Private Eyes

AV: Honey?

CV: No.

AV: No danger at all?

CV: No.

AV: Could you tell me your name, honey?

CV: Melissa.

AV: Melissa what?

CV: Melissa Anne Dickinson. (Starts to spell it out)

AV: (Breaks in) How old are you, Melissa?

CV: Seven.

AV: Are you calling from your house, Melissa?

CV: Yes.

AV: Do you know your address, Melissa?

(Tears)

AV: It’s all right, Melissa. Is something- someone or something bothering you? Right now?

CV: No. I’m just scared… always.

AV: You’re always scared?

CV: Yes.

AV: But there’s nothing there bothering you or scaring you right now? Nothing in your house?

CV: Yes.

AV: There is something?

CV: No. Nothing right here. I… (Tears)

AV: What is it, honey?

Silence

AV: Does someone at your house bother you other times?

CV: (Whispering) No.

AV: Does your mommy know you’re calling, Melissa?

CV: No. (Tears)

AV: Would she be mad if she knew you were calling?

CV: No. She’s…

AV: Yes, Melissa?

CV:… nice.

AV: Your mommy’s nice?

CV: Yes.

AV: So you’re not scared of your mommy?

CV: No.

AV: What about your daddy?

CV: I don’t have a daddy.

Silence

AV: Are you scared of anyone else?

CV: No.

AV: Do you know what you are scared of?

Silence

AV: Melissa?

CV: Darkness… burglars… things.

AV: Darkness and burglars. And things. Can you tell me what kinds of things, honey?

CV: Uh, things… all kinds of things! (Tears)

AV: Okay, honey, just hold on. We’ll get you some help. Just don’t hang up, okay?

Sniffles

AV: Okay, Melissa? Still there?

CV: Yes.

AV: Good girl. Now, Melissa, do you know your address- the street where you live?

CV: (Very rapidly) Ten Sussex Knoll.

AV: Could you please repeat that, Melissa?

CV: Ten. Sussex. Knoll. San Labrador. Cal. Ifornia. Nine-one-one-oh-eight.

AV: Very good. So you live in San Labrador. That’s really close to us- to the hospital.

Silence

AV: Melissa?

CV: Is there a doctor who can help me? Without shots?

AV: Of course there is, Melissa, and I’m going to get you that doctor.

CV: (Inaudible)

AV: What’s that, Melissa?

CV: Thank you.

A burst of static, then dead air. I turned off the recorder and phoned the number Eileen Wagner had written down. A reedy male voice answered: “Dickinson residence.”

“Mrs. Dickinson, please. This is Dr. Delaware, regarding Melissa.”

Throat clear. “Mrs. Dickinson’s not available, Doctor. However, she said to tell you that Melissa can be at your office any weekday between three and four-thirty.”

“Do you know when she’ll be available to talk?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Dr. Delaware. But I’ll apprise her of your call. Is that time period suitable for you?”

I checked my appointment book. “How about Wednesday? Four o’clock.”

“Very good, Doctor.” He recited my address and said, “Is that correct?”

“Yes. But I would like to talk with Mrs. Dickinson before the appointment.”

“I’ll inform her of that, Doctor.”

“Who’ll be bringing Melissa?”

“I will, sir.”

“And you are…?”

“Dutchy. Jacob Dutchy.”

“And your relationship to-”

“I’m in Mrs. Dickinson’s employ, sir. Now, in the matter of your fee, is there a preferred mode of payment?”

“A check would be fine, Mr. Dutchy.”

“And the fee itself?”

I quoted him my hourly rate.

“Very good, Doctor. Goodbye, Doctor.”

***

The next morning, a legal-size manila envelope arrived at the office by messenger. Inside was a smaller, rose- colored envelope; within that, a sheet of rose-colored stationery folded over a check.

The check was for $3,000 and was annotated Medical treatment for Melissa. At my ’78 rate, over forty sessions’ worth. The money had been drawn on a savings account at First Fiduciary Trust Bank in San Labrador. Printed in the upper left corner of the check was:

R.P. DICKINSON, TRUSTEE

DICKINSON FAMILY TRUST UDT 5-11-71

10 SUSSEX KNOLL

SAN LABRADOR, CALIFORNIA 91108