Jonathan Kellerman - Bad Love

"Was physical punishment ever part of bad love?"

"Once in a while- usually a slap, a pinch, nothing that hurt too much. It was mostly the humiliation- the surprise. When he wanted to hurt you, he'd poke you in the elbow or the shoulder. Flick his finger on the bone. He knew all the spots… nothing that would leave a scar, not that anyone would have believed us, anyway. Who were we? Truants, fuckups, rejects. Even now, would I be credible? Four abortions, Valium, Librium, Thorazine, Elavil, lithium? All the other things I've done? Wouldn't some lawyer dig that up and put me on trial? Wouldn't I be a piece of shit all over again?"

"Probably."

Her smile was rich with disgust. "I'm jazzed that he's dead- doubly jazzed he did it to himself- his turn for humiliation."

She looked up at the ceiling.

"What is it?" I said.

"Killing himself- do you think he could have felt some guilt?"

"With what you've told me, it's hard to imagine."

"Yeah. You're probably right… yeah, he slapped me plenty of times, but the pain was welcome. 'Cause when he was getting physical, he wasn't talking. His voice. His words. He could reach into your center and squeeze the life out of you… did you know he used to write columns in magazines- humane child rearing? People sent in problems and he'd offer fucking solutions ?"

I sighed.

"Yes," she said. "My sad, sad story- such pathos." Looking around the restaurant, she cupped one ear. "Any daytime-serial people listening? Got a bitchin' script for you."

"You never told anyone?"

"Not until you, dear." Smile. "Aren't you flattered? All those shrinks and you're the very first- why, you've deflowered me- busted my psychological cherry !"

"Interesting way to put it."

"But fitting, right? Therapy's just like fucking- you open yourself up to a stranger and hope for the best."

I said, "You said you saw other kids going into the rooms. Were they taken by other people, or just de Bosch?"

"Mostly by him, sometimes by that creepy daughter of his. I always got personal attention from the big cheese- Daddy's social position and all that."

"Katarina was involved in treatment? When exactly were you there?"

"Seventy-six."

"She was only twenty-three. Still a student."

Shrug. "Everyone treated her as if she was a shrink. What she was was a real bitch. Walking around with this smug look on her face- Daddy was the king and she was the princess. Now there's one dutiful daughter who really did want to fuck Papa."

"Did you have any direct dealings with her?"

"Other than a sneer in the hall? No."

"What about other staffers? Did you see any of them doing private sessions?"

"No."

"None of those names I mentioned rang a bell?"

She gave a pained look. "It all blurs- I've been through changes, my whole life until a few years ago is a blur."

"Can I go over those names again?"

"Sure, why not." She picked up her cup and drank.

"Grant Stoumen."

Headshake.

"Mitchell Lerner."

"Maybe… that one's a little familiar, but I have no face to go with it."

I gave her some time to think.

She said, "Nope."

"Harvey Rosenblatt."

"Uh-uh."

"Wilbert Harrison."

"No."

"He's a little man who wears purple all the time."

"Does he ride a pink elephant?" Grin.

"Myra Evans."

Eyeblink. Frown.

I repeated the name.

"You used another name before," she said. "Myra something hyphenated."

"Evans-Paprock- Paprock was her married name."

"Evans." Another smile, not at all happy. "Myra Evans- Myra the Bitch. She was a teacher, right? A little blond with a tight butt and an attitude- am I right?"

I nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "Myra the Bitch. She was assigned to tread where others had failed. Like teaching moi how to read. She kept drilling me, harassing me, forcing me to do stupid exercises that didn't do a fucking bit of good because the words stayed all scrambled. When I got something wrong, she'd clap her hands together and say no in this loud voice. Like training a dog. Telling me I was stupid, a moron, not paying attention- she used to clamp her hands on my face and force me to look into her eyes."

She placed her hands on my cheeks and pressed them together, hard. Her palms were wet and her mouth was parted. She brought me forward and I thought she might kiss me. Instead, she said, "Pay attention! Listen, you moron!" in a grating voice.

I suppressed the impulse to twist free. That instant of confinement drove my empathy up another notch.

"Pay attention ! Stop wandering, stupid! This is important ! You need to learn this! If you don't pay attention, you can't learn !"

She squeezed harder. Let go. Smiled again. "Breath mints- that was her smell. Isn't it funny how you remember the smells? Mints, but her breath was still shitty. She thought she was hot. Kinda young, little miniskirts, big boobs… maybe she was letting Dr. B. slip it to her."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because of the way she acted around him. Looks. Following him around. She reported directly to him. One thing you could count on, after a difficult session with Miss Bitch, you'd soon be seeing Dr. Botch for candles and needle twisting. So she got murdered, huh?"

"Very nastily."

"Too bad." She pouted, then smiled. "See, I can be a hypocrite, too. It's called acting, I work with people who do it for a living- we all do, actually, don't we?"

"What about Rodney Shipler? Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Nope."

"Delmar Parker- the boy I told you about over the phone."

"Yeah, the truck. That's how I knew you were for real. He was before my time."

"May seventy-three. You heard about it?"

"I heard about it from Botch. Boy, did I."

"During a bad love session?"

Nod. "The wages of sin. I'd committed some major felony- I think it was not wearing underwear, or something. Or maybe he caught me with a boy- I don't remember. He said I was a vermeen aneemal and stupid, then gave me this whole spiel about a vermeen aneemal boy who'd received the ultimate punishment for his stupidity. "Death, young lady. Death.' "

"What did he say happened?"

"The kid stole a truck, ran it off the road, and got killed. Proof positive of what happened to vermeen aneemal moron children. Botch had a good time with it- making fun of the kid, laughing a lot, as if it were just a big joke. " Do you comprehend, you bad, styupid girl? A boy so styupid, he steals a truck even though he doesn't know how to drive? Ha ha ha. A boy so styupid he virtually choreographs his own death? Ha ha ha.' "

"He used that word? "Choreograph'?"

"Yes," she said, looking surprised. "I believe he actually did."

"What else did he say about the accident?"

"Disgusting details- that was part of bad love. Grossing you out. He had a ball with this one. How they didn't find the boy right away and when they did there were maggots in his mouth and crawling in and out of his eyes- "He is being eaten by maggots, my dear Meredith. Feasted upon. Consumed. And the animals have feasted upon him, too. Chewed away most of his face- it is a real mess- just like your character, styupid Meredith. You are not listening, you are not concentrating, you bad, styupid girl. We are trying to mold you into something decent but you refuse to cooperate. Think, Meredith. Think of that styupid boy. The bad love he received from the maggots. That is what happens when vermeen aneemals don't change their ways.' "

She gave a hard, dry laugh and dabbed her nose again.