Private Eyes

instructed her to drive her car out of the gates of her estate and pick me up two blocks away at a precise time. I specified the Rolls-Royce- told her something about consistency of stimuli. Because, of course, it has tinted windows. She arrived right on the dot. I had her slide over to the passenger side, and I got behind the wheel. She asked me where we were going. I didn’t answer. That elicited visible symptoms of anxiety- she wasn’t even close to being ready for that kind of ambiguity. She repeated her question. Once again, I said nothing and continued to drive. She began to get twitchy and to breathe rapidly- prodromal signs. When I sped onto the freeway she burst into a full-blown anxiety attack. I handed her an inhaler that I’d doctored to contain chloral hydrate and instructed her to take a nice deep breath. She did, and passed out immediately. Which was elegant. I was driving at fifty-five miles per hour, didn’t want her thrashing around and creating a hazard. Unconscious, she made a lovely traveling companion. I drove to the dam, where my Land Rover was waiting. Transferred her into the Rover and pushed that ostentatious hunk of junk into the water.”

“Pretty strenuous work for one man.”

“What you mean to say is strenuous for a man of my age. But I’m in excellent shape. Clean living. Creative fulfillment.”

“The car didn’t sink,” I said. “It caught on a flange.”

He said nothing, didn’t move.

“Poor planning for someone as precise as you. And with the Land Rover up there, how’d you get back to San Labrador?”

“Ah,” he said, “the man is capable of rudimentary reasoning. Yes, you’re correct, I did have help. A Mexican fellow, used to work for me up here at the ranch. When we had more horses. When my wife used to ride.”

To Ursula: “Remember Cleofais, darling?”

Ursula shut her eyes tight. Water leaked out from under the lids.

Gabney said, “This Cleofais- what a name, eh?- was a big, husky fellow. Not much in the way of brains, no common sense- he was essentially a two-footed beast of burden. I was getting close to firing him- only a few horses left, no sense wasting money- but the transfer of Mrs. Ramp offered him one last chance to be useful. He dropped me off in Pasadena, then took the Rover up to the dam and waited. He was the one who pushed the Rolls-Royce in. But he miscalculated, hit that flange or whatever.”

“Easy mistake to make.”

“Not if he’d been careful.”

“Why do I feel,” I said, “that he won’t be making any more mistakes in the future?”

“Why, indeed.” Exaggerated look of innocence.

Ursula moaned.

Gabney said, “Oh, stop. Spare me the dramatics. You never liked him- you were always calling him a stupid wetback, always after me to get rid of him. So now you have your way.”

Ursula shook her head weakly and sagged in her chair.

I said, “Where’d you take Mrs. Ramp after the Rolls was disposed of?”

“On a scenic drive. Through Angeles Crest Forest along the backroads. The precise route was Highway 39 to Mount Waterman, Highway 2 to Mountain High, 138 to Palmdale, 14 to Saugus, 126 to Santa Paula, then straight down to the 101 and onward to the ranch. Circuitous but pretty.”

“Nothing like that in Florida,” I said.

“Nothing at all.”

“Why the dam?” I said.

“It’s a rural spot, comparatively close to the clinic, yet remote- no one goes up there. I know, because I’d been there several times. To sell off horses my wife no longer wanted to ride.”

“That’s all?”

“What else should there be?”

“Well,” I said, “I’d be willing to wager you studied your wife’s clinical notes and knew Mrs. Ramp didn’t like water.”

He smiled.

I said, “I understand about the tinted windows providing cover. But wasn’t it risky using a car that conspicuous? Someone might have noticed.”

“And if they had, what would they have seen? A car that would have been traced to her- just as it was. The assumption would have been made that a mentally ill woman drove up there and either had an accident or committed suicide. Which is exactly what happened.”

“True,” I said, trying to look thoughtful.

“Everything was considered, Delaware. If Cleofais had reported being spotted, we would have moved on to another spot. I’d earmarked several. Even the unlikely chance of being stopped by a policeman didn’t worry me. I would have explained that I was a psychotherapist with a patient who’d had an anxiety attack and passed out, and shown my credentials to back it up. The facts would have backed me up. And when she regained consciousness, she would have backed me up, because that’s all she would have remembered. Isn’t that elegant?”

“Yes,” I said, causing him to look at me sharply. “Even traveling the back roads, you had plenty of time to set her up here, wait for your wife to call and report she hadn’t shown up for group therapy, then fake concern, drive back to Pasadena and make your appearance at the clinic.”

“Where,” he said, “I had the not altogether salutary experience of meeting you.”

“And trying to find out how much I knew about Mrs. Ramp.”

“Why else would I bother to talk to you? And for a moment you did have me concerned- something you said, about her having plans to make a new life. Then I realized you were just jawing, knew nothing of any importance.”

“When did your wife find out what you’d done?”

“When she woke up to find herself in that chair.”

Remembering Ursula’s hurried exit from the clinic, I said, “What’d you tell her to get her up here?”

“I phoned her, pretending to be ill, and begged her to come up and take care of me. Good wife that she is, she responded promptly.”

I said, “How will you explain her absence to her patients?”

“Bad flu. I’ll take over their care, don’t expect any complaints.”

“Two patients gone from the group, now the therapist- given the kind of anxiety you’re dealing with, it may not be so simple to reassure them.”

“Two? Ah.” Knowing smile. “Bonny Miss Kathleen, our intrepid girl reporter? How did you come across that?”

Not knowing if Kathy Moriarty was alive or dead, I said nothing.

“Well,” he said, smiling wider, “if you think your evasiveness is going to help her, forget it. Bonny Miss Kathleen won’t be reporting anything anymore- nasty little bull-dagger. The arrogance, thinking something as complex as agoraphobia could be faked in my presence. Trying to bluster her way out when I caught her, with threats and accusations. She sat right in that chair.” Pointing to Ursula’s. “Helped me refine the technique.”

“Where is she now?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“In the cold, cold ground, next to Cleofais. Probably the first time she’s been that intimate with a man.”

I looked over at Ursula. Her eyes were wide and frozen.

“So everything’s tied up,” I said. “Elegant.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Mocking you isn’t my intention. On the contrary, I had the greatest respect for your work. Read all your publications- shock avoidance and escape paradigms, controlled frustration, schedules of fear-induced learning. This is just…” I shrugged.

He stared at me for a long time.

“You wouldn’t,” he finally said, “be trying to bullshit me?”

“No,” I said. “But if I am, big deal. What can I do to you?”

“True,” he said, flexing his fingers. “Fifteen seconds to deep-fry, you couldn’t bear being a party to that. And I’ve got other toys you haven’t even seen yet.”

“I’m sure you have. Just as I’m sure you’ve convinced yourself it’s okay to use them. On scientific grounds.