Stephen White - Cold Case

But she was a natural leader. She certainly influenced Mariko."

"Tami was the girl she was murdered with."

He waved his left hand at me.

"Of course, of course. I know that. But lots of kids in town were susceptible to Tami's influences, not just Mariko. Tami was that kind of kid. She caused a lot of sleepless nights for a lot of Steamboat Springs parents, that girl did."

"Boyfriend?"

"Tami? Always. Mariko?" He shook his head and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

"You know, not that I recall. It's possible, I suppose, but I don't remember her talking about anyone special."

I was immediately curious why Welle knew and recalled so much about Tami Franklin. Had Mariko talked about her friend in therapy that much?

"What about other friends besides Tami?"

"Mariko talked about some other kids, I'm sure. But I couldn't remember their names. We're going back a lot of years. I bet the Franklins could be of some help on that. The kids all hung out in a group."

"School problems?"

"Again, not that I recall. Just being picked up that once with the dope and the oh yeah-the… I almost forgot. Her parents were mortified that when she was picked up by the police she was skinny-dipping in the hot springs out at Strawberry Park with some boys. And there was the lying, of course."

"The lying?"

"Mariko wasn't truthful to her parents about where she was going and who she was going with. That sort of thing. Her parents made a big deal out of it. May have been a cultural thing. Me? I didn't consider it too unusual for a teenager. Certainly didn't see it as pathologic. Tried to get Taro and Eri to put it in context."

"Did you do any testing?"

"You mean psychological testing? Nope. Wasn't my thing. When necessary, I referred for that."

"Did you refer Mariko for testing?"

He didn't hesitate.

"No. There was no need. I told you. This was an adjustment issue, a maturation thing. Pure and simple." I softened my voice as I asked, "What was she like, Ray? As a person, I mean.

Mariko?"

He smiled, it seemed, involuntarily.

"She was vibrant. Had a little accent still, sort of a mix of Japanese and British. Pronounced her words, every one of them, as though she'd been practicing. She was a smidgen shy, but she had this brilliance inside her that… just shined. Bright as a spotlight. Mariko was a little self-deprecating. Maybe a bit too much. But she was… witty… caring. And pretty. Oh my, pretty, pretty." I thought I saw his eyes moisten.

"You've seen pictures, right? She was a little treasure of a kid. Her death, her murder…" His fists clenched; his eyes tightened.

"My wife's death, my wife's murder… they are profane, bloody indications of what's so sick about this country. It's why I decided to go on the radio to try to do some healing.

It's why I went to Congress to try to force some change. It's why I want to be in the Senate. Its why I put up with these silly fund-raising luncheons." He waved his arm around the library as though the books were to blame.

I was moved, but at the same time, I knew I was being manipulated. I was too aware that Raymond Welle wanted me to be moved. It troubled me; I felt as though I'd been leashed and was being taken for a walk. I also wondered why Ray was so eager to alter his own personal history. He had decided to run for Congress for the first time-and had lost the primary-long before his wife was killed. Why was he arguing that her murder was a motivation for him to run for office?

Somewhere about here I lost control of the conversation. Raymond edged me, ever so cleverly, into small talk about Mariko, eventually concluding with

"I think it's time to get Phil back in here. See what he can add." He tapped his watch.

Before I could object, Welle was on his way to the door.

The first words from Barrett's mouth were, "We're way off schedule, Ray. People are waiting next door at the tennis house." He turned his head to face me.

"Doctor, I'm sorry, but we need to wrap this up."

I'd just looked at my watch. The time period I had been promised for the meeting had not been used up. But I didn't protest; I expected the congressman and I would be speaking again and I didn't want to poison the well. I also suspected the final request I planned to make was going to cause him some trouble and I didn't want to antagonize him before I antagonized him.

I needed to get a copy of his case file for the treatment of Mariko. The case materials should have been collected for the initial investigation by Phil Barrett's department at the time of the murders. But I'd searched the materials twice already and they contained no written records from Raymond Welle.

"I understand you have a busy day. I appreciate your time, Congressman. And your candor. One last thing, though. I'll need a copy of your case file. Notes, treatment plan, ancillary contacts. You know what I mean. Locard insists on the written records. It's part of the protocol." I made that part up.

With only a heartbeats hesitation, Raymond said, "I'm sure I don't have that anymore. I think those old clinical files were all shredded. Years ago. When I moved on in my career."

I didn't hesitate any longer than he had.

"I hope not. Ray. State board regulations require that you keep those records available for fifteen years after therapy termination. I wouldn't like to see you reprimanded for violating that kind of thing." I wasn't certain what interval the regs actually specified but I suspected Ray would be more ignorant than I about the regulations of the State Board of Psychologist Examiners.

Ray's cheeks scrunched up and I could hear him force an exhale through his nostrils.

"Really? Didn't know that." His face immediately transformed into something more conciliatory.

"I'll tell you, the fool laws that legislators pass sometimes…" He made a comical face.

"I'll have someone look into the record thing, then. Phil, can you have someone show Dr. Gregory to the door? I promised to make a couple more of those damn phone calls." He smiled and waved goodbye.

Barrett escorted me back to the entry hall. A large table in the center was now nearly covered with a neatly arranged pyramid of Dr. Raymond Welle's two-year-old hardcover book. Toward Healing America: America's Therapist's Prescription/or a Better Future.

Rather snidely, I thought, Barrett said, "Want one? Go ahead. Take one. They're all signed."

I did.

He walked me all the way to the door. He said, "You people at Lo-card are wasting your time. You won't solve this case. Those girls are going to stay dead. And the killers going to stay gone. You, my friend, are on a fool's errand."

Before I could come up with a response, he had turned and walked away and the door was being closed against my back.

One of the men in gray suits was blocking the shortcut that led back to my car through the formal gardens. I waved in his direction as I circled down the long driveway. He didn't wave back.

Since my arrival an hour earlier the streets of the quiet residential neighborhood around the mansion appeared to have been transformed into the parking lot for a convention of limousine drivers. A sound system blared music from the direction of the tennis house. I thought I was hearing a Barbra Streisand ballad. Barbra, I assumed, would not be pleased. I loitered for a while and the music changed to a Garth Brooks number that stopped abruptly as a shrill voice screamed, "I give you the next United States senator from the great state of Colorado…," but clapping and cheers drowned out the final words.

I assumed they were "Representative Raymond Welle." The music resumed. Garth had been replaced by some patriotic march that I couldn't name, but that I assumed was by John Philip Sousa.

I reflected on the introducer's comments-"I give you the next United States senator…"-and decided that allowing for the prices that were being charged for admission to Raymond Welle's fund-raising reception, there might be a whole lot of buying and selling, or at the very least, renting, going on.