'Never. He says anxiety is the province of fools.'
I thought: The lack of anxiety is the province of psychopaths. Said, 'So you're alone in the house.'
'Just for a couple of days. I'm used to it, my father travels all the time. And Gisella-the maid-comes every day.'
The phone cut in and out during the last sentence.
'Where are you, Stacy?'
'At the beach, some big parking lot on PCH. I must have driven here from Dad's office.' She laughed. 'Don't even remember. That's weird.'
'Which beach? 'I said.
'Um, let's see… There's a sign over there, says… Topanga… Topanga Beach. Kind of pretty out here, Dr. Delaware. Plenty of traffic on the highway, but no one on the sand-except for one guy walking around near the tide line… seems to be looking for something… he's holding some kind of a machine… looks like a metal detector… I know this place, you can see it from Dad's office.'
Her voice had softened, turned dreamy.
'Stay right there, Stacy. I can be there in twenty, twenty-five minutes.'
'There's no need,' she said. It sounded like a policy statement.
'Humor me, Stacy.'
Silence. Crackle. For a moment I thought I'd lost her. Then: 'Sure. Why not? Got nowhere else to go.'
I drove too fast, thinking about Eric. A brilliant, impetuous loner, used to getting his way. The one person who seemed able to elude Richard's dominance. Working hard at maintaining control, but powerless over what had mattered most: his mother's survival.
Close to his father, and his father despised Mate, expressed his hatred openly.
Eric. A hiker who disappeared when he wanted to, liked the mountains, knew the terrain. Dark, hidden places, like the dirt road stretch of Mulholland.,
Impetuous enough to get violent? Smart enough to clean up thoroughly?
How far had filial devotion taken him?
After Joanne's death, Richard had tried to contact Mate, but the death doctor hadn't called back. Had Joanne warned Mate about Richard? Knowing Richard would fight her decision-that's why she'd kept it from him. From her children, as well.
But what if Mate had answered a call from Eric?
Poor, distraught kid wanting to talk about his mother's final passage. Had there been enough of the physician left in Mate to respond to a cry for help?
Dark BMW parked down the road.
Borrowing Daddy's car…
I kept racing west on Sunset, turning it over and over. Pure speculation, I'd never breathe a word to Milo or anyone else, but there was nothing that didn't fit.
A red light at Mandeville Canyon stopped the Seville, but my mind kept revving.
Stacy had offered a sibling's eloquence: a big brain machine combined with emotional immaturity.
Combined with boiling, adolescent rage. Perfect for the meld of compulsive planning and reckless daring that had transformed the brown van into a charnel house on wheels.
Broken stethoscope… Beowulf. Happy Traveling, You Sick Bastard.
Slaying the monster, as if it were just another myth- just another video game.
There was an adolescent feel to the phony book. To sneaking into Mate's flat and leaving a note. The message itself. Primitive gamesmanship, but backed up by an intellect that was starting to scare the hell out of me.
Where had Eric been last Sunday? The trip from Stanford to L.A. was no big deal, shuttles from San Francisco ran all day. Easy enough for a college student with a credit card. Do your business, jet back to school, show up for class as if nothing had happened.
But now the perfect student had missed a test for the first time. Unable to run from what he'd done? Or had some other stress worked apart the fissures that had spidered their way across the perfect porcelain image of the Doss family?
Richard jetting up to Stanford, leaving Stacy alone, sitting at the beach, oblivious… I sensed she'd always been alone. Squeakless wheel not getting any grease.
A car horn honked. The light had turned green but I'd sat there-obliviousness was contagious.
I shot forward, warning myself not to get caught up in it. Not good for the soul, all this hypothesizing. Besides, Milo had other suspects.
Roy Haiselden. Donny Mate. Richard Doss.
None of the above? None of my business. Time to concentrate on what the state said I was qualified to do.
Stacy was easy to spot. Little white Mustang coupe facing the water, one of the few cars stationed in the city lot that paralleled the beach. Low tide, miles of beige kissing Wedgwood-blue water, all of it topped by the same clear sky as inland. The ocean was pretty but roiling. As I hooked across the highway and pulled onto the asphalt beside her, I saw the man with the metal detector, a hundred feet past Stacy's car, knees bent, hunched over a find.
Stacy's windows were closed. As I got out of the Seville, the driver's panel rolled down. She glanced at me, both hands on the steering wheel. Her face was thinner than six months ago. Deepened hollows around the cheeks, darkened flesh beneath the eyes, a few more pimples. No makeup. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail, bound by a red rubber band.
'Didn't know doctors still did house calls.' Weak smile. 'Beach calls. I must have sounded pretty screwed up for you to drive all the way here. I'm sorry.'
The man with the metal detector straightened, turned and faced us. As if he could hear our conversation. But of course he couldn't. Too far away and the ocean was roaring.
Before I could answer, Stacy said, 'Why'd you come, Dr. Delaware? Especially after I snotted off to you like that.'
'I wanted to make sure you were okay.'
'You thought I'd do something stupid?'
'No,' I said. 'You sounded worried about Eric.
You're by yourself. If there's some way I can help, I want to.'
Her eyes faced forward and her hands whitened around the wheel. 'That's… very sweet, but I'm fine… No, I'm not. I'm screwed up, aren't I? Even our dog was screwed up.'
'Helen.'
She nodded. 'Two legs that couldn't move, and Eric pulled her around. That's why you drove all the way- you think I'm cracking up.'
'No,' I said. 'I think you've got good insights.'
She whipped around, stared at me. Laughed. 'Maybe I should be a psychologist, then. Like Becky-not that she'd ever get to be one. Talk is, she's barely passing. That's got to be making Dr. Manitow and the judge real happy…'
'You sound angry at them,' I said.
'I do? No, not at all. I'm a little resentful of Becky, turning into a total snob, never even saying hello. Maybe she's getting back at me for Eric. He and Allison Manitow were dating and Eric dumped her… but that was a long time ago… Why am I talking about this?'
'Maybe it's on your mind.'
'No it's not. Helen is. After I told you about her on the phone, I started thinking about her.' Laughter. 'She had to be the dumbest mutt ever put on this earth, Dr. Delaware. Thirteen years old and she was never completely housebroken. When you gave her a command, she just sat there and stared at you with her tongue hanging out. Eric called her the Ultimate Canine Moron Alien from the Vortex of Idiocy. She used to jump on him and paw him and lick him and he'd say, Get a brain, bitch. But he ended up feeding her, walking her, cleaning up her poop. 'Cause Dad was too busy and Mom was too passive… That stupid little wagon he rigged up, it kept her alive. My father wanted to put her to sleep, but Eric wouldn't hear of it. Eventually, even with the wagon, she started failing. Toward the end, he was carrying her outside to poop, cursing the whole time. Then one night, he took her with him
