Jonathan Kellerman - Breakdown

Milo placed the second sandwich on the passenger seat. “Guess there’s nothing much more to do but concentrate on the kid. Should you choose.”

“I choose.”

“Big surprise.”

Back home I was surprised to learn that Shay McNamara had returned my call from Asheville and Robert Adjaho had phoned from London. Late, across the pond. I tried Adjaho first.

This time a man answered at the Ashanti Theatre, a voice recalling Olivier on a particularly good day.

“Doctor, this is Robert. I’m sorry to hear about Zelda, though I don’t see how I can help you. Was it suicide?”

Same question, over and over. Everyone had known.

I said, “Most likely she died accidentally.”

“From what?”

“Poison.”

“Not self-administered?”

“It looks as if she ate the wrong plant.”

“I see. Actually, I don’t.”

“She’d been mentally ill for a while, Mr. Adhajo. Ended up swallowing something she shouldn’t have.”

“Yes... the reason I mentioned suicide was back when we worked together she seemed extremely troubled. My father’s a psychologist. Don’t want to presume, but perhaps I picked up some knowledge.”

“What troubles did you observe in Zelda?”

“For starts, her fluctuating activity levels. What seemed to be hyperactivity alternating with fatigue. I’d heard my father talk about bipolar disorder — he called it manic depression — and to my layman’s eyes that seemed to fit Zelda. There were also instances where she appeared confused — in a daze. My wife and I — she was also on the show — wondered about drugs. We never saw Zelda indulge but something was clearly amiss.”

“Were people on the show talking about it?”

“If they were, Diana and I never heard it. We kept to ourselves — young love and all that. Looking back, we were pretty obnoxious about it.”

“So no rumors.”

“None that I heard. Zelda may have been odd but she never failed to do her job and that’s all that matters when you’re taping under pressure. Now I have to ask: Why would a psychologist be phoning from halfway across the globe to discuss a deceased person?”

“I’m looking for Ovid.”

“Who’s that?”

“Zelda’s son.” I gave him background.

“I understand your concern but I’m afraid I can’t help you, Doctor. I was aware Zelda had a child, though I can’t pinpoint how I knew. I never actually saw the boy.”

“She didn’t bring him to work?”

“She may have. But not that I observed.”

“Are you aware of other family members?”

“I did notice an older man who came with Zelda a few times. Old enough to be her father but with no obvious resemblance to Zelda, he looked somewhat Asian.”

“Smallish, white hair?”

“That’s the one.”

“That was her psychiatrist.”

“I see. So someone was aware of her problems. But to no avail, ay? Father always said when it came to severe mental illness one couldn’t rely on happy endings. He came to find his profession dreary, ended up switching to an administrative position with the National Health. Have you reached anyone else from the show? Perhaps someone knows more than I do.”

“I’ve talked to Steve Beal and Karen Jackson. His description of Zelda’s behavior is similar to yours.”

“Don’t know her,” said Adjaho. “But Steve, I certainly recall. How’s he doing?”

“He works in real estate.”

“Selling or developing?”

“Selling.”

“I can see that. Good for Steve. And good luck to you.”

Shay McNamara said, “Omigod, Zelda? That’s horrible, what happened?”

I replowed old ground, anticipated her next question and told her I was looking for Ovid.

She said, “Sure I remember him. She didn’t bring him often but he was a cutie. You don’t think Zelda would hurt him or anything? Because of her... situation? I mean I never saw anything like that, she seemed like a good mom.”

“When I evaluated Ovid, she was. What do you recall about him?”

“Not much, he was a quiet little kid, stayed by himself building with blocks. Zelda would come over and smile at him or give him a little kiss. She really seemed loving, Dr. Delaware.”

“What you said about her ‘situation’...”

“Well, obviously from what happened she had psychological issues,” said Shay McNamara.

“What about when you worked with her?”

“She could get a little hyper — no, I take that back. Real hyper. I was a minor myself and my mom would come on the set — she homeschooled me — and she’d watch Zelda and shake her head and say stuff like, ‘That girl is all over the place.’ I didn’t think much of it, not messing up my lines was all I cared about. I don’t miss it. Way too much pressure.”

Justin Levine’s life was a short story on Facebook. The usual friends, party photos, detailed lists of favorite music and movies. He’d grown to be a nice-looking young man who favored baseball hats worn backward. The photos featured him with like-minded males and pretty females, the dominant mood glaze-eyed intoxication. Physics major, interests in rugby, lacrosse, skiing, skateboarding. No mention of his acting days.

I posted a message, asking him to get in contact about Zelda Chase.

Sometimes clearing a path for discovery means eliminating the detours. But my only remaining route to finding Ovid seemed likely to dead-end because it was based on crazy-talk: Zelda’s tale of a disappearing “movie star” mother.

Who happened also to be a deity, burrowed deeply inside her daughter’s viscera.

Tempting to dismiss but I wasn’t ready.

Maybe I was denying but my training had taught me that madmen and madwomen weren’t the cage-rattling ravers depicted in low-rent movies and books. That the transition to psychosis could be subtle, more segue than quick flick of the on/off sanity switch.

I’d also discovered that truth could be embedded in the jumble of skewed perception, illogic, and decimated judgment that plagues a disintegrating mind.

More than that: Truth and logic could serve as springboards for psychosis.

On any back ward, you could encounter an apparently rational human being in a cell-like room and wonder what the hell they were doing there. Sit down with that person, begin chatting about a topic — say geography — and your skepticism grows. This is a perfectly normal human being clearly oppressed by the system!

But as you sit there, outraged, the cerebral short-circuits kick in and the conversation edges off kilter and finally veers into fantasies that grow progressively more florid and bizarre and now you’re hearing about a planet grown flat and overrun with godlings who transmit evil messages straight to the sensors implanted in your co-conversationalist’s head.

Does that matter clinically? Often not, but sometimes yes. Because crazy people are still individuals and learning what’s on their troubled minds can occasionally elevate treatment beyond dosage-calibration.

What if Zelda’s mother really had disappeared and tracing family ties could somehow lead me to Ovid? Because the few facts I had did fit early abandonment: a young woman with no known relatives.

On the other hand...

Only one way to find out.

Vanished actress pulled up a host of fan sites and blogs about women who no longer worked in movies or TV. The reasons for “vanishing” ranged from a series of flops to marriage and motherhood to motives unknown.

Not a promising start but scrolling through pages finally led me to two actresses who actually had disappeared. Both in L.A.

The first, a woman named Jean Spangler, had played small roles in big pictures, dated several organized crime figures, and been embroiled in a custody dispute with an ex-husband.