a fair justice! They should have killed him with the acid!”

“You’re very angry at Mikoksi.”

Another incredulous look at the idiot in the chair.

I said, “That’s good. Getting really angry at him. When you’re angry at him, you’re not so scared of him.”

Both hands had fisted. She opened them, dropped them, sighed, and looked at the floor. More kneading.

I went over to her and kneeled so that we’d be at eye level if she chose to raise her eyes. “You’re a very smart girl, Melissa, and you’ve helped me a lot by being brave and talking about scary things. I know how much you want not to be afraid anymore. I’ve helped lots of other kids and I’ll be able to help you.”

Silence.

“If you want to talk some more about Mikoksi or burglars or anything else, that’s okay. But if you don’t, that’s okay, too. We’ve got some more time together before Jacob comes back. How we spend it is up to you.”

No movement or sound; the second hand on the banjo clock across the room completed half a circuit. Finally she lifted her head. Looked everywhere but at me, then homed in suddenly, squinting, as if trying to put me in focus.

“I’ll draw,” she said. “But only with pencils. Not crayons, they’re too messy.”

She worked the pencil slowly, a tongue tip extending from one corner of her mouth. Her artistic ability was above average, but all the finished product told me was that she’d had enough for one day: happy-face girl next to happy-face cat in front of red house and a fat-trunked tree full of apples. All of it under a huge golden sun with prehensile rays.

When she was through she pushed it across the desk and said, “You keep it.”

“Thank you. It’s terrific.”

“When am I coming back?”

“How about in two days? Friday.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Sometimes it’s good for kids to take some time to think about what happened before they come in.”

“I think fast,” she said. “And there’s other stuff I didn’t say yet.”

“You really want to come in tomorrow?”

“I want to get better.”

“All right then, I can see you tomorrow at five. If Jacob can bring you.”

“He will,” she said. “He wants me to get better, too.”

I saw her out through the separate exit and spotted Dutchy walking down the hall, a paper bag in one hand. When he saw us he frowned and looked at his watch.

Melissa said, “We’re coming back to him at five tomorrow, Jacob.”

Dutchy raised his eyebrows and said, “I believe I’m right on time, Doctor.”

“You are,” I said. “I was just showing Melissa the separate exit.”

“So other kids won’t see me or know who I am,” she said. “It’s privacy.”

“I see,” said Dutchy, looking up and down the hall. “I brought you something, young lady. To tide you over until dinner.” The top half of the bag was accordion-folded neatly. He opened it with his fingertips and drew out an oatmeal cookie.

Melissa squealed, took it from him, and prepared to bite into it.

Dutchy cleared his throat.

Melissa held the cookie mid-air. “Thank you, Jacob.”

“You’re quite welcome, young lady.”

She turned to me. “Would you like some, Dr. Delaware?”

“No, thank you, Melissa.” Sounding to myself like a charm school candidate.

She licked her lips and went to work on the cookie.

I said, “I’d like to talk to you for a moment, Mr. Dutchy.”

He glanced at his watch again. “The freeway… the longer we wait…”

I said, “Some things came up during the session. Important things.”

He said, “Really, it’s quite-”

I forced a patient grin and said, “If I’m to do my job, I’m going to need help, Mr. Dutchy.”

From the look on his face, I might have passed wind at an embassy dinner. He cleared his throat again and said, “One moment, Melissa,” and walked several feet down the corridor. Melissa, her mouth full of cookie, followed him with her eyes.

I smiled at her, said, “We’ll just be one second, hon,” and joined him.

He looked up and down the hall and folded his arms across his chest. “What is it, Doctor?”

From a foot away, he was shaven clean as palmar flesh, smelling of bay rum and fresh laundry.

I said, “She talked about what happened to her mother. Some person named Mikoksi.”

He flinched. “Really, sir, it’s not my place.”

“This is important, Mr. Dutchy. It’s obviously relevant to her fears.”

“It’s best that her mother-”

“True. The problem is I’ve left several messages with her mother that haven’t been returned. Normally, I wouldn’t even see a child without direct parental participation. But Melissa obviously needs help. Lots of help. I can provide that help but I need information.”

He chewed his cheek so long and hard I was afraid he’d gnaw through it. Down the hall, Melissa was munching and staring at us.