The Clinic (43 page)

How much to use, how much to hide?

Leah Schwartz, the assistant D.A., was still going around with it. Still talking plea bargain or even dismissal. Forty-eight hours to file or release Muscadine on bail.

Did Oster’s call mean he didn’t yet appreciate the weakness of the case against his client?

He said, “So will you see him, Dr. Delaware?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Conflict of interest.”

He’d expected the answer and his response was rich with malicious joy. “Okay, Dr. Delaware, then I seriously suggest you think about this: If I subpoena you as an expert witness, you’ll get paid. If I subpoena you and you don’t cooperate, I still get you deposed and in court, but as a regular witness, and you don’t receive one thin dime.”

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“Sounds like you’re threatening me.”

“No, just laying out the contingencies. For your sake.”

“It’s good to know someone’s looking after my interests,” I said. “Have a nice day.”

I phoned Milo and told him.

He said, “Figures. Leah said your name came up today when she was talking to Oster.

Apparently Muscadine told him about your visit and Oster’s making a big deal about having a psychologist investigate Muscadine as evidence that we knew all along he was under mental strain. So now he wants to use you. It’s an old tactic, co-opt the other side’s consultant as your own. If he can’t turn you around, he tries to humiliate you on the stand and reduces your usefulness to us.”

“Has Muscadine been charged yet?”

“No, but there has been progress, ’cause this morning, we found a nice big cache of steroids in his apartment. No doubt that’ll be part of the defense, too, if it gets that far: drug-induced rage.

But at least it buys us some more jail time. Despite that, Leah’s still thinking about a plea bargain because she’s worried a jury will have sympathy for Muscadine’s ordeal.”

“What about Kathy DiNapoli?” I said. “If he killed her just because she saw him with Mandy Wright, there wouldn’t be much sympathy for that.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got no evidence on Kathy. When I mention her name, he gives that charming actor’s smile, but that’s all.”

“What’s the plea bargain?”

“Manslaughter on Hope only. Leah’ll demand voluntary, Oster will demand involuntary, they’ll work something out.”

“If the case is that weak, why would Oster bargain at all?”

“He might not. Leah’s keeping Big Micky’s identity close to the vest for now, but she may pull it out to scare Muscadine: Walk free, turkey, and the mob goes for you. She’s hoping that’ll convince Muscadine to accept a reduced sentence at a federal prison under protection.”

“Sweet deal for four cold-blooded murders,” I said. “But doesn’t Oster’s calling me mean he thinks the case is stronger than it is?”

“Hard to say. He’s one of those brand-new hotshots, grew up on Perry Mason, thinks he’s smarter than he is. What Leah’s really worried about is he’ll motion to get the whole thing dismissed on insufficient evidence and succeed. If we could find a weapon, anything physical . . .

but so far no luck. The only knives at Muscadine’s place were for spreading butter and no guns at all to match Locking. The guy’s covered his tracks.”

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“Starving actor,” I said. Then something hit me. “When I spoke to Mrs. Green—his landlady—she told me she kept a gun around the house for protection. She also told me Muscadine took care of her dog when she was gone. Meaning he had access to her house. What if instead of buying a gun he decided to borrow one?”

“Borrowed it and put it back?”

“Why not? He wouldn’t want to alarm Mrs. Green. And I’ll bet she registered it, so even if it’s missing you could make a point for Muscadine being the only one with access. And ballistics might have something to say about the bullet pulled out of Locking’s head being compatible with that model. It wouldn’t convict him, but it might tenderize him a bit.”

“It is a long shot, but why not—Mrs. Green. Yeah, I’ve got her on my to-call list.”

It took fifteen minutes for him to phone back and this time there was melody in his voice.

“American Derringer, model one, takes .22 long-rifle ammo, which isexactly what was pulled out of Locking’s head. She hadn’t fired it since she took shooting lessons two years ago. And Muscadine did have a key to her house. She ran to look for the gun, found it in the kitchen drawer where she left it,but it looked cleaner than she remembered. Freaked her out. I told her not to touch it and she said she wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”

“He cleaned it,” I said. “Too smart for his own good.”

“Let’s not celebrate yet, but I’m going over in person to pick it up, take it to ballistics. Thank you, your excellency, salaam, salaam.”

“So what do I do about P.D. Oster?”

“Shine him on.”

Two hours later he said, “Ballistics match, and Deputy D.A. Schwartz would like to have a word with you.”

I knew Leah Schwartz from a previous case. Young and smart, with curly blond hair, huge blue eyes, and, sometimes, a sharp tongue. She came on the phone sounding ready to run a marathon.

“Hi, again. Thanks for the gun tip, I should put you on retainer.”

“Talk is cheap.”

She laughed. “So’s the city. In terms of Ronnie Oster, maybe youshould talk to him. Especially now that we’ve got the .22.”

“Why?”

“Because up to now Muscadine’s refused to say a word about the crime. Maybe you can get him to spill.”

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“If he does, it’s confidential.”

“Not if Oster uses you on the stand. Or even deposes you. Because discovery goes both ways, now, thanks to the voters, so once Oster opens up the door about Muscadine’s mental status, I can cross-examine you and get anything you learn out in the open.”

“And if Oster doesn’t put me on the stand?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I’m no fan of diminished capacity and I won’t testify Muscadine was insane.”

“Oster knows that, that’s probably why he mentioned mental anguish, not dim cap. And I’ll grant Muscadine his anguish. The bastard washarvested. If you get up there and talk about mental anguish, we’ll have big fun on cross getting into all the details. Another thing you can do is write a report if Oster doesn’t have the smarts to specifically ask younot to. Do it the minute you have a chance because once it’s written down, it exists as discovery material. If Oster puts you on his witness list, or uses you in the preliminary hearing, let’s say to get special housing for Muscadine in the psych ward, your work product is probably fair game.”

“Probably?”

“We’ll squabble but I’ve got confidence.”

“I don’t know, Leah.”

“No one’s asking you to lie. The guywas anguished. But not enough to excuse four murders.

And the way things are going, we can only present two of them—Devane and Locking—to the jury. I don’t know about you, but the thought of Mandy Wright and the DiNapoli woman never coming to light doesn’t do much for my appetite. You can make a difference here. Use your therapeutic skills, open Muscadine up. It’s not like you’d be forcing yourself on him, they invited you—hell, Osterpressured you. Open his client up wide enough, I can probably get a warrant to X-ray him.”

“What if he confesses, Oster tells me to put nothing in writing and never puts me on the stand?”

“Then we lose nothing, you make some expert-witness money, we go with the bike and the gun and see how far we can take it. But I think youcan get him to use you. Examine Muscadine and tell Oster the truth: His client’s been through hell. But don’t call Oster right away to say yes, that would look too cute. Wait a day or two, then be reluctantly willing.”

“So I’m a pawn.”

She laughed. “For justice.”

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Dr. Albert Emerson got back to me that evening, just after nine.

“Tessa tried to commit suicide,” he said in that same youthful voice, now sobered. “I’ve got her on a seventy-two-hour hold at Flint Hills Cottages, know where it is?”

“La Canada.”

“That’s the one. Their adolescent in-patient unit’s one of the better ones.”

“How’d she do it?” I said.

“Cut her wrist.”

“Serious or cry for help?”

“She really sawed, so serious. Her father stopped the bleeding.”

“Damn. I called you because I was worried about her.”

“I called you back because I appreciate that and so do the parents. They like you. What’d you want to tell me?”

“That I believe Tessa about the rape. I thought she needed to hear that from someone.”

“Why now?”

“I can’t say. Legal complications.”

“Oh,” he said. “The guy got caught for another one?”

“Let’s just say she’s been validated.”

“Okay. I’ll find out from my D.A. wife.”

“She may not know. It’s really a ticklish situation. As soon as I can be open I promise I will.”

“Fair enough—hold on, the father wants to speak with you.”

A moment later: “Doctor? Walt Bowlby, here.”

“Sorry to hear about Tessa.”

“Thank you, sir.” His words dragged. “Dr. Emerson says she’ll pull through. What can I do for you?”

“I was just checking in to see how Tessa was doing.”

His voice broke. “She’s—I guess I should’ve believed her about the rape.”

“No reason to blame your—”

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“The funny thing is she seemed to be getting better, spending more time with Robbie, having some fun. Then she just stopped, didn’t want to play with him anymore, even be with him.

Started to stay in her room all day, with the door shut. Yesterday, I went in to talk to her, found her in the bathroom. Thank God . . . anyway, the reason I didn’t call you is she didn’t say anything more about the professor til today. I was gonna call you about that, but we’ve been pretty busy.”

“What’d she say today?”

“That the professor was her true friend because she was the only one who believed her. That the bastard tied her up and forced her and no one understood what she’d been through but the professor.”

“He tied her up?”

“Yeah. If I find him, I’ll cut his balls off.”

“Mr. Bowlby—”

“I know, I know, my wife tells me I’m stupid to even talk that way and I know she’s right. But the thought of his doing that to my little girl . . . maybe there’s a hell . . . the main thing is Tessa’s alive. I’ll deal with the other stuff later. Anyway, thanks for calling, Doc.”

“Would it upset you if I came to talk to Tessa?”

“For what?”

“Just to tell her that I believe her, too.”

“Wouldn’t upset me but you’d have to check with Dr. Emerson.”

“Is he still there?”

“He went just down the hall, want me to get him?”

“Please, if it’s no bother.”

“No bother at all. I’m not doing much, just hanging around.”

I made it to Glendale by ten-thirty that night and La Canada a few minutes later.

Flint Hills Cottages was up Verdugo Road, well into the foothills, on the outskirts of a comfortable residential neighborhood, marked only by a small white sign on an adobe gatepost.

The gate was open and the man in the guardhouse wore a blazer and tie and a practiced smile.

No central building, just small hacienda-style bungalows at the end of a curving gravel drive, tucked under hundred-year-old sycamores and cedars. Soft outdoor lighting and bougainvillea trained to the walls gave the place the look of a stylish spa.

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Emerson had said Tessa was in Unit C and I found it directly across the parking lot and to the left. The front door was locked and it took a while for a uniformed nurse to answer the bell.

“Dr. Delaware for Tessa Bowlby.”

She gave me a doubtful look.

“Dr. Emerson’s waiting for me.”

“Well, he’s in back.”

I followed her through a butter-yellow hallway. New chocolate carpeting, framed lithos with a tilt toward flowers, a few rock-concert posters, seven doors, all locked. At the end was a nursing station where a man sat charting.

He looked up and stood. “Dr. Delaware? Al Emerson.”

He was in his early thirties with wavy brown hair trailing down his back and a thick brown beard squared meticulously at the bottom. Tweed hacking jacket, brown wool slacks, chambray shirt, blue knit tie. His grip was confident and quick.

“Thanks, Gloria,” he told the nurse and she left. I read Tessa’s name on the chart’s tab. The ward was silent.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” he said. “All the pain locked up for the night.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s starting to express regret, which is good.”

“Is her dad still here?”

“No, he left a short while ago. He was in with her but only for a minute or so. Tessa’s pretty mad at him.”

“For not believing her?”

“That didn’t help but it goes a lot deeper.”

“It usually does.”

He nodded appreciatively. “They’re very nice people. Well-meaning, sincere. But simple. Not stupid, just simple.”

“As opposed to Tessa.”

“Tessa’s as complex as they come. Creative, imaginative, artistic temperament. Likes to deal with existential issues. In the best of circumstances, she’d be high-maintenance. With this family it’s like giving a Ferrari to a couple of perfectly competent Ford mechanics.”

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“Fate’s little tricks,” I said. “I’ve seen my share. Will she talk to me?”

“I haven’t asked her yet. Why don’t we find out?”

“Just pop in on her? The two times I tried she became highly anxious.”

“But now you’ve got something to tell her. And my wife does know what’s going on, heard rumors of a student busted for the Devane murder. If he’s Tessa’s rapist it would be nice for her to know he’s in custody.”

“It would be, but the D.A.’s keeping it quiet for a couple of days.”

“I could convince Tessa to stay here for more than a couple of days. She told me she likes it here, finds it restful.”

“What if I talk to her and she gets agitated?”

“Better here, where I can deal with it. Worse comes to worst, she freaks and I spend the whole night here.” Grinning. “My job. Sure beats sitting with your feet up having a beer, watching Comedy Central, right?”