“No one in Azusa saw Gina’s Rolls drive up to the dam.”
“Not true. We don’t know that. Sheriff filed it as an accident- no one ever did a door-to-door.”
“Okay,” I said. “So Noel used some kind of utility vehicle. They used to have one- back when I was treating Melissa. Old Caddy-’62 Fleetwood. She called it a Cadillac Knockabout. They’ve probably got one like that today- can’t use a Duesenberg to pick up the groceries. It’s stashed somewhere on those seven acres, or in one of those garages. Or maybe McCloskey was run down with stolen wheels- Noel could know how to hot-wire.”
“From too-good-to-be-true to juvenile delinquent?”
“Like you said, things change.”
He swung toward the bar.
“Oedipus wrecks,” he said. “The all-American kid runs over his old man. How much therapy will it take to patch that one up?”
I didn’t answer.
Across the room, Ramp snorted and gasped for air. His head lifted, sank, rolled to the side.
Milo said, “Be a good idea to get him lucid, see what else we can squeeze out of him. Also be a good idea to wait around and see if old Bethel comes back.”
He looked at his watch. “Got to be getting over to the airport. You feel like sticking around? I’ll check in with you when I’m settled- let’s say before nine.”
“What about your surveillance guy? Can’t he take over here?”
“Nope. He doesn’t come out into the open. Part of the deal.”
“Antisocial?”
“Something like that.”
“All right,” I said. “I was planning to play with the phone for a while- check out a few more Boston things. What do I do if Bethel comes back?”
“Keep her here. Try to get whatever you can out of her.”
“Using what technique?”
He came around from behind the bar, hitched his trousers, buttoned his jacket, and slapped me on the back.
“Your charm, your Ph.D., bald-faced lies- whichever feels best.”
34
Ramp slipped into a deep sleep. I cleared the bottle, glass, and cup from the table, put them in the bar sink, and dimmed the lights until they were no longer cruel. A phone-in to my service yielded no messages from Boston, just a few business calls that I handled for half an hour.
At four-thirty the phone rang: someone wanting to know when the Tankard would be open again. I said as soon as possible and hung up feeling like a bureaucrat. Over the next hour I disappointed lots of people wanting to make dinner reservations.
At five-thirty I felt cold and adjusted the air-conditioning thermostat. Pulling a cloth off one of the other tables, I draped it over Ramp’s shoulders. He continued to doze. The great escape. More in common with Melissa than either of them would ever know.
At five-forty, I went into the restaurant’s kitchen and fixed myself a roast beef sandwich and cole slaw. The coffee urn was cold, so I settled for a Coke. Bringing all of it back to the bar, I ate and watched Ramp continue to sleep, then phoned the house he’d once called home.
Madeleine answered. I asked if Susan LaFamiglia was still there.
“
A second later the attorney came on. “Hello, Dr. Delaware. What’s up?”
“How’s Melissa?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“How’s she doing right now?”
“I got her to eat, so I suppose that’s a good sign. What can you tell me about her psychological status?”
“In terms of what?”
“Mental stability. These kinds of cases can get nasty. Do you see her as someone who can deal with court without cracking up?”
“It’s not a matter of cracking up,” I said. “It’s the cumulative stress level. Her moods tend to go up and down. She alternates between fatigue and withdrawal, and bursts of anger. She’s not stabilized yet. I’d watch her for a while, wouldn’t get right into litigation until I was sure she’d settled down.”
“Up and down,” she said. “Kind of a manic-depressive thing?”
“No, there’s nothing psychotic about it. It’s actually pretty logical, considering the emotional roller coaster she’s been on.”
“How long do you think it’ll take for her to settle down?”
“It’s hard to say. You can work with her on strategy- the intellectual part of it. But avoid anything confrontational for the time being.”
“
“That may relate to something she learned in therapy years ago. Channeling anxiety to anger in order to feel more in control.”
“I see,” she said. “So you’re giving her a clean bill of health?”
“As I said, I wouldn’t want to see her go through any major upheaval right now, but in the long run I expect her to do okay. And she’s certainly not psychotic.”
“Okay. Good. Would you be willing to say that in court? Because the case may end up hinging on mental competence.”
“Even if the other side has engaged in illegal activities?”
“If that turns out to be the case, we’ll be in luck. And I’m looking into that angle, as I’m sure Milo told you. Jim Douse just went through a very expensive divorce and I know for a fact that he bought too many junk bonds for his personal portfolio. There’s talk of some funny business up at the State Bar, but it may turn out to be nothing more than dirt thrown around by his ex-wife’s attorneys. So I’ve got to cover all bases, assume Douse and the banker acted like saints. Even if they didn’t, with the way books can be juggled, major skullduggery can be hard to uncover. I deal with movie studios all the time- their accountants specialize in that.
“Solid enough,” I said. “For someone her age. But that doesn’t mean invulnerable.”
“Solid’s good enough, Doctor. Ah, she’s coming back now. Do you want to speak to her?”
“Sure.”
A beat, then: “Hi, Dr. Delaware.”
“Hi. How’re things going?”
“Fine… Actually, I thought maybe you and I could talk?”
“Sure. When?”
“Um… I’m working with Susan now and I’m getting kind of tired. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow it is. Ten in the morning okay?”
“Sure. Thanks, Dr. Delaware. And I’m sorry if I’ve been… difficult.”
“You haven’t been, Melissa.”
“I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about… Mother. I guess I was… denying it- I don’t know- doing all that sleeping. Now, I
Tears. Long silence.
“I’m here, Melissa.”
“Things will never be the same,” she said. Then she hung up.
