Time Bomb

processed.”

12

I mulled over Burden’s offer without coming to any conclusion, woke up Friday morning still thinking about it. I put it aside and drove to the school to work with the ones I was sure were the good guys.

I could tell I was making progress: The children seemed bored, and a good part of each session was spent in free play. Most of the afternoon was spent working individually with the high-risk youngsters. A few were still experiencing sleep problems but even they seemed more settled.

Doing remarkably well.

But what would the long-term effects be?

By four I was sitting in an empty classroom thinking about that. Realizing how poorly my training had prepared me for the work I was doing, how few insights standard psychology had to offer about the effects upon children of traumatic violence. Perhaps my experiences could be useful to others- other victims and healers, certain to materialize soon in a world grown increasingly psychopathic. I decided to keep detailed clinical records, was still writing at five when a custodian lugging a mop and bucket stuck his head into the room and asked how long I was planning to be there. I collected my stuff and left, passing Linda’s office. Carla’s work space was dark, but the light was on in the inner office.

I knocked.

“Come in.”

She was at her desk reading, slightly stooped, looking intense.

I said, “Cramming?”

She put her book down, swiveled around, and motioned toward the L-shaped couch. She had on an off-white knit dress, thin gold chain, white stockings with a subtle wave pattern running through them vertically, and medium-heeled white pumps.

“I was wondering if you’d drop by,” she said. “Heard we had visitors yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “A veritable bath in the milk of human kindness.”

“Lord. And it just keeps on coming.”

She turned back toward the desk and took something out of a drawer. White cassette. “Three more boxes of these showed up this morning via registered mail. Carla didn’t know what it was. She signed for the whole shebang.”

“Just tapes, no people?”

“Just tapes. But Dobbs’s office did call to confirm the delivery. Carla was out delivering memos to the classrooms and I took the call.”

“Butt-covering,” I said. “The mail registration is proof for any state auditors that he fulfilled his contract and is entitled to every penny Massengil paid him.”

“That’s what I figured. I asked to speak to him directly and they put him on. The yahoo was all sweetness and light. Wanting to know how the poor little things were doing. Things. He probably sees them as things. Assuring me he was on twenty-four-hour call in case of emergencies. I’ll sleep so much better knowing that.”

“And no doubt the phone call will be logged as professional consultation and billed for.”

“He made sure to let me know you and he had conferred,” she said. “That the two of you were of one mind with regard to clinical issues. He approves of your methods, Doctor- doesn’t that make your day?”

“Sounds like he wants to compromise,” I said. “We don’t expose his little scam, let him make a few bucks on the tapes, and he backs off.”

“How does that sit with you?”

I thought about it. “I can live with it if it means he stays out of the picture.”

“So can I,” she said. “What does that make us?”

“Realists.”

“Ugh.” She waved her hand. “I refuse to waste any more time on sleaze. How do the kids look to you?”

“Very good, actually.” I gave her a progress report.

She nodded. “I’ve been hearing the same kind of thing from the parents we’ve spoken to on the phone. Definitely less anxiety. It’s helped me to convince quite a few of them to send their kids back, so you’ve done a real good deed.”

“I’m glad.”

“At first, mind you, they were skeptical. Confused by what the kids were doing- drawing pictures of the sniper, tearing her up, getting mad. There’s always that impulse to protect, try to hush things up. But results talk loudly. I’ve lined up at least a couple of dozen mothers for your Monday meeting.”

“There’s something else you should know about,” I said. “Another visit.” I told her about Mahlon Burden.

“How weird- out of the blue like that.”

“It was, but he’s pretty stressed. He’s convinced Holly’s innocent, wants me to conduct a psychological autopsy, show the world what made her tick. Somehow that’s going to lead to proving her innocence.”

Without hesitation she said, “I think you should do it. It’s a great opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“Learning. Understanding what went wrong- what did make her tick.”

“I can’t be sure I’ll come up with anything significant, Linda.”

“Whatever you come up with, it’ll be more than we’ve got now, right? And the more I’ve been thinking about it- now that the shock’s worn off- the weirder the whole thing is. A girl, Alex. What in the world could lead her to do something like that? Who was she shooting at? The media have basically dropped it. The police haven’t told us a thing. If her father’s willing to talk to you, why not take him up on it? Maybe you can learn something about her- some warning sign- that can help prevent something like this happening again.”

I said, “His willingness to have me exhume her psychologically is being influenced by heavy denial, Linda. Once his defenses break down, he’s likely to change his mind. If I start coming up with stuff he doesn’t approve of, he’ll probably end the whole thing.”

“So? In the meantime, you learn what you can.”

I didn’t reply.

She said, “What’s the problem?”

“My first allegiance is to the kids. I don’t want to be perceived as being aligned with the bad guys.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. You’ve earned your stripes around here.”

“Milo- Detective Sturgis- has reservations about it.”

“Sure he does. Typical cop-think- bunker mentality.”

Before I could answer, she said, “Well, no matter what anyone thinks, in the end it’s got to be your decision. So do what you feel is best.”

She looked away, put the tape down, and began straightening the papers on her desk.

The chill…

I said, “I’m leaning toward telling him yes. I plan to let him know over the weekend.”

“Ah, the weekend,” she said, still straightening. “Can’t believe this week’s actually ending.”

“Got a busy one lined up?”

“Just the usual scut. Chores, TCB time.”

I said, “How about forgetting about business for a while?”

She arched her eyebrows but didn’t look at me.

“Let me be more explicit,” I said. “An early dinner- let’s say in half an hour. Somewhere quiet, with a well- stocked bar. All shoptalk forbidden. Bring a little elegance into our otherwise humdrum lives.”

She looked down at her dress, touched one knee. “I’m not exactly dressed for elegance.”

“Sure you are. Hand me the phone and I’ll make a reservation right now.”

The eyebrows arched higher. She gave a small laugh and turned to me. “A take-charge guy?”