Private Eyes

“I assure you-”

“I also don’t see why you feel the need to pin the disappearance on mother-daughter conflict. Gina Ramp never let Melissa get in the way of her pathology before.”

She wheeled her chair back several inches, never breaking eye contact. “Now who’s blaming the victim?”

“All right,” I said. “This isn’t productive.”

“No, it isn’t. Have you any other information for me?”

“I assume you’re familiar with the circumstances leading up to her phobia- the acid attack?”

Barely moving her lips, she said, “You assume correctly.”

“The man who did it- Joel McCloskey- is back in town.”

Her mouth formed an O. No sound came out. She uncrossed her legs, pressed her knees together.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “When did this happen?”

“Six months ago, but he hasn’t called or harassed the family. There’s no evidence he has anything to do with this. The police questioned him and he had an alibi, so they released him. And if he wanted to cause trouble, he’s had plenty of time- been out of prison for six years. Never contacted her or anyone else in the family.”

“Six years!”

“Six years since his release from prison. He spent most of it out of state.”

“She never said a thing.”

“She didn’t know.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Melissa found out recently and told me.”

Her nostrils widened. “And she didn’t tell her mother?”

“She didn’t want to alarm her. Planned to hire a private investigator to check McCloskey out.”

“Brilliant. Just brilliant.” Shaking her head. “In light of what’s happened, do you concur with that judgment?”

“At the time it seemed reasonable not to traumatize Mrs. Ramp. If the detective learned McCloskey was a threat, it would have been communicated.”

“How did Melissa find out McCloskey was back?”

I repeated what I’d been told.

She said, “Unbelievable. Well, the child has initiative, I’ll grant her that. But her meddling is-”

“It was a judgment call and it’s still far from clear that it was wrong. Can you say for sure you would have told Mrs. Ramp?”

“It would have been nice to have had the choice.”

She looked more hurt than angry.

Part of me wanted to apologize. The other wanted to lecture her about proper communication with the patient’s family.

She said, “All this time I’ve been working on showing her the world’s a safe place, and he’s been out there.”

I said, “Look, there really is no reason to believe anything ominous has happened. She could have had car trouble. Or just decided to stretch her wings a bit- the fact that she chose to drive over here by herself may indicate she was yearning to stretch.”

“This man’s being back doesn’t bother you at all? The possibility that he might have been stalking her for six months?”

“You were at that house frequently. When you walked around the block with her did you ever notice him- or anyone else?”

“No, but I wouldn’t have. I was focusing on her.”

“Even so,” I said. “San Labrador’s the last place you could stalk anybody and get away with it. No people, no cars- making intruders conspicuous is exactly why they do it. And the police function as private guards. Keeping an eye out for strangers is their specialty.”

“Granted,” she said. “But what if he didn’t sit around and make himself obvious? What if he just drove around- not every day, just once in a while? Different times of day. Hoping to grab a glimpse of her? And today he succeeded- spotted her leaving the house alone and went after her. Or maybe it wasn’t him at all- he hired someone to hurt her once, could have done it again. So the fact that he has an alibi is meaningless as far as I’m concerned. What about the man who actually attacked her- the one McCloskey paid? Maybe he’s back in town, too.”

“Melvin Findlay,” I said. “Not the man I’d choose for the job.”

“What do you mean?”

“A black man driving around San Labrador without a good reason wouldn’t last two minutes. And Findlay served hard time in prison for being hired help. It’s hard to believe he’d be stupid enough to go after her again.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I hope you’re right. But I’ve studied the criminal mind, and I long ago gave up assuming anything about human intelligence.”

“Speaking of the criminal mind, did Mrs. Ramp ever say what McCloskey had against her?”

She took off her glasses, drummed her fingers, picked a piece of lint from the desk, and flicked it away. “No, she didn’t. Because she didn’t know. Had no idea why he hated her so much. There’d once been a romance, but they’d parted as friends. She was truly baffled. It made it even more difficult for her- not knowing, not understanding. I spent a long time working on that.”

She drummed some more. “This is totally uncharacteristic of her. She was always a good patient, never deviated from plan. Even if it is nothing more than car trouble, I have an image of her stranded somewhere, panicking and going out of control.”

“Does she carry medication with her?”

“She should- her instructions are to have her Tranquizone with her at all times.”

“From what I saw, she knows how to use it.”

She stared at me, gave a close-lipped smile that tightened her jawline. “You’re quite the optimist, Dr. Delaware.”

I smiled back. “Gets me through the night.”

Her face softened. For a moment I thought she might actually show me some teeth. Then she grimaced and said, “Excuse me. I’m feeling a real lack of closure- have to deal with it.”

She reached for the phone, punched 911. When the operator came on the line, she identified herself as Gina Ramp’s doctor and asked to be put through to the chief of police.

As she waited I said, “His name is Chickering.”

She nodded, held up an index finger, and said, “Chief Chickering? This is Dr. Ursula Cunningham-Gabney, Gina Ramp’s physician… No, I haven’t… Nothing… Yes, of course… Yes, she did. Three o’clock this afternoon… No, she didn’t, and I haven’t… No, there’s nothing… No, not in the least.” Look of exasperation. “Chief Chickering, I assure you she was in full possession of her faculties. Absolutely… No, not at all… I don’t feel that would be prudent or necessary… No, I assure you, she was totally rational… Yes. Yes, I understand… Excuse me, sir, there is one thing I thought you might want to consider. The man who attacked her… No, not him. The one who actually threw the acid. Findlay. Melvin Findlay- has he been located?… Oh. Oh, I see… Yes, of course. Thank you, Chief.”

She hung up and shook her head. “Findlay’s dead. Died in prison several years ago. Chickering was offended that I even asked- seems to think I’m casting aspersions on his professional abilities.”

“It sounded as if he’s questioning Gina’s mental stability.”

She gave a look of distaste. “He wanted to know if she was “all there’- how’s that for a choice of words?” Rolling her eyes. “I actually think he wanted me to tell him she was crazy. As if that would make it acceptable for her to be missing.”

“Make it acceptable if he didn’t find her,” I said. “Who can be responsible for the actions of a crazy person?”

She blinked several more times. Gazed down at the desk top and let all the severity drop from her face. I was willing to bet her beauty had bloomed late. For a moment I saw her as a myopic little girl. Growing up smarter than her peers. Unable to relate. Sitting up in her room, reading and wondering if she’d ever fit in anywhere.

“We’re responsible,” she said. “We’ve taken on the responsibility to care for them. And here we sit,