PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or

are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, events, locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 1986 by Jonathan Kellerman

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This is an authorized, reprint of a hardcover edition published

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As always, for Faye, Jesse, and Rachel,

and welcoming Ilana

I SAT in the courtroom and watched Richard Moody

get the bad news 'from the judge.

Moody'd come dressed for the occasion in a chocolate

polyester suit, canary yellow shirt, string tie,

and lizard skin boots. He grimaced and bit his lip

and tried to lock eyes with the judge, but she out-stared

him and he ended UP looking at his hands.

The bailiff at the rear of the room held his gaze on

Moody. As a result of my warning he'd been careful

to keep the Moodys apart all afternoon and had

gone so far as to frisk Richard.

The judge was Diane Severe, girlish for fifty, with

ash blond hair and a strong, kind face; soft-spoken, and all business. I'd never been in her Court bui knew

her reputation. She'd been a social worker before

going to law school and after a decade in juvenile

court and six years on the family bench was one of

the few judges who really understood children.

"Mr. Moody," she said, "I want you to listen very

carefully to what I'm going to say."

Moody started to assume an aggressive body posture,

hunching his shoulders and narrowing 'his

eyes like a bar fighter, but his, attorney nudge 'him

and he loosened up and forced a smile.

We've heard testimony from Dr. Daschoff and Dr.

Delaware, both eminently qualified as experts in

this court. I've spoken to your children in my chambers.

I've watched your behavior this afternoon and

I've heard your allegations against Mrs. Moody. I've

learned of your instructions to your children to run

away from their mother so that you could rescue

them."

She paused and leaned forward.

"You've got serious emotional problems, sir."

The smirk on Moody's face vanished as quickly

as it appeared, but she caught it.

"I'm sorry you think this is funny, Mr. Moody,

because it's tragic."

"Your Honor," Moody's lawyer interjected.

She cut him off with the flick of a gold pen.

"Not now, Mr. Durkin. I've heard quite enough

wordplay today. This is the bottom line and I want

your client to pay attention."

Turning back to Moody:

"Your problems may be treatable. I sincerely hope

they are. There's no doubt in my mind that psychotherapy

is essential--a good deal of it. Medication

may be called for as well. For your sake and the

sake of your children I hope you get whichever

treatment you need. My order is that you have no

further contact with your children until I see

psychiatric evidence that you are no longer a threat

to yourself or to others--when the death threats and

talk of suicide cease, and you have accepted the

BLOOD TEST 1

reality of this divorce and are able to support Mrs,

Moody in the raising of the children.

"Should you get to that point---and your word

won't be sufficient to convince me, Mr. Moody--A

the court will call upon Dr. Delaware to set up-a

schedule of limited and monitored visitation."

Moody took it in, then made a sudden move forward.

The bailiff was out of his chair and at his

side in a flash. Moody saw him, gave a sick grin,

and let his body go slack. The tears flowed down

his cheeks. Durkin pulled out a handkerchief, gave

it to him, and 'raised an objection concerning the

judge's encroachment upon his client's privacy.

"You're free to appeal, Mr. Durkin," she said

evenly.

"Judge."

It was Moody talking now, the bass voice dry and

strained.

"What is it, Mr. Moody?"

"You don't understand." He wrung his hands.

"Those kids, they're my life."

For a moment I thought she was going to tongue-lash

him. Instead she regarded him with compassion

"I do understand, sir. I understand that you love

your children. That your life is in shambles. But

what you need to understand--the whole point of

the psychiatric testimony--is that children can't be

responsible .for anyone's life. That's too big a burden

for any child to bear. They can't raise you, Mr.

Moody. You need to be able to raise them. And

fight now you can't. You need help."

Moody started to say something but choked it

back. He shook his head in defeat, gave the handkerchief

back to Durkin, and tried to salvage a few

shards of dignity.

IZ Jonathan Kellerman

The next quarter hour was spent on property

settlement. I had no need to listen to the distribution

of the meager estate of Darlene and Richard

Moody and would have left, but Mai Worthy had

said he wanted to talk to me afterward.

When the legal mumbling was over, Judge Severe took off her glasses and ended the hearing. She

looked my way and smiled.

"I'd like to see you in chambers for a moment if

you've got the time, Dr. Delaware."

I smiled back and nodded. She swept out of the

courtroom.

Durkin ushered Moody out under the 'watchful

eye of the bailiff

At the next table Mal was pep-talking Darlene,

patting her plump shoulder as he scooped up handfuls

of documents and stashed them in one of the

two suitcases he'd brought. Mal was compulsive

and while other lawyers made do with an attache

case, he carted around boxes of documents on a

chromium luggage rack.

The former Mrs. Richard Moody looked up at

him, bewildered, cheeks feverishly rosy, bobbing

her head in assent, She'd stuffed her milkmaid's

body into a light blue summer dress as frothy as

high tide. The dress was ten years too young for

her and I wondered if she'd confused new-found

freedom with innocence.

Mal was decked out in classic Beverly Hills attorney

mufti: Italian suit, silk shirt and tie, calfskin

loafers with tassles His hair was styled

fashionably long and curly, his beard cut close to

the skin. He had glossy nails and perfect teeth and

a Malibu tan. When he saw me he winked and

·

. waved and gave Darlene one last pat.

·

her hand in both of his and saw her to the door.

"Thanks for your help, Alex," he said when he

came back. Piles of papers remained on the table

and he busied himself with packing them.

"It wasn't fun," I said.

"No. The ugly ones aren't." He meant it but

there was a lilt in his voice.

"But you won."

He stopped shuffling papers for a moment "Yeah.

Well, you know. that's the business I'm in. Joust- long." He fiippefi his wrist and looked at a wafer-thin

disc of gold. "I won't say it pains me to dispose

of a turkey like Mr. M."

"You think he'll take it? Just like that?"

He shrugged.

"Who knows? If he doesn't we'll just keep bringing in the heavy artillery."

At two hundred dollars an hour.

He lashed the suitcases to the rack.

"Hey listen, Alex, this wasn't a stinker. For those

I don't call you--I've got hired guns up the wazoo.

This was righteous, no?"

"We were on the right side."

"Precissimoso. And I thank you again, Regards to

the lady judge."

""What do you think she wants ?" I asked.

He grinned and slapped me on the back.

"Maybe she likes your style. Not a bad looking

gal, heh? She's single; you know?"

"Spinster ?"

"Hell, no. Divorced. I handled her case."

Her chambers were done in mahogany and rose,

and-permeated with the scent of flowers. She sat

behind a glass-topped, carved wood desk upon which

stalks off gladio-

the desk were several photos of

two hulking blond teens boys in

jerseys, wet suits, odd evening wear.

"My gruesome twosome," she said, following my

eyes. "One's at Stanford, the other's selling fire-wood up at Arrowhead. No telling, eh, actor?"

"No telling."

"Please have a seat." She motioned me to a velvet

sofa. When I'd settled she said, "Sorry if I was a

little rough on you in there."

"No problem."

"I wanted to know if the fact that Mr. Moody

wears women's underwear was relevant to his mental status, and you refused to be pinned down."

"I didn't think his choice of lingerie had much to

do with custody."

She laughed. "I get two types of psych experts.

The puffed-up, self-proclaimed authorities, so taken

with themselves they think-their opinions on any

topic are sacrosanct, and the cautious ones, like

you, who won't give an opinion unless it's backed

up by a double-blind, controlled study."

I shrugged. "At least you won't get a Twinkie

Defense out of me."

"touche How about some wine?" She unlatched

the doors of a credenza carved to match the desk

and took out a bottle and two long-stemmed glasses. "My pleasure, Your Honor."

"In here, Diane. Is it Alexander ?'

"Alex is fine."

She poured red wine into the glasses. "This is a

very fine cabernet that I save for the termination of

particularly obnoxious cases. Positive reinforcement,

if you will."

I took the glass she offered.

"To justice," she said, and we sipped. It was

good wine and I told her so. It seemed to please her.

We drank in silence. She finished before I did

and set down her glass.

"I want to talk to you about the Moodys. They're

off my docket but I can't help thinking about, the

kids. I read your report and you have good insights

on the family."

"It took a while but they opened up."

"Alex, are those children going to be all right?"

"I've asked myself the same thing. I wish I could

tell you-yes. It depends on whether or not the

parents get their act together."

She clicked her nails against the rim of the

wineglass.

"Do you think he'll kill her?"

The question startled me.

"Don't tell me it didn't cross your mind--the

warning to the bailiff and all that."

"That was meant to prevent an ugly scene," I

said, "but yes, ! do think he could do it. The man's

unstable and profoundly depressed. When he gets

low, he gets nasty and he's never been lower than

right now."

"And he wears ladies' panties."

I laughed. "That too."

"Refill?"

"Sure."

"She put the bottle aside and laced her fingers

around the stem of her wineglass, an angular, attractive

older woman, not afraid to let a few wrinkles show.

"A real loser, our Mr. Richard. Moody. And maybe

a killer."

"If he gets in a killing mood, she'd be the obvious

target. And the boyfriend--Conley.?

"Well," she said, running the tip-of her tongue

over her lips, "one must be philosophical about

such things. If he kills her it's because she fucked

the wrong guy. Just as long as he doesn't kill someone

innocent, like you or me."

It was hard to tell if she were serious or not.

"It's something I think about," she said, "some

warped loser coming back and taking out his troubles

on me. The losers 'never want to take responsibility

for their crappy little lives. You ever worry

about it?"

"Not really. When I was clinically active most of

my patients were nice kids from nice families--not

much potential for mayhem there. I've been pretty

much retired for the last couple of years."

"I know. I saw the gap in your resume. All that

academic stuff, then blank space. Was that before

the Casa de Los Ninos thing or after?"

I wasn't surprised she knew about it. Though it

had been over a year, the headlines' had been bold

and people remembered. I had my own personal

reminder--a reconstructed jaw that ached when

the weather got clammy.

"A half year before. Afterwards I didn't exactly

feel like jumping back in."

"No fun being a hero?"

"I don't even know what the word means."

"I'll bet." She gazed levelly at me and adjusted

the hem of her robe. "And now you're doing forensic

work."

"On a limited basis. I accept consultations from

attorneys I trust which narrows the field substantially

and I get some directly from judges."

BLOOD TEST -17 .

"Which ones ?"

"George Landre, Ralph Siegel."

'"Both good guys. I went to school with George.

You want more work?"

"I'm not hustling. If the referrals come, okay. If

not, I can always find things to do."

"Rich kid, huh?"

"Far from it, but I made a few good investments

that are still paying off. If I don't get sucked into a

Rodeo Drive mentality I'm okay.:'

She smiled.,

"If you want more cases, I'll spread the word.

The members of the psych panel are booked up for

four months and we're always looking for guys who

can think straight and put it into language simple

enough for a judge to understand. Your report was really good."

"Thanks. If you send me cases I won't turn you

down."

She finished the second glass. "Very mellow, isn't

it? Comes from a tiny little vineyard up in Napa.

Three years old and still operating at a loss, but the

place is turning out limited bottlings of very fine

reds."

She got up and walked around the room. From

the pocket of her robe she removed a pack of Virginia

Slims and a lighter. For the next few moments

she stared at a wall decorated with diplomas

and certificates and dragged deeply on the cigarette.

"People really manage to fuck up their lives,

don't they? Like Miss Bright Eyes Moody. Nice

country girl, moves to town, for a taste of excitement,

gets a job as checker at Safeway and falls in

love with the macho man in-lace undies--I forget,

what is he, a construction worker?"

18 Jonathan Kellerman

-"Carpenter. For Aurora Studios."

"Right. I remember. Builds sets. The guy's an obvious loser but it takes her twelve years to figure it out. Now she's extricating herself and who does she hook up with? The loser's clone."

"Conley's a lot more mentally intact."

"Maybe so. But take a look at them side by side.

['wins. She's being pulled to the same type. Who

knows, maybe Moody was a charmer too in the

beginning. Give this Conley a few years, he'll turn.

Bunch of losers."

She turned and faced me. Her nostrils flared and

the hand holding the cigarette trembled almost imperceptibly:

alcohol, emotion, or both.

"I hooked up with an ass-hole and it took me a

while to get out of it, Alex, but I didn't turn around

and do the same damn thing first chance I got.

get smart."

boy Did my divorce, did

order

was

Any

wrong Balo

ery other week with some ploy to reverse the order.

In the meantime Moody will harass Bright Eyes

and if it keeps up long enough the kids will be

permanently screwed up," She walked back to her

desk with a long graceful stride, took a compact out

of her purse and powdered her nose.

"On and on. He'll drag her through the system,

she'll bleat and weep, but she'll have no choice."

Her expression hardened. "But I don't give a damn.

In two weeks I'm out of it. Retirement with pension.

I've got some investments of my own. And one

big money-loser. A tiny little vineyard up in Napa."

She grinned. "This time next year I'll be in my

cellar sampling the vintage until I reel. If you travel

that way, be sure to drop in."

I'll make it a point to do that."

She looked away from me, talked to her diplomas.

"Do you have a lady friend, Alex ?"

"Yes. She's in Japan now."

"Miss her?"

"Very much."

"Figures," she said good-naturedly. "The good

ones get snapped up." She rose to indicate the

audience was concluded. "Good to meet you, Alex."

"My pleasure, Diane. Good luck with the vines.

What I tasted was great."

"It's gonna get better and better. I can feel it."

Her handshake was firm and dry.

My Seville had cooked in the open parking lot

and I pulled my hand away from the heat of the

door handle. Midway through the motion, sensed

his presence and turned to face him.

"S'cuse me, Doc." He was looking into the sun

and squinting. His forehead was sweat glossed and

darkened to mustard

"I can't talk now, Mr. Moody."

"Just a sec, Doc. Just lemme connect with ya.

Lemme zero in on some main points. Communicate,

you know." His words came out in a rush. As he

spoke, the half-closed eyes darted back and forth,

and he rocked on his boot heels. In rapid succession

he stuffed, grimaced, bobbed his head, scratched

his Adam's apple, and tweaked his nose. A discordant

symphony of tics and twitches. I'd never seen

him this way but I'd read Larry Daschoff's report

and had a good idea what was happening.

"I'm sorry. Not now." I looked around the lot but

we were alone. The rear of the court building faced

a quiet side street in a run-down neighborhood.

The sole sign of life was a scrawny mutt nuzzling a

patch of overgrown grass on the other side of the

road.

"Aw, c'mon, Doc. Just lemme make a few main

points, lemme break on through, lemme zero in on '

the main facts, like the shysters say." His speech

picked up velocity.

I turned away from him and his hard brown

hand dosed on my wrist.

"Please let go, Mr. Moody," I said with forced

patience.

He stuffed.

"Hey, Doc, I jus wanna talk. State my case."

"There's no case. I can't do anything for you. Let

go of my arm."

He tightened his grip but no tension registered

on his face. It was a long face, sUn-cured and leathery,

with a broken pug nose at center, a thin-lipped

mouth, and an oversized jaw the kind of mandibular

development you get from chewing tobacco or

gritting your teeth.

I put my car keys in my pocket and reached

around to pry his fingers loose but his strength was

phenomenal That, too, made sense, if what I suspected

was true. It felt like his hand had become

beat-welded to my arm and it was starting to hurt.-

I found myself assessing my chances in a fight:

we were the same height and probably just about

the same weight. Years of hauling lumber had given

in the

edge . physical strength department,

but I'd been sufficiently diligent about karate practice

to have a few good moves. I could .stomp down hard on his instep, hit him when he was off-balance, and drive away as he writhed on the cement ... I

interrupted that train of thought, ashamed, telling

myself that fighting him would be absurd. The guy

was disturbed and if anyone should be able to. defuse

him, I should.

I dropped my free arm and let it fall idly to my

side.

"Okay. I'll listen to you. But first let go so I can

concentrate on what you have to say."

He thought about it for a second, then grinned

broadly. His teeth were bad and I wondered why I

hadn't noticed it during the evaluation, but he'd

been different then--morose and defeated, barely

able to open his mouth to speak.

He released my wrist. The piece of sleeve where

he'd held me was grimy and warm.

"I'm listening."

"Okay, okay, okay." His head continued to bob.

"Just gotta connect with you, Doc, show you I got

plans, tell you how she twisted you roun' her little

finger jus' like she did me. There's bad stuff in that

22 Jonathan Kellerman

house, my boys tell me how he's makin' the kids do

things his way, and she lets it happen, she says

okay, okay. Fine and dandy with her, they be cleanin'

up after a scumbag like that, who knows what kind

of dirt he's leavin' around, the guy's not normal,

you know ? Him wantin' to be man of the house and

all that, all I gotta say is har, har, you know.

"Know why I'm laughin', doc, huh? To keep from cryin', that's why, keep from cryin'. For my babies.

The boy and the girl. My boy tol' me the two of

them be sleeping together, him wantin' to be the

daddy, to be the big shot in the house that I built with these two hands here."

He held out ten large-knuckled, bruised fingers.

There was an oversized turquoise and Indian silver

ring on each ring finger, one in the shape of a

scorpion, the other a coiled snake.

"You unnerstan', Doc, you grab what I'm tossin'

at you? Those kids are my life, I carry the burden,

not nobody else, that's what I tol' the lady judge,

the bitch in black. I carry it. From. me, from here."

He grabbed his crotch. "My body into hers when

she was still decent--she could be decent again,

you unnerstan', I get hold of her, speak some sense,

straighten her out, right? But not with that Conley

there, no way, no fuckin' way. My kids, my life"

He paused for breath and I took advantage of it.

"You'll always be their father," I said, trying to

be reassuring without patronizing him. '"No one

can take that away from you."

"Right. Hunnerd procent right. Now you go in

there and tell that to the bitch'in black, straighten her out. Tell her I got to have those kids."

"I can't do that."

He pouted like a child denied dessert.

BLOOD TEST 23

"You do it. Right now."

"I can't. You're under a lot of stress. You're not

ready to take care of them. You're going through a

full-fledged manic episode, Mr. Moody. You're a

manic-depressive and you need help badly .... "

"I Can handle it, I got plans. Get a trailer, get a

boat, take 'em outta the dirty city, outta the smog-clouds,

take 'em to the country,relish for trout, hunt

for meat, teach 'em the way to survive. Like Hank

Junior says, country boy will survive. Teach 'em to

shovel shit and,eat good breakfasts, get away from

scumbags like him and her until she gets straightened

out, who. knows when it'll come she keep up

with him, humpin' him in front of them, a disgrace."

"Try to calm down."

"Here, watch me calm down." He inhaled deeply

and let the air out in a noisy whoosh. I smelled the

stench of his breath. He cracked his knuckles and

the silver rings sparkled in the sun. "I'm relaxed,

I'm clean,. I'm ready for action, I'm the father, go in

and tell her."

'.'It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?" he growled and grabbed the front of

my jacket.

"Let go. We can't talk if you keep doing that, Mr.

Moody."'

Slowly his fingers parted. I tried to edge away

from .him but my back touched the car. We were

close enough to slow-dance.

"Tell her! You fucked me up, you fix it, Head-shrinker!"

His voice had taken a decidedly menacing tone.

Manics could do damage when they got worked up.

As bad as paranoid schitzes. It was obvious that the

power of persuasion wasn't going to do the trick.

24

Jonathan Kellerman

"Mr. Moody--Richardwyou need help. I won't

do anything for you until you get it."

He sputtered, sprayed me with saliva, and jacked

upward viciously with his knee, a classic street

brawler's move. It was one of the gambi

ts I'd figured           him for and I swiveled so that all he made

contact with was gabardine.

The miss threw him off-balance and he stumbled.

Consciously sad, I caught his elbow and threw

him off my

hip. He landed on his back, stayed

down for a quarter second, and was at me again,

arms chopping like a thresher gone mad. I waited

until he was almost on me, ducked low, and hit him

in the belly just hard enough to knock some wind

out. Moving out of the way I let him double over in

privacy.

"Please, Richard, calm down and pull it all

together."

His response was a growl and a snivel and a grab

for my legs. He managed to get hold of one cuff and

I felt myself going down. It would have been a good

time to jump in the car and tool out of there, but he

was between me and the driver's door.

I contemplated a move for the passenger door,

but that would mean turning my back to him and

he was strong and crazy-fast.

As I contemplated; he bounded up and charged

toward me shouting gibberish. My pity for him had

made me too careless and he was able to connect

with a punch to the shoulder that made my body

rattle. Still stunned, I cleared my eyes soon enough

to see the follow.through: a left hook aimed squarely

at my man-made jaw. Serf-preservation won out

over pity and I slid away, took hold of his ann, and

threw him full-force against the car. Before he could

BLOOD TEST 25

have second thoughts I jerked him up,yanked the

arm behind him, and pulled up to the point where

it was just short of snapping. It had to be agonizing

but he evinced no sign of suffering, Manics could

get like that, on a perpetual speed trip, impervious

to minor details like pain.

I kicked him in the butt as hard as I could and he

went flying. Grabbing for my keys, I jumped in the

Seville and spun out.

I caught a glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror

just before turning onto the street. He was sitting

on the asphalt, head in hands, rocking back and

forth and, I was pretty sure, weeping.

THE BIG black and gold koi was the first to surface,

but the other fish soon followed his lead and within

seconds all fourteen of them were sticking whiskered

snouts out of the water and gobbling down

food pellets as fast as I tossed them in. I knelt by a

large smooth rock fringed with creeping juniper

and lavender azaleas and held three pellets in my

fingers just beneath the surface of the water. The

big one caught the scent and hesitated, but gluttony

got the better of hiTM and his glistening muscular

body. snaked its way over.-He stopped inches from

my hand and looked up at me. ! tried to appear

trustworthy.

The sun was On its way down but enough light

lingered over the foothills to catch the metallic

glint of the gold scales, dramatizing the contrast

with the velvety black patches on his back. A truly

magnificent kin-kioutsuri.

Suddenly the big carp darted and the pellets

were gone from my hand. I replaced them. A red

27

hnd white kohaku joined in, then a platinum ohgon

in a moonlight-colored blur. Soon all the fish were

nibbling at my fingers, their mouths soft as baby

kisses.

The pond and surrounding garden xefuge had

been a gift from Robin during the painful months

of recuperation from the shattered jaw and all the

unwanted publicity. She'd suggested it, sensing the

value of something to calm me down during the

period of enforced inactivity, and knowing of my

fondness for things oriental.

At first I'd thought it unfeasible. My home is one

of those creations peculiar to southern California,

tucked into a hillside at an improbable angle. It's

an architectural gem with spectacular views from

three sides but there's very little usable flat land

and I couldn't envision room for a pond.

But Robin had done some research, sounding out

the idea with several of her craftsmen friends, and

had been put in touch with an inarticulate lad from

Oxnardma young man so outwardly stuporous his

nickname was Hazy Clifton. He had arrived with

cement mixers, wooden forms, and a ton or two of

crushed rock, and had created an elegant, meandering,

naturalistic pond, complete with waterfall and

rock border, that weaved its way in and around the

sloping terrain.

An elderly Asian gnome materialized after Hazy

Clifton's departure and proceeded to embroider the

young man's artistry with bonsai, zen grass, juniper,

Japanese maple, long-necked lilies, azalea, and

bamboo. Strategically placed boulders established

meditative spots and patches of snowy gravel-sug-gested

serenity. Within a week the gardenlooked

centuries old.

BLO01- TEST

the deck that bisected the two

levels of the house and look. down on the pond,

letting my eyes trace patterns etched in the gravel

· by the wind, watching the koi, jewellike and tan'.

gid in their movement. Or I could descend to the

floor of the garden and sit by the water's edge

eeding the fish, the surface breaking gently in concentric

waves.

It became a ritual: each day before sunset I tossed

pellets to the koi and reflected on how good life

could be. I learne, d how to banish unwanted images--of

death and falsehood and betrayal--from my mind

with Pavlovian efficiency.

Now I listened to the gurgling of the waterfall

and put aside the memory of Richard Moody's

debasement.

· The sky darkened and the peacock-colored fish

grayed and finally melted into the blackness of the

water. I sat in the dark, content, tension a vanquished

enemy.

The first time the phone rang I was in the middle

of dinner and I ignored it. Twenty minutes

later it rang. again and I picked it up.

"Dr. Delaware? This is Kathy from your service.

I had an emergency call for you a few minutes ago

but nobody answered."

"What's the message, Kathy?"

"It's from a Mr. Moody. He said it was urgent." "Shit."

"Dr. D?"

"Nothing, Kathy. Please give me the number."

She did and I asked her if Moody had sounded

strange.

30 Jonathan Kellerman

"He was kind of upset. Talking real fastwI had to

ask him to slow down to get the message."

"Okay. Thanks for calling."

"I've got another one, came in this afternoon. Do

you want to take it ?"

"Just one? Sure."

"This one's from a doctor--let me get the pronunciation

rightwMelendrez--no MelendezLynch.

With a hyphen."

Now that was a blast from the past...

"He gave me this number." She recited an exchange

I recognized as Melendez-Lynch's office at

Western. Peds. "Said he'd be there until eleven

tonight."

That figured. Raoul was a notable workaholic in

a profession famous for them. I recalled seeing his

Volvo in the doctors' lot no matter how early I

arrived at the hospital or how late I left.

"That's it?"

"That's it, Dr. D. Have a nice one and thanks for

the cookies. Me and the other girls finished 'em off

in one hour."

"Glad you enjoyed them." That was a five-pound

box she was talking about. "MunchiesY'

"What can I say ?" she giggled.

A switchboard staffed by potheads and they never

fouled up a message. Someone should be researching

it.

I drank a Coors before addressingthe question of

whether or not to return MOody's call. The last

thing I wanted was to be on the receiving end of a

manic tirade. On the other hand, he might be calmer

and more receptive to suggestions for-treatment.

Unlikely, but there's enough of the therapist left in

me to be optimistic past the point of realism. Re,

calling that afternoon's scuffle on the

made me feel like a jerk, though I was damned-if I

it could have been avoided.

I thought it over and then called, because I owed

it to the Moody kids to give it my best shot.

The number he'd left had a Sun Valley exchange---a-rough

neighborhood--and the voice on the other

end belonged to the night clerk at the Bedabye

Motel. Moody'd found the perfect living quarters if

he wanted to feed his depression.

"Mr. Moody, please."

'Second."

A series of buzzes and clicks and Moody said,

,,yeah.,,

"Mr. Moody, it's Dr. Delaware."

"'1o, Doc. Don't know what got into me, jus'

wanted to say sorry, hope I dint shake you up too

badly."

'Tm fine. How are you?"

"Oh fine, jus' fine. Got plans, gotta get myself

together. I can see that. What everyone's saying,

gotta have some sense to it."

"Good. I'm glad you understand."

"Oh, yeah, oh yeah. I'm catchin' on, jus' takes me

a while. Like the firs' time I used a circular saw,

supervisor tol' me Richard--this was back when I

was a kid, jus learning the trade---gotta take your

time, take it slow, concentrate, 'thwise this thing

chew you up. And he'd hold up his left hand with a

stump where the thumb shoulda been, said, Richard, don' learn the hard way."

He laughed hoarsely and cleared his throat.

"Guess sometimes I learn the hard way, huh?

Like with Darlene. Mighta listened to her before

she got involved with that scumbag."

32 lonaO Kel/emmn

The pitch of his voice rose when he talked about

Conley so I tried to ease him away from the subject.

"The important thing is that you're learning now.

You're a young man, Richard. You've got a lot ahead

Ote you."

"Yeah. Well ... old as you-feel, y'know, and I'm

feeling ninety."

"This is the roughest time, before the final decree.

It can get better."

"They say that--the lawyer tol' me too-Lbut I

don feel it. I feel shit on, y'know, shit on first claris."

He paused and I didn't fill it in.

"Anyways, thanks for listenin', and now you can

talk to the judge and tell her I can see the kids,

take 'em with me fishin' for a week."

So much for optimism.

"Richard, I'm glad you're getting in touch with

the situation but you're not ready to care for your

children."

"Whythefucknot ?"

"You need help to stabilize your moods. There

are medications that are effective. And get someone

to talk to, like you're talking to-me."

Yeah. he sneered, If they re assholes like you,

goddamn moneyochasi-g:cler, talkin' to them

ain't gonna do me.no good. I'm telling you I'm

gonna take caeeof the problems now don't give me

y shi .whothe: fuckareyou to tell me when I

an see my kids.

isn't going anywhere---"

right, Headshrinker. You listen

and. yoU. listen good, they'll be hell to pay if I'm

not st uP in my rightful place as daddy ..

He emptied a bucket of verbal swill and ater

listening for several minutes

being sullied.

-. In the silence of the kitchen I became aware of

the pounding of my heart and the sick-feeling at

pit of my stomach. Maybe I'd lost the touch--the

therapist's ability to put distance between himself

and the ones who suffered so as to avoid being

battered by a psychological hailstorm.

I looked down at the message pad. Raoul Melen-

He probably wanted me to give a semi:

nar to the residents on the psychological aspects of

chronic disease xr behavioral approaches to pain

control. Something nice and academic that would

let me hide behind slides and videotape and play'

professor again.

At that moment it seemed an especially atxrac-tive

prospect and I dialed his number;

A young woman answered the phone, breathless.

"Carcinogenesis lab."

"Dr. Melendez-Lynch, please."

"He's not here."

"This is Dr. Delaware returning his call."

"I think he's over at the hospital," she said, sounding

preoccupied.

"Could you connect me to the page operator,

please."

"i'm not sure how to do that--I'm not his secretary,

Dr, Delray. I'm in the middle of an experi-

ment and I really have to run. Okay ?"

"Okay."

I broke the connection, dialed the message desk

at Western Peds, and had him paged. Five minutes

later the operator came and told me he hadn't answered.

I left my name and number and hung up,

thinking how little had changed over the years.

with Raoul had been stimulating andchal*

ienging, but fraught with frustration. Trying to pin

him down could be like sculpting with shaving

cream.

I went into the library and settled in my soft

leather chair with a paperback thriller. Just when

I'd decided the plot was forced and the dialogue too

cute, the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Hello, Alex!" His accent turned it into Ahleex.

"So good of you to return my call." As usual, he

talked at a' breakneck pace.

"I tried to reach you at the lab but the girl who

answered wasn't too helpful."

"Girl? Ah yes, that would be Helen. My'new

post-doc. Brilliant young lady from Yale. She and I

are collaborating on an N.I.I'L study aimedat clarifying

the metastatic process, She worked with

Brewer at New Haven--construction of synthetic

cell wallsmand we've been examining the relative

invasiveness of varying tumor forms 6n specific

models."

"Sounds fascinating."

"It is." He paused. "Anyway, how have you been,

my friend?"

"Fine. And you?"

He chuckled.

"It's--nine forty-three and I haven't yet finished

charting. That tells you how Fve been,"

"Oh come on, Raoul, you love it."

"Ha! Yes I do. What did

the quintessential type A

;

"A plus."

.

"I will die of a

work will be completed."

:- It was only a partial jest, His father, dean of a

!.medical school in pre-Castro 'Havana, had keeled

, over on the tennis coui't and died at ,forty-eight

Raoul was five years from that age and he d inherr-

ited his sire s lifestyle as well as some bad genes.

thought him changeable but had long ago

trying to slow him down. If four failed

marriages hadn't done the trick, nothing would.

"You'll win the Nobel Prize," I said.

"And it will all go for alimony!" He thought that

fu,nny. When his laughter died down

"'I need a favor, Alex. There's a family that's

giving us some trouble--noncompliance pr,o,,blems---

an, ,I wondered if you could talk to them, '

,,

I m flattered but what about the regu!,ar staff?.

"The regular staff made a mess of it, he said,

peeved. "Alex, you know the high regard I have for

you--why you abandoned a brilliant career I'll never

know, but that's another issue. The' people Social

Services' are sending me are amateurs, my friend.

Rank amateurs. Starry-eyed cageworkers who. see

themselves as patient advocates--provocateurs. The

psych.people will have nothing to do with us be-

cause Boorstin has a death phobia and is terrified

of. the word cancer."

"Progress, huh?"

"Alex, nothing's changed in the last five years. If

anything it's gotten worse. I've even started open-

ing my ears to other offers. Last week I was given

the chance to run an entire hospital in Miami.

Chief of Staff. More money and a full professorship."

"Considering it ?"

"No. The research facilities were Mickey Mouse

and I suspect they want me more for my Spanish

6 JonaOum Kel

.than my. medical brilliance. Anyway, what do you

iay-about lending the department a hand--you're

s till 'officially listed as our consultant, you know."

"To be honest, Raoul, I'm not taking on any therapy

cases."

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of that," he said impatiently,

"but this is not therapy. Short term liaison consultation.

I don't want to sound melodramatic, but the

life of a very sick little boy is at stake."

"Exactly what kind of noncompliance are you

talking about?"

"It's too complicated to explain over the phone,

Alex. I hate to be rude, but I must-get over to the

lab and see how Helen is doing. We're pacing an in

vitro hepatoblastoma as it approaches pulmonary

tissue. It's painstaking work and it requires constant

vigilance. Let's talk about it tomorrow--nine,

my office? I'll.have breakfast sent up, and voucher

forms. We're prepared to pay for your time."

"All right, Raoul. I'll be there."

"Excellent." He hung up.

Being released from a conversation with Melendez-Lynch

was a jarring experience, a sudden shift into

low gear. I put down the receiver, regained my

bearings, and reflected on the complexity of the

manic syndrome.

WESTERN PEDIATRIC Medical Center occupies a

block of mid-Hollywood real estate in a neigh-

once grand but is now the turf of

, hookers, drag queens, and fancy dancers of

every stripe. The working girls were up early this

morning, halter-topped and hot-panted, and as I

cruised eastward on Sunset they stepped out from

alleys and shadowed doorways sashaying and hoot-lng.

The Whores were as much a fixture of Hollywood

as the brass stars inlaid in the sidewalks,

and I could swear I recognized some of the same

painted faces I'd seen there three years ago. The

streetwalkers seemed to fall into two categories:

doughy-faced nmaways from Bakersfield, Fresno,

and the surrounding farmlands, and lean, leggy,

shopworn black girls from South Central L.A. All

of them raring to go at eight forty-five in the morning.

If the whole country ever got that industrious

the Japanese wouldn't stand a chance.

The hospital loomed large, a compound of aged

37

dark stone buildings and one newer column of concrete

and glass. I pulled the Seville into the.doctors'

lot and walked to Prinzley Pavilion, the

contemporary structure.

The Department of Oncology was situated on the

fifth floor. The doctors' offices were cubicles arranged

in a U around the secretarial pool. As head

of the department, Raoul got four times as much

space as any of the other oncologists, as well as

privacy. His office was at the far end of the corridor

and cordoned off by double glass doors. I went

through them and walked into the reception area.

Seeing no receptionist, I kept going and entered his

office through a door marked PRIVATE.

He could have had an executive suite but had

chosen to use almost all the space for his lab, end-lng

up with an office only ten by twelve. The room

was as I remembered it, the desk pried high with

correspondence,journals, and unanswered messages,-

· all ordered and precisely stacked. There were too

many books for the floor-to-ceiling bookcase and the

overflow was similarly heaped on-the floor. One

shelf was filled with bottles of Maalox. Perpendicular

to the desk, faded beige curtains concealed

the office's sole window as well as a view of the

hills beyond.

I knew that view well, having spent a significant

proportion of my time at Western Peds staring out

at the crumbling letters of the HOLLYWOOD sign

while waiting for Raoul to show up for meetings he

had scheduled but inevitably forgot about, or cooling

my heels during his interminable long-distance

phone chats.

I searched for signs of habitation and found a

Styrofoam cup half-filled with cold coffee and a

brought no response and the door was locked.I

opened the curtains, waited a while, paged'him and

got no callback. My watch said ten after nine. Old

feelings of impatience and resentment began to

surface.

Fifteen minutes more, I told myself, and then Ill

ieave. Enough is enough.

Ninety seconds before the deadline-he blew in.

"Alex, Alex!" He shook my hand vigorously.

"Thank you fo coming!"

He'd aged. The paunch had grown sizably ovoid

and it strained his shirt buttons. The last few strands

of hair on his crown had vanished and the dark

curls around the sides bordered a' skull that-was

high, knobby, and shiny. The thick mustache, once

ebony, was a variegated thatch of gray, black, and

white. Only the coffee bean eyes, ever moving, ever

alert, seemed agelessly charged and hinted at the

fire within. He was a short man given to pudginess

and though he dressed expensively, his wardrobe

wasn't selected with an eye toward camouflage.

This morning he wore a pale pink shirt, a black tie

.wit pink clocks, and cream-colored slacks that

matched the jacket over the chair. His shoes were

mirror-polished, sharp-toed tan loafers of perforated

leather. His long white coat was starched and immaculate

but a size too large. A stethoscope was

draped around his neck, and pens and documents

stuffed the pockets of the coat, causing them to sag.

"Good morning, Raoul."

"Ha,e you had breakfast yet?" He turned his

back to me and moved his thick fingers rapidly

oVer the piles on the desk like a blind man speed

reading

Braille.

"No, you said you'd"

"How about we go to the doctors' dining room

and the department will buy you some?"

."That would be fine," I sighed.

"Great, great." He patted his pockets, searched

in them, and muttered a profanity in Spanish. "Just

let me make a couple of calls and we'll be off--"

"Raoul, I'm under some time pressure. I'd appreciate

it if we could get going now."

He turned and looked at me with great surprise.

"What?-Oh, of course. Right now. Certainly."

A last glance at the desk, a grab for the current

copy of Blood, and we were off.

Though his legs were shorter than mine by a

good four inches, I had to trot to keep up-with him

as we hurried across the glassed-in bridge that connected

Prinzley with the main building. And since

he talked as he walked, keeping up was essential.

"The family's name is Swope." He spelled it.

"The bgy is Heywood--Woody for short. Five Fears

old. Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, localized. The initial

site was in the G.I. tract with one regional

node. The metastatic scan was beautiful--very clean.

The histology is nonlymphobtastic, which is excellent,

because the treatment protocol for nonlym-phoblastics

is well-established."

We reached the elevator. He seemed out of breath,

tugging at his shirt collar and loo.ening his tie. The

doors slid open and we rode down in silence to the

ground floor. Silence--but not serenity, because he

couldn't stand still: he tapped his fingers on the

elevator wall,, played with strands 'of his mustache,

edly.

The ground floor corridor was a tunnel of noise,

glutted with doctors, nurses, techs, and patients.

He continued talking until I tapped his shoulder

and-shouted that I couldn't hear him. His head

gave a curt little nod and he picked up his pace. We

zipped through the cafeteria and passed into the

dimly lit elegance of the doctors' dining room.

A group of surgeons and surgical residents sat

eating and smoking around a circular table, dressed

in greens, their caps hanging across their chests

like bibs; otherwise the room was unoccupied.

Raoul ushered me to a corner table, motioned for

service, and spread a linen napkin over his lap. He

picked up a packet of artificial sweetener and turned

it on its side, causing the powder within to shift

with a dry whisper, like sand through an hourglass.

He repeated the gesture half a dozen times and

started talking again, stopping only when the waitress

came and took our order.

"Do you remember the COMP protocol, Alex?"

"Vaguely. Cyclophosphamide, um--methotrexate

and prednisone, right? I forget what the 0 stands

"Very good. Oncovin. We've refined it for non-Hodgkin's.

It's working wonders when we combine

it with intrathecal methotrexate and radiation.

Eighty-one percent of patients are achieving three-year,

relapse-free survival. That's a national statisticthe

figures on my patient.s are even better

over ninety percent. I'm following a growing number

of kids who are five, seven years and looking

great. Think of that, Alex. A disease that killed

42 Jonathan Kel/erman

virtually every child it got hold of a decade ago is

potentially curable."

The fight behind his eyes picked up extra wattage.

"Fantastic," I said.

"Perfect word--fantastic. The key is multimodal

chemotherapy. More and better drugs in the right

combinations."

The food came. He put two rolls on his plate, cut

them into tiny chunks, and systematically popped

each piece in his mouth, finishing all of it before

I'd downed half my bagel. The waitress poured

coffee, which was inspected, creamed, stirred, and

quickly swallowed. He dabbed his lips and picked

imaginary crumbs out of his mustache.

"Notice that I used the word curable. No timid

talk of extended remission. We've beaten Wilm's

Tumor, we've beaten Hodgkin's disease. Non-Hodg-kin's

lymphoma is next. Mark my words, it will be

cured in the near future."

A third roll was dissected and dispatched. He

waved the waitress over for more coffee.

When she'd gone he said, "This isn't really coffee,

my friend. It is a hot drink. My mother knew

how to make coffee. Back in Cuba we had the pick

of the coffee crop. One of the servants, an old black

man named Jos6, would grind the beans by hand

with great finesse-the grind is essentialmand we

would have coffee!" He drank some more and pushed

his cup away, taking a glass of water as a replacement

and emptying it. "Come to my home and I'll

make you real coffee."

It occurred to me that though I'd worked with

the man for three years and had known him twice

that long, I'd never seen his living quarters.

"I .may take you up on' that one day. 'Where do

you live?"

"Not far from here. Condo on Los Fetiz, One

bedroom-Lsrnalt but sufficielat for my needs. When.

one lives alone it is best to keep things simple,

don't you agree?"

"I suppose so."

"You do live alone, don't you?"

"I used to I'm living with a wonderful woman."

"Good, good." The dark eyes seemed to cloud.

"Women. They have enriched my life. And torn it

apart. My lst wife, Paula, has the big house in

Flintridge. Another's in Miami, and two others,

God knows where. Jorg6---my second oldest, Nina's

boy--tells me his mother is in Paris, but she never

stayed in one place very long."

His face drooped and he drummed on the table

with his spoon. Then he thought of something that

made him suddenly brighten.

"Jorgg's going to medical school next year at

Hopkins."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you. Brilliant boy, always was. Summers

he would visitrme and work in the lab. I'm proud to

have inspired him. The others are not so on the

ball, who knows what they will do, but their moth-

ers were not like Nina--she was a concert cellist."

"I didn't know that."

He picked up another roll and hefted it.

"Drinking your water?" he asked.

"It's all yours."

He drank it.

"Tell me about the Swopes. What kind of noncompliance

problems are you having?"

"The worst kind, Alex. They're refusing treat-

ment. They want to take the boy home and subject

him to God knows what."

"Do you think they're holistic types?"

He shrugged. "It's possible. They're rural people,

come from La Vista, some little town near the Mexican

border."

"I know the area. Agricultural."

"Yes, I believe so. But more important, close to

Laetrile country. The father is some kind of farmer

or grower. Crass man, always trying to impress. I

gather he'd had some scientific training at one time

or another--likes to throw around biological terms.

Big heavyset fellow, in his early fifties."

"Old to have a five year old."

"Yes. The mother's in her late forties--makes

you wonder if the boy was an accident. Maybe it's

guilt that's making them crazy. You know--blaming

themselves for the cancer and all that."

"That wouldn't be unusual," I said. Few nightmares

compare to finding out one's child has cancer.

And part of the nightmare is the guilt parents

inflict upon themselves, searching for an answer to

the unanswerable question: why me? It's not a rational

process. It occurs in doctors and biochemists

and other people who should know better--the mental

floggings, the I should haves and I could haves.

Most parents, get over it. The ones who don't can be

crippled...

"Of course in this case," Raoul was hypothesizing,

"there would be more of a basis for it, wouldn't

there? Aged ovaries, etc. Well, enough conjecture,

let me go on. Where was I--ah, Mrs. Swope. Enuna.

A mouse. Obsequious even. The father's the boss.

One sibling, a sister, around nineteen or so."

"How long's the boy been diagnosed?"

BLOOD TEST 45

"Officially just a couple of days. A local G.P.

piCkedup the distended abdomen on exam. There'd

been pain for a couple of weeks and fevers for the

last five days. The G.P. had sneaking suspicions--not

bad for a country, doc--didn't like the local

facilities and sent them up here. We had to do an

extensive evalmrepeat physical, bloodwork, BUN,

uric acid, bone marrows from two sites, immuno-diagnostic

markers--the non-Hodgkin's protocol demands

it. It wasn't until a couple of days ago that

we had it stagged. Localized disease, no disseminated

mets.

"I had a diagnostic conference with the parents,

· told them the prognosis was good because the tumors

hadn't spread, they filled out informed consents,

and we were ready to go. The boy has a

recent history of multiple infections and there was

pneumocystis swimming around in his blood so we

put him in Laminar Flow, planned to keep him

there for the first course of chemo, and then check

how the immune system was working. It looked

open and shut and then I got a call from Augie

Valcroix, my clinical Fellow--I'll get to him in a

minute--and he- told me the parents were having

cold feet."

"No indication of problems whenyou first spoke

to them?"

"Not really, Alex. The father does all the talking

in this family. She sat there and wept, I did my

best to comfort her. He asked lots of picky ques-tionzlike

I said, he was trying to impress--but it

was all very friendly. They seemed like intelligent

people, not flaky."

He shook his head in frustration.

"After Valcroix's call I went right over, talked to

46 JOnathan Kellerman

them, thinking it was momentary anXiety--you know

sometimes parents hear about treatment and get

the idea we're out to torture their child. They start

looking for something Simple, like apricot pits. If

the doctor takes the time to explain the value of

chemo, they usually return to the fold. But not the

Swopes. They had their minds made up.

"I used a chalkboard. Drew out the survival

graphs--that eighty-one percent stat I gave you was

for localized disease. Once the tumors spread the

figure drops to forty-six. It didn't impress them. I

told them speed was of the essence. I laid on the

charm, cajoled, pleaded, shouted. They didn't argue.

Simply refused. They want to take him home."

He tore a roll to shreds and arranged the fragments

in a semicircle on his plate.

"I'm going tohave eggs," he announced.

He beckoned the waitress back. She took the order

and gave me a look behind his back that said I'm used to this.

"Any theory as to what caused the turnaround?"

I asked.

"I have two. One, Augie Valcroix mucked it up..

Two, those damned Touchers poisoned the parents'

minds."

"Who?"

"Touchers. That's what I call them. Members of

some damned sect that has its headquarters near

where the family lives. They worship this guru

named Noble Matthiasmthat's what the social

worker told me--and call themselves the Touch."

Raoul's voice filled with contempt. "Madre de Dios Alex, California has become a sanctuary for the

psychic refuse of the world!"

"Are they holistic types?"

BLOOD TEST 47

"The social worker says-yes--big surprise, no? Assholistic is more like it. Cure disease with carrots

and bran and foul-smelling herbs thrown over

the shoulder at midnight. The culmination of centuries

of scientific progress--voluntary cultural.

regression!"

"What did these Touch people do, exactly?"

"Nothing I can prove. But all I know is things

were going smoothly, the consents were signed, then

two of them--a man and a woman--visited the parents

and disaster!"

A plate heaped with scrambled eggs arrived along

with a dish of yellow sauce. I remembered his affection

for hollandaise. He poured the sauce on the

eggs and used his fork to divide the mound into

three sections. The middle segment was consumed

first, followed by the one on his right, and finally

the left third disappeared. More dabbing, more imaginary

crumb disposal.

"What does your Fellow have to do with it?"

"Valcroix? Probably plenty. Let me tell you about

this character. On paper he looked great--M.D.

a French-Canadian--internship

and residency at Mayo, a year of research at Michigan. He's close to orty, older than most applicants,

so I thought he'd be mature. Ha! When I interviewed

him I talked to a well-groomed, intelligent man. What showed up six months later was an

aging flower child.

The man is bright but he's unprofessional. He

tas and dresses like an adolescent, tries to get

down to the patients' level. The parents can't re-

and eventually the kids see through it,

are other problems, as well. He's slept

one mother of a patient that I know

48 Jonathan Kellerman

about and I suspect there've been several others. I

chewed him out and he looked at me as if I were

crazy to be worried about it."

"A little loose in the ethics department?"

"He has no ethics. Sometimes Fm convinced he's

drunk or on something, but I can't trip him-up on

rounds. He's prepared, always has the right answer.

But he's still no doctor, just a hippie with a

lot of education."

"How'd he get along with the Swopes?" I asked.

"Maybe too well. He was very chummy with the

mother and seemed to relate to the father as well as

anyone could." He looked into his empty coffee

cup: "I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to sleep

with the sister--she's a looker. But that's not what's

bothering me right now."

He narrowed,his eyes.

"I think Dr. August Valcroix has a soft spot in

his heart for quacks. He's spoken up at staff meetings

about how we should be more tolerant of what

he calls alternative health care approaches. He spent

some time on an Indian reservation and was impressed

with the medicine men.' The rest of us. are

discussing the New England Journal and he's going

on about shamans and snake powders. Unbelievable."

He grimaced in disgust.

"When he told me they were pulling the boy out

of treatment I couldn't help but feel he was gloating." "Do you think he actually sabotaged you?"

"The enemy from within?" He considered it. "No,

not overtly. I just don't think he supported the

treatment plan the way he should have. Dammit,

Alex, this isn't some abstract philosophy seminar.

There's a sick boy with a nasty disease that I can

BLOOD TEST 49

treat and cure and they want to prevent that treatment. It'smmurder!"

"You could," I suggested, "go to court on it."

He nodded sadly.

"I've already broached the subject with the hdso

pital attorney and he thinks we'd win. But it would

be a Pyrrhic victory. You remember the Chad Green

case--the child had leukemia, the parents pulled

him out of Boston Children's and ran away to Mexico

for Laetrile. It turned into a media circus. The-parents

befame heroes, the!octors and the hospital,

big bad wolves. In the end, with all the court

orders, the boy never got treated and died."

He placed an index finger against each temple

and pressed. A pulse quivered under each finger-

tip. He winced

"Migraine?"

"Just started. I can handle it." He sucked in his

breath. The paunch rippled.

"I may have to take them to court. But I want to

avoid it. Which is why I called you, my friend."

He leaned forward and placed his hand over mine.

His skin was unusually warm and just a bit moist.

"Talk to them, Alex Use any tricks you've got up

your sleeve. Empathy, sympathy, whatever. Try to

get them to see the consequences of what they're

doing."

"It's a tall order."

He withdrew his hand and smiled.

"The only kind we have around here."

4

THE WALLS Of the ward were covered with sunny

yellow paper patterned with dancing teddy bears

and grinning rag dolls. But the hospital smells that

I'd grown used to when I worked there--disinfectant,

body odor, wilting flowersassaulted my nostrils

and reminded me I was a stranger. Though I'd

walked this same corridor a thousand times, I was

gripped with the chilling uneasiness that hospitals

inevitably evoke.

The Laminar Airflow Unit was at the east end of

the ward behind a windowless gray door. As we

approached, the door swung open and a young

woman stepped into the hallway. She lit up a cigarette

and began to walk away, but Raoul hailed her

and she stopped, turned, bent a knee and roze .the

pose, one hand on the cigarette, the other on her

hip.

"The sister," he whispered.

He'd called her a looker but it was an understatement.

·

51

girl was stunning.

She was tall, five eight or nine, with a body-that

managed to be both womanly and boyish. Her legs

were long, coltish, and firm, her breasts high and

small. She had a swan's neck and delicate, slender

hands ending in crimson lacquered nails. She wore

a white dress made of T-shirt material- and had

. cinched it with a silver cord that showed off a tiny

waist and flat belly. The soft fabric molded to every

angle and curve and ended midthigh.

Her face was oval with a strong cleft chin. She

had prominent cheekbones and a clean jawline lead-

ing to lobeless ears. Each ear was pierced with two

threadlike hoops of hammered gold. Her lips were

straight and full, her mouth a generous red slash.

But it was her coloring that was most striking.

Her hair was long, lustrous, combed straight back

from her high smooth forehead, and coppery red.

But unlike most redheads, she had no freckles and

lacked the 'buttermilk complexion. Her skin was

blemishless and burnished a deep California tan.

Her eyes were wide-set, thick-lashed, and hy black.

She'd used a bit too much makeup but had left her

eyebrows alone. They were full and dark, with a

natural arch that gave her a skeptical look, She was

a girl anyone would notice, with a strange combina-

tion of simplicity and flash, almost overwhelmingly

physical without trying to be.

"Hello," said Raoul.

She shifted her weight and looked both of us

over.

"Hi." She spoke sullenly and regarded us with

boredom. As if to underscore her apathy, she gazed

past us and sucked on her cigarette.

"Nona, this is Dr. Delaware."

BLOOD TEST. 53'

, unimpressed.

"He's a psychologist, an expert in the. care of

'children with cancer. He used to work here, in

," she said, dutifully. Her voice was soft,

almost whispery, the inflection flat. "If you want

him to talk to my parents, they're not here."

yes, that is what I wanted. When will they

be back ?"

The girl shrugged and flicked ashes onto the floor.

-"They didn't tell me. They slept here so they

probably went back to the motel to clean up. Maybe

tonight, maybe tomorrow."

"I see. And how have you been doing?"

"Fine." She looked up at the ceiling and tapped

her foot.

raised his hand to offer the classic physician's pat on the back, but the look in her eyes

stopped hiM and he immediately lowered it.'

Tough kid, I thought, but then, this was no day at

the beach for her.

"How's Woody?" he asked.

The question infuriated her. Her lean body tensed,

she dropped the cigarette and ground it under her

heel. Tears collected in the inner corners of the

midnight eyes.

"You're the damned' doctor! Why don't you tell

me!" She tightened her face, turned, and ran away.

Raoul avoided eye contact. He picked up the

crushed but and deposited it in an ashtray. Covering

his forehead with one hand he took a deep

breath and gave a migraine grimace. The pain must

have been excruciating.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go in."

A hand-scrawled sign in the nurses' office said

"Welcome to Space Age Medasin."

The bulletin board was tacked with layers of

paper--shift schedules, cartoons-cut out of magazines,

chemotherapy dosage charts, and an autographed

picture of a famous Dodger with a young

bald boy in a wheelchair. The child held a bat with

both hands and gazed up at the baseball player,

who looked slightly ill at ease among the I.V. lines.

Raoul

picked a medical chart out of a bin and

flipped through it. He grunted and pushed a button

on a panel above the desk. Seconds later a heavyset

woman dressed in white stuck her head in.

"Yes--oh, hi, Doctor Melendez." She saw me and

gave a nod with a question mark stuck to the end of

it.

Raoul introduced me to the nurse, whose name

was Ellen Beckwith.

"Good," she said, "we could use you around here."

"Dr. Delaware used to coordinate psychosocial

care on this unit. He's an international expert on

the psychological effects of reverse isolation."

"Oh. Great. Pleased to meet you."

I took the proferred fleshy hand.

"Ellen," said Raoul, "when are Mr. and Mrs.

Swope due back on the unit?"

"Gee, I dunno, Doctor. They were here all last

night and then they left. They usually come in

every day, So they shoifid be around sometime."

He clenched his teeth.

"That's very helpful, Ellen," he said sharply.

The nurse grew flustered and her meaty face

took on the look of an animal corralled in an unfamiliar

pen. "I'm sorry, Doctor, it's just that they're not required to tell us--"

"Never mind. Is there anything new with the boy

that hasn't been charted?"

"No sir, we're just waiting form" she sawthe

look on his face and stopped herself. "Uh, I was

just going to change the linens in unit three, Doctor,

so if you have nothing more--"

"Go. But first get Beverly Lucas over here."

She glanced at a challboard across the room.

"She's signed out to page, sir."

Raoul looked up and stroked his mustache. The

only evidence of his agony was the slight tremble

beneath the bristly hairs.

"Then page her, for God's sake."

She hurried off.

"And they want to be professionals," he said.

"Working hand in hand with the doctor as equal

partners, Ludicrous."

"Do you use anything for the pain ?" I asked.

The question threw him.

"What--oh, it's not so bad," he lied, and forced a

smile. "Once in a while I take something."

"Ever tried biofeedback or hypnosis?"

He shook his head.

"You should. It works. You can learn to vaso-

dilate and constrict at will."

"No time to learn."

"It doesn't take long if the patient's motivated."

"Yes, well--:-" he was interrupted by the phone.

He answered it, barked orders into the receiver,

and hung up.

"That was Beverly Lucas, the social worker. She'll

be here shortly to fill you in."

"I know Bev. She was a student here when I was

an intern."

it

"If you say so." He looked

much use with this family."

"That may be true of me as well, Raoul."

"You're different, Alex. You think like a scientist

but can relate to patients like a humanist. It's a

rare combination. That's why I chose you, my

friend."

He'd never chosen me but I didn't argue. Maybe

he'd forgotten the way it really started.

Several years back, he was awarded a government

grant to study the medical value of isolating

children with cancer in germ-free environments.'

The "environments" came from NASA--plastic modules

used to prevent returned astronauts from infecting

the rest of us with cosmic pathogens. The

modules were filtered continuously and flooded with

air blown out rapidly and smoothly in laminar flow.

Such smooth flow was important because it prevented

pockets of turbulence where germs collected

and bred.

The value of an effective way to protect cancer

patients from microbes was obvious if you understood

a little about chemotherapy. Many of the drugs

used to kill tumors also knock out the body's immune

system. It was as common for patients to die

of infection brought about by treatment as to perish

from the disease itself.

Raoul's reputation as a researcher was impeccable

and the government sent him fourmodules and

tots of money to play with. He Constructed a randomized

study, dividing the children into experimental

and control groups, the latter treated in

BLOOD TEST

57 .....

regular hospital rooms using conventional isolation

procedures such as masks .and gowns. He hired

microbiologists to monitor the germ count. He gained

access to a computer at Gal Tech to analyze the

data. He was ready to go.

Then someone raised the issue of psychological

damage.

Raoul pooh-poohed the risk, but others weren't

convinced. After all, they reasoned, the plans were

to subject children as young as two to what could

only be termed sensory deprivation--months in a

plastic room,' no skin to skin contact with other

human beings, segregation from normal life activities.

A protective environment, to be sure, but one

that could be harmful. It needed to be looked into.

At the time I was a junior level psychologist and

was offered the job because none of the other therapists

wanted anything to do with cancer. And none

of them wanted to work with Raoul Melendez-Lynch;

I saw it as an opportunity to do some fascinating

research and prevent emotional catastrophe. The

first time I met Raoul and tried to tell him about

my ideas, he gave me a cursory glance, returned his

attention to the New EngLand Journal, and nodded

absently.

When I finished my pitch he looked up and said,

"I suppose you'll be needing an office."

It wasn't an auspicious beginning, but gradually

his eyes were opened to the value of psychological

consultation. I badgered him into building the unit

so that each module had access to a window and. a

clock. I nagged him until he obtained funds for a

fuR-time play therapist and a social worker for the

families. I cadged a healthy chunk of computer

time for psychological data. In the end it paid off.

58 JOnathan Kellerma

Other hospitals were having to release patients from

isolation because of psychological problems but our

children adjusted well. I collected mountains of

data and published several articles and a monograph

with Raoul as co-author. The psychological

findings received more scientific attention than the

medical articles, and by the end of three years he

was an enthusiastic supporter of psychosocial care

and somewhat humanized.

We grew friendly, though on a relatively superficial

level. Sometimes he talked about his childhood.

His family, originally Argentinian, had escaped from

Havana in a fishing boat after Castro nationalized

their plantation and most of their wealth. He was

proud of a family tradition of physician-businessmen.

All of his uncles and most of his cousins, he explained,

were doctors, many of them professors of

medicine. (All were fine gentlemen except Cousin

Ernesto, who was a scum-sucking Communist pig.

Ernesto had been a doctor, too, but he'd abandoned

his family and his profession for the life of a radical

murderer. No matter that thousands of fools

worshipped him as Ch Guevara. To Raoul he'd

of the family.)

As successful as he was in medicine, his personal

life was a disaster. Women were fascinated by him

but ultimately repelled by his obsessive character.

Four of them endured marriage with him and he

sired eleven children, most of whom he never saw.

A complex and difficult man.

Now he sat in a plastic chair in a drab little

office and tried to be macho about the buzz saw

ripping through his skull.

"I'd like to meet the' boy," I said.

"Of course. I can introduce-you now, if youtd like."

Beverly Lucas came in just as he was about to get

up.

"Good morning, gentlemen, she said. "Alex--how

nice to see you."

"Hi, Bev."

I rose and we embraced briefly.

She looked good, though considerably thinner than

I remembered. Years ago, she'd been a cheerful,

rather innocent trainee, full o£ enthusiasm. The

kind voted Miss Bubbly in high school.-She had to

be thirty by now, and some of the pixie cuteness

had turned to womanly determination. She was

petite and fair, with rosy cheeks and straw-colored

hair worn in a long soft perm, Her round open face

was dominated by hazel saucer eyes and untouched

by makeup. She wore no jewelry and her clothes

were simple--knee-length navy skirt, short-sleeved

blue-and-red plaid blouse, penny loafers. She carried

an oversize d'purse, which she swung up on

the desk.

"You look svelte," I said.

"Running. I'm doing long distance, now." She

flexed a muscle and laughed.

"Very impressive."

"It helps center me." She sat on theedge of the

desk. "What brings you around here after all this

time?"

"Raoul wants me to help out with the Swopes."

Her expression changed without warning, the features

hardening and gaining a few years. With forced

amiability she said, "Good luck."

Raoul stood up and started to lecture.

'"

Delaware is an expert in the psychosocia/

care of children with ma/ignant,,

"lRaoul," I interrupted, "why don't you let Beverly

fill me in on the case. There's no need for you

to spend any more time at this point."

He lOOked at his watch.

"Yes. Of COUrse." To Beverly: "You'll give him a

comprehehsive rundown ?,,

"Of course, Dr. Melendez-Lynch,,, she said sweetly.

"You want me to introduce you to Woody?',

"Don't bother. Bev wil!handle it."

His eyes darted from me to her and then back to

his watch.

"Al/right. I'm off. Call if you need'

He removed the stethoscope from me."

and swung it at his side as he left. around his neck

"I'm sorry," I said to her when we were a/one.

"Forget it, it's not

asshole."

your fault. He's such an

"You're the second person he's riled this morning.',

"There'//be plenty of others before

Who was the first?"

the day's up.

"Nona Swope."

"Oh. Her. She's

"It

angry at the world."

must be rough for her," I said.

"I'm sure," she agreed, "but I think she was an

angry young lady long before her brother got can-

cer. I tried to develop a rapport with herewith a/l

of them--but-they shut me out. Of COUrse," she

added, bitterly, 'ou may do much better."

"Bev, I've got

Raoul called me .no stake.in being a miracle, worker,

m a panic, gave me no background,

and I tried to do a friend a favor, okay ?"

"You should pick your friends with greater care."

BLOOD TEST 61

her own words, just let her listen to the echoes of

i It worked.

.- "Okay, Alex, I'm sorry for being such- a bitch. It's

just that he's impossible to work for, gives no credit

when you do a good job, and throws these incredible

tantrums when things go wrong. I've put in for

a transfer, but until they find a sucker to replace

me, I'm stuck."

"No

.

one can do this type of work for very long," I

said.

"Don't I know it! Life's too short. That's why I

-

got into mnning--i COme home al/burnt out and

after a couple of hours of pushing my body to the

limit I'm renewed."

"You look great."

"Do I? I was starting to worry about getting too

thin. Lately I've been losing my appetiteoh, hell,

I must sound like a real egomaniac, griping like this

When I'm surrounded by people in real crises."

"Griping is a God-given right."

'Tll try to look at it that

pul/ed out a notebook. "I way." She smi/ed and

suppose you want

psychosoeial rundown on the Swopes."

a

"It wou/d help."

"The name of the game is weirdthese are strange

people, Alex. The mother never ta/ks, the father

talks al/the time, and the sister can't stand either

of them."

"Why do you say that?"

"The way she looks at them. And the fact that

she's never around when they are. It's like she feels

.outWoody of place. She doesn't

W]len

she's here, keepPsay much attention to

strange hours--shows

up late at night, or real/y early in the morning. The

62

Jonathan ltlerman

night staff says 'she mostly sits and stares 'at him--usually

he's asleep, anyway. Once in a while.she'll

go in the unit and read him a book, but that's about

it. The pounds thr doesn't do much in the way of stimulation,

either. He likes to flirt with the nurses, acts

like he knows it all."

"Raoul told methe same thing."

"Raoul's not totally incapable of insight" She

laughed maliciously. "Seriously, Mr. Swope is a

different kind of guy. Big fellow, gray-haired with

a beer gut and a little goatee. Kind of like Buffalo

Bill without the long hair. He's really cut off from

his pounds elings--I know it's denial and I know it's not

unheard of, but he goes beyond what we normally

see. His son's diagnosed with cancer and he's laughing

and joking with the nurses, trying to be One of

the gang, talking about his orchard and his precious

plants, throwing around horticultural jargon. You

know what can happen to guys like that."

"Sudden breakdown."

"Exactly. All at once it hits them and pow! Pathological

grief reaction."

"Doesn't sound like the boy has much support."

"The mother. She's got to be the most unliberated

thing I've ever seen--Garland Swope is the king of

his castle--but she does seem to be a good mother--nurturant,

gives lots of hugs and kisses, goes into

the unit a lot, and without any hesitation. You

know how scary the spacesuit can be for .lots of

parents. She jumped right in. The nurses see her go

off into the corner and cry when she thinks no

one's looking, but when Garland comes around she

'puts on a great big smile, lots of 'Yes, Dears' and

'No, Dears.' It's really sad."

"Why do you think they want to pull the kid

out?" I asked.

"I know Raoul believes it was those people from

the Touch--he's so paranoid about anything holis-ticmbut

how can he be so sure? Could be he's to

blame for the whole thing. Maybe he screwed up

communication with them,-he's very aggressive

when he describes the treatment protocols and lots

of people are put off."

"He seemed to think the Fellow was at fault."

"Augie Valcroix? Augie marches to his own drummer

but he's a good guy. One of the few docs who

actually takes time to sit down with the families

and act like a human being. He and Raoul hate each

other's guts, which makes sens6 if you know them.

Augie thinks Raoul's a fascist and Raoul sees him

as a subversive influence. It's been great fun working

in this department, Alex."

"What about those cultists ?"

She shrugged.

"What can I say? Another group of lost souls. I

don't know much about them--there are so many

fringe groups it would take a specialist to Understand

all of them..Two of them showed up a couple

of days ago. The guy looked like a teacher-glasses,

scuzzy beard, wimpy manner, brown oxfords. The

lady was older, in her f0i:ties or fifties, the kind

who was probably a hot number when she was

yoUnger but lost it. Both of them had that glaZed

look in their eyes--the I-know-the-secret-of-the-universe-but-I-won't-tell-you

trance. Moonies, Krish-nas,

esties, Touchers, they're all the same."

"You don't think they turned the Swopes around?"

"They may have been the straw that broke it,"

she conceded, "but I don!t see how they could be

64 Jonathan Kellerman

entirely responsible. Raoul's looking for a scapegoat,

for easy answers. That's his style. Most of the

dOCs are like that. Instant fix-its for complex issues."

She looked away and folded her arms across her

chest.

"I'm really tired of all of it," she said softly.

I steered her back to the Swopes.

"Raoul wondered if the parents' being older had

anything to do with it. You pick up any hints the

boy was an unwanted accident?"

"Ididn't get close enough to even touch on stuff

like that. I was lucky to get enough for a bare-bones

intake. The father smiled and called me 'dear' and

made sure I never got enough time alone with his

wife to develop a relationship. This family's armored

Maybe they've got lots of secrets they don'.t want

coming out."

Maybe. Or maybe ,they're terrified at being in a

strange environment so far from home with a gravely

ill child and don't want to strip tlemselves bare in

front of strangers. Maybe they don't like social workers.

Maybe they're simply private people. Lots of

maybes...

"What about Woody?"

"A cutie pie. He's been sick since he got here, so

it's hard to judge what kind of kid he really is.

Seems like a little sweetie--isn't it always the sweet

ones who suffer?" She took out a tissue and blew

her nose. "Can't stand the air in here. Woody's a

nice little boy who's agreeable and kind of passive.

A people pleaser. He cries during procedures---the

spinal tap really hurt him---but he holds 'still and

gives no serious problems." She stopped for a moment

and fought tears.

"It's a goddamn crime, their pulling him out of

BLOOD TEST 65

treatment. I don't like Melendez-Lynch, but'

damn it, he's right this time! They're going to kill

that little boy because somehow we screwed up,

and it's driving me nuts."

She pounded a small fist on the desk, snapped

herself to a standing position, and paced the cramped

Office. Her lower lip quivered.

I stood up and put my arms around her and she

buried her head in the warmth of my jacket.

"I feel like such a fool!"

".You're not." I held her tightly. "None if it is

your fault."

She pulled away and dabbed at her eyes. When

she seemed composed I said, "I'd'like to meet

Woody."

She nodded and led me to the Laminar Airflow

Unit.

Ther.e were four modules, placed in series, like

rooms in a railroad flat, and shielded from one

another by a wall of curtain that could be opened or

drawn by pushing buttons inside each room. The

walls of the units were transparent plastic and

each room resembled an oversized ice cube, eight

feet square.

Three of the cubes were occupied. The fourth

was filled with supplies--toys, cots, bags of cloth-lng.

The interior side of the curtained wall in each

room was a perforated gray panel--the filter through

which air blew audibly. The doors of the modules

were segmented, the bottom half metal and closed,

the top plastic, and left ajar. Microbes were kept

out of the opening by the high speed at which the

air was expelled. Bunning parallel to all four units

were corridors on both sides, the rear passage for

visitors, the front for the medical staff.

66

Jonathan Kellerman

Two feet in front of the doorway to each module

was a no-entry area marked off by red tape on the

vinyl floor. I stood just outside the tape at the

entrance of Module Two and looked at Woody

Swope.

He lay on the bed, under the covers, facing away

fromus. There were plastic gloves attached to the

front wall of the module, which permitted manual

entry into the germ-free environment. Beverly put

her hands inside them and patted him on the head

gently.

"Good morning, sweetie."

Slowly and with seeming effort, he rolled over

and stared at us.

"Hi."

A week before Robin left for Japan, she and I

went to an exhibition of photographs by Roman

Vishniac. The pictures had been a chronicle of the

Jewish ghettos of Eastern Europe just before the

Holocaust. Many of the portraits were of children,

and the photographer's lens had caught their small

faces unaware, flash-freezing the confusion and terror

it found there. The images were haunting, and

afterward we cried.

Now, looking into the large dark eyes of the boy

in the plastic room, these same feelings came back

in a rush.

His face was small and thin, the' skin stretched

across delicate bone structure, translucently pale

in the artificial light of the module. His eyes, 'like

those of his sister, were black, and glassy with

fever. The hair on his head was a thick mop of

henna-colored curls. Chemotherapy, if it ever happened,

would take care of those curls in a brutal,

though temporary, reminder of the disease.

BLOOD

Beverly stopped stroking his hair and held out

her glove. The boy took it and managed a smile.

"How we doing this morning, doll?"

"Okay." His voice was soft and barely audible

through the plastic.

"This is Dr. Delaware, Woody."

At the mention of the title he flinched and moved

back on the bed.

"He's not the kind of doctor who gives shots. He

just talks to kids, like l do."

That relaxed him somewhat, but he continued-to

look at me with apprehension.

"Hi, Woody," I said. "Can we shake hands?"

"Okay."

I put my hand into the glove Beverly relinquished.

It felt hot and dry--coated with talc, I recalled.

Reaching into the module I searched for his hand

and found it, a small treasure. I held it for a moment

and let go.

"I see you've got some games in there. Which is

your favorite ?"

"Checkers."

"I like checkers, too. Do you play a lot?"

"Kind of."

"You must be very smart to know how to play

checkers."

"Kind of." The hint of a smile.'

"I bet you win a lot."

The smile widened. His teeth were straight and

white but the gums surrounding them were swollen

and inflamed.

"And you like to win."

"Uh huh,-I always win my mom."

"How 'bout your dad?"

He. gave a perplexed frown.

68

Jonathan Kellerman

"He doesn't play checkers."

"1 see. But if he did, you'd probably win."

He digested that for a minute.

"Yeah, I pro'ly would. He doesn't know :much

about playing games."

"Anyone else you play with besides Mom?"

"Jaredbut he moved away."

"Anybody besides Jared ?"

"Michael and Kevin.'

"Are they guys at school?"

"Yeah. I finished K. Next year I go into one."

He was alert and responsive but obviously weak.

Talking to me was taxing and his chest heaved

with the effort,

"How about you and I play a game of checkers?"

"Okay."

"I could play from out here with these gloves, or

I could put on one of those spacesuits and come in

the room with you. Which would you like better?"

"I dunno.'

"Well, I'd like to come in the room." I turned to

Bev. "Could somebody help me Suit up? It's been a

tong time."

"Sure." '

"I'll be in there in a minute, Woody." I smiled at

him and stepped away from the plastic wall. Rhy-thm-and-blues

music blared from the module next

door. I glanced over and caught a glimpse of a pair

of long brown legs dangling over the foot of a bed. A

black boy around seventeen was sprawled atop the

covers, staring at the ceiling and moving to the

sounds that screamed from the ghetto blaster on his

nightstand, seemingly impervious to the i.V. needles

imbedded in the crooks of both arms.

BLOOD TEST 69

"See" ""

, sala tev, speaking up to be heard, "I told

you. A sweetie."

"Nice kid," I agreed. "He seems bright."

"The parents describe him as having been very

sharp. The fevers have pretty much knocked him

out but he still manages to communicate very well.

'The nurses love himmthis whole pullout thing is

.making everyone very uptight."

"I'll do what I can. Let's start by getting me in

there."

She called-for help and a tiny Filipino nurse

appeared bearing a package wrapped in heavy brown

paper and marked STERILE.

"Take off your shoes and stand there," ordered

the nurse, pint-sized but authoritative. She pointed

to a spot just outside the red taped no-entry zone.

After washing her hands with Betadyne, she unwrapped

a pair of sterile gloves and slipped them

on her hands. Having inspected the gloves and found

them free from flaws, she removed a folded space-suit

from the brown paper and placed it inside the

red border. It took a bit of playing with the suit--which,

in a collapsed state, looked like a heavy

paper accordion--but she found the footholes and

had 'me step inside them. Gingerly, she took hold of

the edges a.nd pulled it up over me, tying the top

seam around my neck. Being so short, she had to

stretch to do the job so I bent my knees to make it

easier.

"Thanks," she giggled. "Now your gloves--don't

touch anything until they're on."

She worked quickly and soon my hands were

sheathed in surgical plastic, my mouth concealed

'behind a paper mask. The headpiece--a hood fgsh-ioned

of the same heavy paper as the suit attached

70 Jonathan Kellerman

to a plastic, see-through visor--was slipped over

my face and fastened to the suit with Velcro strips.

"How does that feel ?"

"Very stylish." The suit was oppressively hot

and I knew that within minutes, despite the cool

rapid airflow in the unit, I'd be drenched with

sweat.

"It's our continental model." She smiled "You

can go in now. Half hour maximum time. The clock's

over there. We may be too busy to remind you, so

keep an eye on it and come out when the time's

up."

"Will do." I turned to Bev. "Thanks for your

help. Any idea when the parents will be in ?"

"Vangie, did the Swopes say when they'd be in?"

The Filipino nurse shook her head. "Usually

they're here in the morning--right around now. If

they don't come soon, I don't know when. I can

leave a message for them to call you, Doctor--"

"Delaware. Why don't you tell them I'll be here

tomorrow at eight thirty and if they arrive earlier,

please have them' wait."

"Eight thirty you should catch them."

"I'll tell you what," said Bev, "I've got the number

of the place they're staying--some motel on the

west side. I'll call and leave a message. If they Show

up today do you want to come back?"

I considered it. Nothing on the agenda that

couldn't wait. "Sure. Call my exchange. They'll

know where to reach me." I gave her the number.

"All right, Alex, you'd better get in there before

you truck a few million pathogens over the border..

See ya."

She hoisted the large purse over her shou!dex

and walked out the door.

BLOOD TEST 71

I .stepped pounds to the Laminar Airflow Room:

He'd sat up and his dark eyes followed 'my entry.

"I look like a spaceman, huh?"

"I can tell who you are," he said gravely, "everyone

looks-different.''

"That's good. I always had trouble recognizing

people when they wore these things."

"Ya gotta look close, with strong eyes."

"I see. Thanks for the advice."

I got the box of checkers and unfolded the board

on the armlike table that swung across the bed.

"What eolor do you want to be?"

"Dunno."

"Black goes first, I think. You wanna go first?"

"Uh huh."

He was precociously good at the game, able to

plot, set up moves, and think sequentially.'A bright

little boy.

A couple of times I tried to engage him in conversation

but he ignored me. It wasn't shyness or lack

of good manners. His attention was focused on the

checkerboard and he didn't even hear the sound of

my voice. When he completed a move he'd lean

back against the pillows with a satisfied look on his

grave little face and say, "There! Your turn," in a

voice made soft by fatigue.

We were halfway through the game and he was

giving me a run for my money when he clutched

his abdomen and cried out in paim

I eased him down and felt his brow. Low-grade

fever.

"Your tummy hurts, doesn't it?"

He nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of

his hand.

: -72. Jonathan Kellerman

I press6d the call button. Vangie, .the Filipino

nurse, appeared on the other side of the plastic.

"Abdominal pain. Febrile," I told her.

She frowned and disappeared, returning with a

cup of liquid acetominophen held in a gloved hand.

"Swing that counter over this way, would you." .

qhe set the medicine on the slab of Formica.

"You can take it now and give it to him. The

resident's due by within the hour to check him

over."

I returned to the boy's bedside, propped him up

with one hand behind his head, and held the liquid

to his lips with the other.

"Open up, Woody. This will make it hurt less."

"Okay, Doctor Delaware."

"I think you'd better rest now. You played a good

game."

He nodded and the curls bounced. "Tie?"

"I'd say so. Although you were getting me pretty

good at the end. Can I come back and play with you

again?"

"Uh huh." I-le closed his eyes.

"Rest up, now."

By the time I was out of the unit and had shed

the paper suit, he was asleep, lips parted, sucking

gently at the softness of the pillow.

THE NEXT morning I drove east on Sunset under a

sky streaked with tin-strip clouds and thought about

last night's dreams-Tthe same kind of spooky, murky

images that had plagued my sleep when I first

started working in oncology. It had taken a good

year to chase those demons away and now I wondered

if they'd ever been gone or had just been

lurking in my subconscious, ever ready for mischief.

Raoul's world was madness and I found myself

resenting him for drawing me back into it.

Children weren't supposed to get cancer.

Nobody was supposed to get cancer.

T, he diseases that fell under the domain of the

marauding crab were ultimate acts of histologic

treason, the body assaulting, battering, raping, murdering

itself in a feeding frenzy of rogue cells gone

berserk.

I slipped a Lenny Breau cassette into th tape

deck and hoped that the guitarist's fluid genius

would take my mind far away from plastic rooms

73

74 Jonathan Kellerman

and bald children and one little boy with henna-colored

curls and a Why Me? look in his eyes, But I

could see his face and the faces of so many other

sick children I'd known, weaving in and out of

the arpeggios, ephemeral, persistent, begging for

rescue...

Given that state of mind, even the sleaze that

heralded the entry into Hollywood seemed benign,

the half-naked whores nothing more than big-hearted

welcome wagoners.

I drove through the last mile of boulevard in a

.blue funk, parked the Seville in the doctors' lot,

and walked through the front door of the hospital

with my head down, warding off social overtures.

I climbed the four flights to the oncology ward

and was halfway down the hall before hearing the

ruckus. Opening the door to the Laminar Airflow

Unit turned up the volume.

Raoul stood, bug-eyed, his back to the modules,

alternately cursing in rapid Spanish and screaming

in English at a group of three people:

Beverly Lucas held her purse across her chest

like a shield, but it wouldn't stay in one place

because the hands that clutched it were shaking.

She stared at a distant point beyond Melendez-Lynch's

white-coated shoulder and bither lip, strain-lng

not to choke on anger and humiliation.

The broad face of Ellen Beckwith bore the startled,

terrified look of someone caught in the midst

of a smarmy, private ritual. She was primed for

confession, but unsure of her crime.

The third member of the audience was a tall,

shaggy-haired man with a hound dog face and

squinty, heavy-lidded eyes. His white coat was unbuttoned

and worn carelessly over faded jeans and

BLOOD TEST 75

a cheap.looking shirt of the sort that used to be

called psychedelic but now looked merely garish. A

belt with an oversized buckle in the shape of an

Indian chief bit into a soft-looking middle. His feet

were large and the toes were long, almost prehensi-ble.

I could tell because he'd encased them, sockless,

in Mexican huaraches. His face was clean-shaven

and his skin was pale. The shaggy hair was medium

brown, streaked with gray, and it hung to his

shoulders. A puka shell necklace ringed a neck that

had begun to turn to wattle.

He stood impassively, as if in a trance, a serene

look in the hooded eyes.

Raoul saw me and stopped his harangue.

"He's gone, Alex." He pointed to the plastic room

where I'd played checkers less than twen.ty-four

hours ago. The bed was empty.

'.'Removed from under the noses of these so-called'

professionals." He dismissed the trio with a contemptuous

wave of his hand.

"Why don't we talk about it somewhere else," I

suggested. The black teenager in the unit next door

was peering out through the transparent wall with

a puzzled look on his face.

Raoul ignored me.

"They did it. Those quacks. Came in as radiation

techs and kidnapped him. Of course, if anyone had

possessed the good sense to read the chart to find out if

radiologic studies had been ordered, they might

have prevented this---felony!"

He was boring in on the fat nurse now, and she

was on the verge of tears. The tall man came out of

his trance and tried to rescue her.

"You can't expect a nurse to think like a cop."'

His speech was just barely tinged with a Gallic lilt.

76

Jonathan Kellerman

Raoul wheeled on him.

"You! Keep your damned comments to yourself!

If you had an iota of understanding of what medicine

is all about we might not be in this mess. L/kc

a cop! If that means exercising vigilance and care to

insure a patient's safety and security, then she damn

well does have to think like a cop! This isn't an

Indian reservation, Valcroix! It's life-threatening

disease and invasive procedures and using the brain

that God gave us to make inferences and deductions

and decisions, for God's sake! It's not managing

a reverse isolation unit like a bus terminal,

where people come in and out and tell you they're

someone they're not and whisk your patient away

from under your lazy, sloppy, careless nose!"

The other doctor's response was a cosmic qmile

as he zoned back out into neveronever land.

Raoul glared at him, ready to pounce. The gang!y

black boy watched the confrontation, eyes wide and

frightened, from behind his plastic screen. A mother

visiting her child in the third module stared, then

drew the curtains protectively.

I took Raoul by the elbow and escorted him to the

nurses' office. The Filipino nurse was there, charting.

After one look at us, she grabbed her paperwork

and left.

He picked up a pencil from the desk and snapped

it between his fingers. Tossing the broken pieces to

the floor, he kicked them into a corner.

"That bastard! The arrogance, to debate me in

front of 'ancillary staff--I'll terminate his fellowship

and get rid of him once and for all."

He ran a hand over his brow, chewed on his

mustache, and tugged at his jowls until the swarthy

flesh turned rosy.

BLOOD TEST 77

"They'took him," he said. "Just like that."

"What do you want to do about it?"

"What I want is to find those Touchers and strangle

them with my bare hands and "

I picked up the phone. "You want me to call

Security ?"

"Ha! A bunch of senile alcoholics who need help

finding their own flashlights "

"What about the police? It"s an abduction now."

"No," he said quickly. "They won't do a damned

thing and it will be a freakshow for the media."

He found Woody's chart and leafed through it,

hissing.

"Radiology--why would I schedule x-rays for a

child whose treatment is up in the air! It makes no

sense. Nobody thinks anymore. Automatons, all of

them !"

"What do you want to do about it?" I repeated.

"Damned if I know," he admitted and slapped

the chart on the desktop.

We sat in glum silence for a moment.

"They're probably halfway to Tijuana," he said,

"on a pilgrimage to some damned Laetrile clinica--

did you ever see those places? Murals of crabs on

filthy adobe walls. That's their salvation! Fools!"

"It's possible they haven't gone anywhere. Why

don't we check?"

"How?"

"Beverly has the number of the place they're

staying. We can call and find out if they've checked

out."

"Play detective-yes, why not? Call her in."

"Be civil to her, Raoul."

"Fine, fine."

I beckoned the social worker away from a pow-

/ jonatmm Ke/hs.

wow with Valcroix and Ellen Beckwith, who gave

me the kind of look usually reserved for plague

carriers.

i told her what I wanted and she nodded wearily.

Once in the office she avoided looking at Raoul

and silently dialed the phone. There was a brief

exchange with the motel clerk, after which she

hung up and said:

"The guy was real uncooperative. He hasn't seen

them today but they haven't checked out. The car's

still there."

"If you'd like," I offered, "I'11 go there, try to

make contact with them."

Raoul consulted his appointment book.

"Meetings until three. I'll cancel out. Let's go."

"I don't think you should be there, Raoul."

"That's absurd, Alex! I'm the physician! This is a

medical issue--"

"Only nominally. Let me handle it."

His thick brows curled and fury rose in the coffee

bean eyes. He started to say something btt I cut

him off.

"We have to at least consider the possibility," 1

said softly, "that this whole thing may be due to a

conflict between the family and you."

He stared at me, making sure he'd heard right,

purpled, choked on his anger, and threw, up his

hands in despair.

"How could you even---"

"I'm not saying it's so. Just that we need to consider

it. What we want is that boy back in treatment.

Let's maximize the probability of success by

covering all contingencies."

He was mad as hell but I'd given him something

to think about. .

BLOOD.TEST 79 -

'"Fine. There's no shortag of things for me to do

anyway. Go yourselL"

"I want Beverly along. Of anyone she's got the

best feel for the family."

"Fine, fine. Take Beverly. Take whomever you

want."

He straightened his tie and smoothed nonexistent

wrinkles in the long white coat.

"'Now, if you'll excuse me, my friend," he said,

straining to be cordial, 'Tll be off to the lab."

The Sea Breeze Motel was on west Pico, set amid

cheap apartments, dusty storefronts, and auto garages

on a dingy slice of the boulevard just before

L.A. surrenders to Santa Monica The. place was

two stories of pitted chartreuse stucco and drooP-lng

pink wroughtqron railing. Thirty or so units

looked down upon an asphalt motor court and a

swimming pool half-filled with algae-clogged water.

The only breeze evident was the steaming layer of

exhaust fumes that rose from the oily pavement as

we pulled in beside a camper with Utah plates.

"Not exactly five star," I said, getting out of the

Seville. "And far from the hospital."

Beverly frowned.

"I tried to tell them that when I saw the address

but there was no convincing the father. Said he

wanted to be near the beach where the air was

goOd. Even launched into a speech about how the

whole hospital should move to the beach, how the

smog was harmful to patients. I t01d you, the man

is weird."

The front office was a glass booth on the other

side of a warped plywood door. A thin, bespectacled

Iranian with the numb demeanor of a habitual

i'--

80 Jonathan

l(etternmn

opium smoker 'sat behind a chipped, hinged plastic

counter poring over the Motor Vehicle Code. A

revolving rack of combs and cheap sunglasses took

up one corner, a low able covered with ancient

copies of throwaway travel magazines squatted in

the other.

The Iranian pretended not to notice us. I cleared

my throat with tubercular fervor and he looked up

slowly.

"Yes?"

"What room is the Swope family in?"

He looked us over, decided we were safe, said,

"Fifteen," and returned to the wondrous world of

road signs.

There was a dusty brown Chevy station wagon

parked in front of Room 15. Except for a sweater

on the front seat and an empty cardboard box in

the rear deck, the car was empty.

"That's theirs," said Beverly. "They used to leave

it parked illegally by the front entrance. One time

when the security guard put a warning sticker on

the windshield, Emma ran out crying about her

sick child and he tore it up."

I knocked on the door. No answer. Knocked again

harder. Still no response. The room had a single

grimy window, but the view within was blocked by

oilcloth curtains. I knocked one more time, and

when the silence was unbroken, we returned to the

office.

"Excuse me," I said, "do you know if the Swopes

are in their room?"

A lethargic shake of the head.

"Do you have a swtcnnoaro. Beverly asked-him.

The Iranian raised his 'eyes from his reading and

blinked.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

was heavily accented, his manner surly.

"We're from Western Pediatric Hospital. The

Swopes' child is being treated there. It's important

that we speak to them."

"I don't know anything." He shifted his glance

back to the vehicle code.

"Do you have a switchboard?" she repeated.

A barely visible nod.

"Then please ring the room."

With a theatrical sigh, he dragged himself up and

walked through a door at the rear. A minute later

he reappeared.

"Nobody there."

"But their car's there."

"Listen, lady, I don't know cars. You want a

room, okay. Otherwise, leave alone."

"Call the police, Bev," I said.

Somehow he must have sneaked in a hit of am--Phetamine

because his face came alive suddenly

and he spoke and gesticulated with renewed vigor.

"What for police? What for you cause trouble?

"No trouble," I said. "We just need to talk to the

Swopes."

He threw up his hands.

"They take walk--I see them. alking 'that way."

He pointed east.

"Unlikely. They've got a sick child with them.:'

To Bev: "I saw a phone at the gas station on. the

corner. Call it in as a suspicious disappearance.''

She moved toward the door.

The Iranian lifted the hinged counter and came

around to our side.

"What do you want? Why you make trouble?"

"Listen," I told him, "I don't care what kind of

82 jonathan l(eIlerman

nasty little games-you've got going on in the other

rooms. We need to talk to the family in fifteen."

He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, "Come,

I show you, they not here. Then you leave me

alone, okay ?"

"It's a deal."

His-pants were baggy .and they flapped as he

strode across the asphalt, muttering and jingling

the keys.

A quick turn of the wrist and the lock released.

The door groaned as it opened. We stepped inside.

The desk clerk blanched, Beverly whispered Ohmi-god,

and I fought down a rising feeling of dread.

The room was small and dark and it had been

savaged.

The earthly belongings of the family Swope had

been removed from three cardboard suitcases, which

.lay crushed on one of the twin beds..Clothing and

personal articles were strewn about': lotion, shampoo,

and detergent lealed from broken bottles in

viscous trails across the threadbare carpeting. Female

undergarments hung limply over the chain of

the plastic swag lamp. Paperback books and newspapers

had been shredded and scattered like confetti.

Open cans and boxes of food were everywhere,

the contents oozing out in congealing mounds.

The room reeked of rot and dead air.

Next to the bed was a patch of carpet that was

clear of litter, but far from empty. It was filled

with a .dark brown amoebalike stain half a foot

across.

"Oh no," said Beverly. She staggered,' lost her

balance, and I caught her.

You don't have to spend much time in a hospital

to know the sight of dried blood.

BLOOD TEST 8

The Iranian's face was waxen. His jaws worked

soundlessly.

"Come on," I took hold of his bony shoulders and

guided him out, "we have to call the police now."

It's nice to know someone on the force. Especially

when that someone is your best friend and

won't assume you're a suspect when you call in a

crime. I bypassed 911 and called Milo's extension

directly. He was in a meeting but I pushed a bit

and they called him out.

"Detective Sturgis."

"Milo, it's Alex."

"Hello, pal. You Pulled me out of a fascinating

lecture. It seems the west side has become the

latest hot spot for PCP labs--they rent glitzy houses

and park Mercedes in the driveway. Why I need to

know all about it is beyond me but tell that to the

brass. Anyway, what's up?"

I told hiTM and he turned businesslike immediately.

"All right. Stay there. Don't let anyone touch

anything. I'll get everything moving. There's gonna

be a lot of people converging so don't let the girl get

spooked. I'll crap out of this meeting and be there

as soon as I can but I may not be the first, so if

someone gives you a hard time, drop' my name and

hope they don't give you a harder time because you

did. Bye."

I hung up and went to Beverly. She-had the

drained, lost look of a stranded traveler. I put my

arm around her and sat her down next to the clerk,

who'd progressed to muttering to himself in Farsi,

no doubt reminiscing about the good old days with

the Ayatollah.

There was a coffee machine on the other side of

84

Jonathan Kellerman

the counter and I went through and poured three

cups. The Iranian took his gratefully, held it with ·

both hands, and gulped noisily. Beverly put hers

down on the table, and I sipped as we waited.

Five minutes later we saw the first flashing lights.

THE TWO uniformed policemen were muscular giants,

one white and blond, the other coal-black, his part-her's

photographic negative. They questioned us

briefly, spending most of their time with. the Iranian

desk clerk. They didn't like him instinctively, and

showed it in the way L.A.P.D. cops do--by bein

overly polite.

Most of-their interrogation had to do with when

he'd last seen the Swopes, what cars had come in

and out, how the family had been behaving, who

had called them. If you believed him, the motel was

an oasis of innocence and he was the original see-no-evil,

hear-no-evil kid.

The patrolmen cordoned off the area around room

fifteen. The sight of their squad car in the center of

the motorcourt must have ruffled some feathers--I

saw fingers drawing back comers of curtains in

several of the rooms. The policemen noticed, too,

and joked about calling Vice.

Two additional black and whites pulled into the

85

86

Jonathan Kellerman

lot and parked haphazardly. Out of them stepped

four more uniforms, who joined the first two for a

smoke and a huddle. They were followed by a crime

scene technical van and an unmarked bronze Matador.

The man who got out of the Matador was in his

midthirties, big and heavily built, with a loose,

ungainly walk. His face was broad and surprisingly

unlined, but bore the stigmata of severe acne. Thick

drooping brows shadowed tired eyes of a startling

bright green hue. His black hair was cut short around

the back and sides but worn full on top in defiance

of any known style. A thick shock fell across his

forehead like a frontal cowlick. Similarly unchic

were the sideburns that reached to the bottom of

his softlobed ears and his attire--a rumpled checked

madras sportcoat with too much turquoise in it, a

navy shirt, gray-and-blue striped tie, and light blue

slacks that hung over the tops of suede desert boots.

"That one's got to be a cop," said Beverly.

"That's Milo."

"Your friend--oh." She,was embarrassed.

"It's okay, that's what he is."

Milo conferred with the patrolmen then took out

a pad and pencil, stepped over the tape stru. ng

across the doorway to room fifteen, and went inside.

He stayed in there awhile and came out taking

notes.

He loped over to the front office. I got up and

met him at the entrance.

"H'lo, Alex." His big padded hand gripped mine.

"Hell of a mess in there. Not really sure what to

ca]] it yet."

He saw Beverly walked over, and introduced

himself.

BLOOD TEST 87

"Stick with this guy," he pointed to me, "and

inevitably you're going to get into trouble."

"I can see that,"

"Are you in a hurry?" he asked her.

"I'm not going back to the hospital," she said.

"All I've got, otherwise, is a run at 'three thirty."

"Bun? Oh, like in cardiovascular stimulation?

Yeah, I tried that but the chest began to hurt and

visions of mortality danced before my eyes."

She smiled uneasily, not knowing what to make

of him. Milo's great to have around--in more ways

than one--when your preconceptions get overly

calcified.

"Don't worry, you'll be out of here long before

then. Just wanted to know if you could wait while I

interview Mr.--" he consulted the pad, "Fahriz-

badeh. Shouldn't take long."

"That would be fine."

He escorted the desk clerk outside and over to

fifteen. Beverly and I sat in silence.

"This is horrible," she said,finally. "That room.

The blood." She sat stiffly in her'chair and pressed

her knees together.

"He could be okay," I said without much convie-tion.

"I hope so, Alex. I really do."

After a while Milo returned with the desk clerk,

who slunk behind the counter without a glance at

us and disappeared into the back room.

"Very unobservant guy," said Milo. "But I think

he's on the level, more or less.. Apparently his

brother-in-law owns the place. He's studying business

administration at night and works here instead

of sleeping." He looked at Beverly. "What can

you tell me about these Swope people?"

88

Jonathan .Kellerman

She gave him a history sjnilar to the one I'd

received in the Laminar Airflow Unit.

"Interesting," he reflected, chewing on his pencil.

"So this could be anything. The parents taking

the kid out of town in a hurry, which might not.be

a crime at all unless the hospital wants to make a

thing out of it. Except if that was the case, they

wouldn't leave the car behind. Hypothesis 13 is the

cultists did the job with the parents' permission,

which is still no crime. Or without, which would

be good old-fashioned kidnapping."

"What about the blood?" I-asked.

"Yeah, the blood. The techs say O positive. That

tell you anything?"

"l think I remember from the chart," said Beverly,

"that Woody and both of the parents are O.

I'm not sure about the Rh factor."

"So much for that. It's not a hell of a lot anyway,

not what you'd expect if someone got shot or cut--"

He saw the look on her face and stopped himself.

"Milo," I said, "the boy's got cancer. He's not

terminally ill--or wasn't as of yesterday. But his

disease is unpredictable. It could spread and invade

a major blood vessel, or convert to leukemia.

And if either of those occui, he could suddenly

hemorrhage."

"Jesus," said the big detective, looking pained.

"Poor little guy."

"Isn't there something you cando?" demanded

Beverly.

"We'll do our best to find them but to be honest

it won't be easy. They could be just about anywhere

by now."

"Don't you put out A.P.B.'s or something like

that?" she insisted.

"That's alread3

t got in touch with the law in Lfi Vista--it's a

one-man show run by a sheriff named Houten. He

hasn't seen them but he promised to keep a lookout.

He also gave me a good physical description of the

family and I put it over the wire. Highway patrols

got it, as well as L.A. and San Diego P.D.s and all

the decent-sized departments in between. But we've

got no vehicle to look for, no plates. Anything you'd

like to suggest in addition to all of that?"

It was a sincere request for ideas, devoid of sarcasm,

and it threw her off guard.

"Uh, no," she admitted, "I can't think of anything.

I just hope you find him."

"I hope so, too--can I call you Beverly ?"

"Oh, sure."

"I don't have any brilliant theories about this,

Beverly, but I promise to give it a lot of thought.

.And, if you think of anything, call me." He gave her

a card. "Anything at all, okay ? Now, can I have One

of the men give you a lift home?"

"Alex could--"

He flashed her a wide, loose-lipped smile. "I'm

going to be needing to talk to Alex for a while. I'll

get you a ride." He went out to the six patrolmen,

selected the best-looking of the bunch, a trim six-footer

with curly black hair and shiny teeth, and

brought him back to the office.

"Ms. Lucas, this is Officer Fierro."

"Where to, ma'am?" Fierro tipped his hat. She

gave him an address in Westwood and he guided

her to his squad car.

Just as she was getting in, Milo rummaged in his

shirt pocket and called out, "Hey, Brian, hold on."

90 Jonathan Kellennan

- Fierro stopped and Milo bounded over to the car

I jogged along with him.

"This mean anything to you, Beverly?" He handed

her & matchbook.

She examined it. "Adam and Eve Messenger Service?

Yeah. One of the nurses told me Nona Swope

had gotten a job as a messenger. I remember thinking

it was strange--why would she get a job when

they were only in town temporarily ?" She looked

at the matchbook more closely. "What is this, a

hooker service or something like that?"

"Something like that."

"I knew she was a wild one." she said angrily,

and gave him back the matchbook. "Is th'at all?"

"Uh huh."

"Then I'd like to go home."

Milo gave the signal and Fierro got behind the

wheel and started up the engine.

"Uptight lady," said Milo after they drove away.

"She used to be a sweet young thing," I said.

"Too much time on the cancer ward can do things

to you."

He frowned.

"Quite a mess in there," he said.

"Looks bad, doesn't it?"

"You want me to speculate? Maybe, maybe not.

The room was tossed by someone who was angry.

But couldn't it have been one of the parents, furious

at having a sick kid, all scared and confused

about pulling him out? You worked with people in

that situation. Ever see anyone freak like that?"

I reeled back a few years.

"There was always anger," I told him. "Most of

the time people talked it out. But sometimes it got

physical. I can recall at least one intern getting

slugged by a father. Plenty

who'd lost his leg in a hunting

before his daughter came down with kidney tumors

carried a couple of pistols into the hospital the day

after she died. It was usually the ones who denied

it and held it in and didn't communicate with anyone

who were the most 'explosive." Which fit the

description Beverly had given me of Garland Swope.

I told him so.

"So that could be it," he said uneasily.

"But you don't think so.".

The heavy shoulders shrugged.

"I don't think anything at this point. Because

this is a crazy city, pal. More homicides each year

and folks are getting wasted for the weirdest reasons.

Last week, some old character'jammed a steak

knife in his neighbor's chest because he was sure

the guy was killing his tomato plants with evil rays

from his navel. Deranged assholes walk into fast-food

joints and mow down kids eating burgers, for

chrissake. When I first went into Homicide things

seemed relatively logical, pretty simple, really. Most

of the stuff we used to catch was due to love or

jealousy or money, family feuds--your basic human

conflicts. Not now, compadre. Too many holes in

the Swiss cheese? Ice the deli man. Looney Tunes."

"And this looks like the work of a crazy?"

"Who the hell knows, Alex? We're not talking

hard science. Most probably we'll find it was what

I said before. One of them--Probably the father--got

a good look at the shitty cards he'd been dealt

and tossed the room. They left the car behind so

it's probably temporary.

"On the other hand, I can't guarantee they didn't

happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,

with a nutcase who thought they

were Pluto Vampires out to take over his iver." He

held the matchbook between thumb and forefinger

and waved it like a miniature flag.

"Right now," he said, "all we've got is this. It's

not in my ballpark but I'll pay the place a visit and

follow it up for you, okay?"

"Thanks, Milo. Getting to the bottom of it would

calm a few people down. Want company ?"

"Sure, why not? Haven't seen you in a good while.

If missing the lovely Ms. Castagna hasn't made you

unbearably morose, you might even turn out to be

good company."

THERE WAS a'phone..number on the matchbook but

no address, so Milo called Vice and got one, along

with some background on the Adam and Eve Messenger

Service.

"They know the operation," he said, tooling onto

Pico and heading east. "Owned by a sweetheart

named Jan Rainbo, has her finger in a little bit of

everything. Daddy's a mob biggie in Frisco. Little

Jan's his pride and joy."

"What is it, a cover for an outcall service?"

"That and a few other things. Vice thinks sometimes

the messengers transport dope, but that's only

a sideline--impromptu, when someone needs a favor.

They do some relati,ely legit stuff -party gags,

like when it's the boss's birthday and a nubile young

thing shows up at the office party, strips and rubs

herself all over him. Mostly it's sex for sale, one

way or another."

"Which sheds new light on Norm SWope,'' I said.

"Maybe. You said she was good looking?"

93

94

]onatha lllernu

"Gorgeous, Milo. Unusually so."

"So she knows what she's got and decides to

profit from it--it might be relevant, but what the

hell, when you get right down to it, this town was

built on the buying and selling of bodies, right?

Small town girl hits glitter-city, gets her head turned.

Happens every day."

"That has got to be the most hackneyed soliloquy

-you've ever delivered."

He broke out laughing and slapped the dashboard

with glee, then realized he'd been squinting into

the sun and put on a pair of mirrored shades.

"Oka-ay, time to play cop. What do you think ?"

"Very intimidating."

Jan Bambo's headquarters were on the tenth floor

of a flesh-colored high rise on Wilshire just west of

Barrington. The directory in the lobby listed about

a hundred businesses, most with names that told

you nothing about what they did--a free hand had

been used with words like enterprise, system, communications,

and network. A good third.of them ended

with Ltd. Jan Rambo had outdone them all, christening

her meat market, Contemporary Communications

Network, Ltd. If that didn't convince you it

was all very respectable, the brass letters on the

teak door and the matching thunderbolt logo were

sure to do the trick.

The door was locked but Milo pounded it hard

enough for the walls to shake, and it opened. A tall

well-built Jamaican in his midtwenties stuck his

head out and started to say something hostile, but

Milo shoved his badge in the mahogany face and he

shut his mouth.

"Hi,!' said Milo, grinning.

"What can I do for you, Officers?"-

black, overenunciating in a show of arrogance'. ':

"First, you can let us in." Without waiting for

cooperation, Milo leaned on the door. Taken by

surprise, the Jamaican stepped back and we walked

in.

It wasn't much of a reception room; barely larger

than a closet, but Contemporary Communications

probably didn't do much receiving. The walls were

flat ivory and the only furniture was a chrome and

vinyl desk upon which sat an electric typewriter

and a phone, and the steno chair' behind it.

The wall backing the desk was adorned with a

photographic poster of a California surfer couple

posing as Adam and Eve, underscored by the legend

"Send that Special Message to that Special

Person." Eve had her tongue in Adam's ear and

though the expression on his face was one of stuporous

boredom, his fig leaf bulged appreciatively.

To the left of the desk was a closed door. The

Jamaican stood in front of it, arms folded, feet

apart, a scowling sentry.

"We want to speak with Jan Rambo."

"You got a warrant?"

"Jesus," said Milo, disgustedly, "everyone in this

lousy city thinks he's in the movies. 'You got a

varrant?'" he mimicked. "Strictly grade B, dude.

C'mon, knock on the door and tell her we're here."

The Jamaican remained impassive.

"No warrant, no entry."

"My, my, an assertive one." Milo whistled. He

put his hands in his pockets, slouched and walked

forward until his nose was a millimeter short of

Eskfmo-kissing the Jamaican.

"There's no need to get unpleasant," he said. "I

96 Jonathan Kellerman

know Ms. Rambojs a busy'lady and as pure as the

freshly driven snow. If she wasn't, we might be

here to search the premises, Then we'd need a

warrant. All we want.to do is talk with her. Since

you obviously haven't advanced far enough in your

legal studies to know this, let me inform you that

no warrant is necessary when one simply wants to

make conversation."

The Jamaican's nostrils widened.

"Now," Milo continued, "you can choose to facilitate

that conv.ersation or continue to be obstructive,

in which case I will cause you grievous bodily

injury, not to mention significant pain, and arrest

you for interfering wi th a police officer in the per°

f0rmance of his duty. Upon arrest, I will fasten the

cuffs tight enough to cause gangrene, see to it that

you are body-searched by a sadist, and make sure

you are tossed in a holding cell with half a dozen

charter members of the Aryan Brotherhood."

The Jamaican pondered his choices. He backed

away from Milo, but the detective bird-dogged him,

breathing into his face.

'TII see if she's free," he muttered, opening the

door a crack and slithering through.

He reappeared momentarily, eyes smoldering with

emasculation, and jerked his head toward the open

door.

We followed him into an empty anteroom. He

paused before !ouble doors and punched a code

into a pushbutton panel. There was a low-pitched

buzz and he opened one of the doors.

A dark-haired woman sat behind a marble-topped

tubular metal desk in an office as big as a ballroom.

The floor was covered with springy industrial carpeting

the color of wet cement. To her back was a

wall of smoked glass offering a muted vie'

Santa Monica mountains and the Valle,

One side of the office had been given over to some

West Hollywood decorator's fantasies--mercilessly

contemporary mauve leather chairs a lucite coffee

table sharp enough to slice bread, an art deco side°

board of rosewood and shagreen similar to one I'd

seen recently in a Sotheby's catalogue; that piece

had gone for more than Milo took home in a year.

Acrossfrom this assemblage was the business area:

rosewood conference table, bank of black file cabinets,

two computers, and a corner filled with photographic

equipment.

The Jamaican stood with his back to the door and

resumed his sentry pose. He worked at fashioning

his face into a war mask but a rosy flush incano

desced beneath the dusky surface of his skin.

"You can go, Leon," the woman said. She had a

whiskey voice.

The Jamaican hesitated. She hardened her expression

and he left hastily.

She remained behind the deskand didn't invite us

to sit. Milo sat anyway, stretching out his long legs

and yawning. I sat next to him.

"Leon told me you were vey rude," said the

woman. She was about forty, chunky, with small

muddy eyes and short pudgy hands that drummed

the marble. Her hair was cut blunt and short. She

wore a tailored black business suit. The ruffled

bodice of her white crepe de chine blouse seemed

out of character.

"Gee," said Milo, "I'm really sorry, Ms. Rambo. I

hope we didn't hurt his feelings."

The woman laughed, an adenoidal growl. "Leon's

a prima donna. I keep him around for decoration."

98 Jonathan Kellerman

She pulled out an extra-long black cigarette from-a

box f Shermans and lit it up. Blowing out a cloud

of smoke, she watched it rise to the ceiling. When it

had dissipated completely she spoke.

"The answers to your first three questions are:

One: They're messengers, not hookers. Two: What

they do on their own time is their own business.

Three: Yes, he is my father and we talk on the

phone every month or so."

"I'm not from Vice," said Milo, "and I don't give

a damn if your messengers end up giving fuck shows

for horny old men snarfing nose candy and playing

pocket pool."

' '

"How tolerant of you," she said coldly.

"I'm known for it. Live and let live."

"What do you want then?"

He gave her his card.

"Homicide?" Her eyebrows rose but she remained

impassive. "Who bit it?"

"Maybe no one, maybe a whole bunch of people.

Right now it's a suspicious disappearance. Family

from down near the border The sister worked for

you, Nona Swope.'

She dragged deeply and tha Sherman glowed.

"Ah, Nona. The red-haired beauty. She a suspect

or a victim?"

."Tell me what you know about her," said-Milo,

taking out his pad.

She removed a key from a desk drawer, stood,

smoothed her skirt, and went to the files. She was

surprisingly short--five one or two. "I guess I'm

supposed to play hard to get, right?" She inserted

the key in the file lock and twisted. A drawer slid

open. "Refuse to give you the information, scream

for my lawyer."

"That's Leon's script."

That amused her. "Leon's a good guard dog. No,"

she said, taking out a folder, "I don't care much if

you read about Nona. I've got nothing to hide. She's

nothing to me."

She settled back behind the desk and passed the

folder across to Milo. He opened R and I looked

over his shoulder. The first page was an application

form filled out in halting script.

The girl's fullname was Annona Blossom Swope.

She'd listed a birthdate that made her just-twenty

and physical measurements that matched my memory

of her. Under residence she'd claimed a Sunset

Boulevard address--Western Pediatric Medical Cen-ter-with

no phone number to go along with it.

The eight-by-ten glossies-had been taken in the

office--I recognized the leather furniture--and

they'd framed her in a variety of poses, all sultry.

The photos were black-and-white and shortchanged

her bY their inability to capture her dramatic coloring.

Nevertheless, she had what professionals call

presence and it came through in these pictures.

We thumbed through the photos--Nona in a string

bikini rolled down over her pelvis, Brazilian style;

Nona braless in a sheer tank top and jeans, nipples

budding through the fabric; Nona making love to

an all-day sucker; Nona, feline, in a filmy negligee

with a fuck-you look in her dark eyes.

Milo whistled softly. I felt an involuntary tug

below the waist.

"Quite a gal, eh?" asked .Jan Rambo. "A lot of

skin passes through these portals, gentlemen. She

stood out from the rest of them. I started calling

her Daisy Mae because there was a naive quality to

her. Limited life experience. Despite that, she was

100 Jonathan lllerma

a little girl who knew her way around, know what I

mean ?"

"When were these taken?" asked Milo.

"First day she got here-what's it say, a week

ago? I took one look at her and called the cameraman. We shot and developed 'em the same day. I saw her as a good investment, started her off' on

messenger service."

"Doing what, exactly?" he pushed.

"Doing messenger work, exactly. We've got a few

basic skits---doctor and nurse, .professor and coed,

Adam and Eve, dominatrix and slave or vice versa.

The old cliches, but your average yahoo can't break

out of cliches even when it's fantasy time. The

client picks the Skit, we send out couples, and they

do it like a messagemyou know, Happy Birthday,

Joe Smith, this is from the boys in the Tuesday

night poker group and, presto, the show is on. It's

all legal--they joke around, but nothing that challenges

the penal code."

"How much does that run the poker buddies?"

"Two hundred. Sixty goes to the messengers, split fifty-fifty. Plus tips."

I did some quick mental arithmetic. Working half-time

Nona could have pulled in a hundreddollars a

day or more. Big bucks for a country girl barely out

of her teens.

"What if the client is willing to pay more to see

more?" I asked.

She looked sharply at me. "I was wondering if

you talked. Like I said before, the messengers are

free to do what they want on their own time. Once

the skit is over, it's their own time. You like jazz?"

"Good jazz," I answered.

"Me, too. Like Miles and Coltrane and Bird. Know

what makes them great? They know how to

vise, Far be it from me to discourage improvisation."

She took out another Sherman and lit it from the

one smoldering in her mouth.

"That's all she did, huh?" asked Milo. "Skits."

"She could've done. more--I had plans for her,

Movies, magazine layouts.". The meaty face c reused

into a smile. "She was cooperative--took off her

clothes without batting an eye. They must raise

'em wild in the country." She rolled the cigarette

between stubby fingers. "Yeah, I had plans but she

split on me, Worked a week and--" She snapped

her fingers--"pooL"

"Any word where she was going?"

"Not a hint. And I didn't ask. This is no surro.

gate family. It's a business. I don't play mommy

and I don't want to be treated like one. Skin comes

and skin goes--this city's full of perfect bodies who

think their buns are gonna make 'em rich. Some

learn faster than others. High volume, high turnover.

Still,;' she admitted, "that redhead had something."

"Anyone else who'd know anything about he?"

"Can't think of anyone. She kept to herself."

"What about the guys she messengered with?"

"Guy. Singular. She was only here a week. I

don't remember his name offhand, and I'm not gonna

comb through the files to find it. You guys have

just been handed a big freebie." She pointed to the

file. "You can even keep it, okay?"

"Tax your memory," pressed Milo. "It's not like

it's a big deal--how many studs do you have in

your stable?"

"You'd be surprised," she said, stroking the marble

desktop. "Meeting adjourned."

102 Jonathan Kellerman

"Listen," he persisted, "you've been minimally

helpful but it doesn't make you Suzy Citizen. It's

hot outside, you've got great air conditioning in

here, a fantastic view. Why sweat it at the station,

waiting who knows how long for your lawyer to

show up?" He held out his hands, palms up, and

gave her a boyish grin. "Want to try again?"

The muddy eyes narrowed and her face turned

nastily porcine. She pressed a button and Leon

materialized.

"Who was the guy teamed up with that redhead,

Swope?"

"Doug," he said without hesitation.

"Last name," she snapped.

"Carmichael. Douglas Carmichael."

Turning to us: "Okay ?"

"The file." Milo held out his hand.

"Get it." She ordered and the Jamaican fetched.

"Let them look at it."

Milo took the folder from him and we walked to

the door.

"Hey, wait a minute!" she protested hoarsely.

"That's an active one. You can't take it!"

"I'll make a Xerox, mail you back the original."

She started to argue then stopped midsentence.

As we left I could hear her screaming at Leon.

8

ACCORDING TO his file, Doug Carmichael lived in

the upscale part of Venice, near the Marina. Milo

had me call him from a phone booth near Bundy

while he used the radio to find out if anything had

come in on the Swopes.

A phone machine answered at Carmichael's. Classical

guitar music played in the background while a

rich baritone said, "Hi, this is Doug," and strove to

convince me that receipt of my message was really

important for his emotional well-being. I waited for

the beep, told him it was really important to call

Detective Sturgis at West L.A. Division, and left

Milo's number.

I got back in the car and found Milo with his eyes

closed, head tilted back against the seat.

"Anything?" he asked.

"I got a machine."

"Figures. Zilch from this end, too. No Swopes

spotted from here to San Ysidro." He yawned and

growled and started up the Matador. "Moving right

103

104' Jonathan Kellerman

along," he mumbled, steering into the broth of westbound

traffic, "I haven't eaten since six. Early dinner

or late lunch, take your pick."

We were a couple of miles from the ocean but a

mild easterly wind was blowing and it wafted a

hint of brine our way. "How about fish?"

"Righto."

He drove to a tiny place on Ocean at the mouth

ofthe pier that resembles a thirties diner. Some

nights during the dinner hour it's hard to find a

parking space in the back lot among all the Rolls,

Mercedes, and Jags. They don't take reservations or

plastic, but people who know seafood are willing to

wait and don't mind paying with real money. At

lunch it's significantly more relaxed and we were

seated at a corner table immediately.

Milo drank two lemonades, which they squeeze

fresh and serve unsweetened, and I nursed a

Grolsch.

"Trying to cut down," he explained, holding up

his glass." Rick's been on my case, Preaching and

showing me slides of what it does to the liver."

"That's good. You were hitting it pretty hard for

a while. Maybe we'll have you around a little longer."

He grunted.

The waiter, a cheerful Hispanic, informed us that

there'd been a huge albacore run and a prime load

had come up from San Diego that morning. We

both ordered some and shortly were feasting on

huge grilled steaks of the white tuna, baked potatoes,

steamed zucchini, and chunks of sourdough

bread.

Milo devoured half his meal, took a long swallow

of lemonade, and gazed out the window. A chrome

sliver of ocean was visible above the rooftops of the

BLOOD TEST 105

ramshackle buildings that hid in the shadow of the

sagging pier.

"So how you been, pal ?" he asked.

"Not bad."

"What do you hear from Robin ?"

"I got a card a few days ago. The Ginza at night.

They're wining and dining her. Apparently it's the

first time they've entertained a woman that way.".

"WHat is it they're after, exactly?" he asked.

"She designed a guitar for Rockin' Billy Orleans

and he played it onstage in Madison Square Garden.

The music trades interviewed him after-, the

concert and he raved about the. instrument and the

fantastic female luthier who'd created it. The U.S.

rep for a Japanese conglomerate picked up on it

and sent it to his bosses. They decided it was worth

mass-producing as a Billy Orleans model and invited

her over there to talk about it."

'-'Maybe she'll end up supporting you, huh?"

"Maybe," I said glumly and signaled the waiter

for another beer.

"I see you're real overjoyed about it."

"I'm happy for her," I said quickly. "It's' the big

break she's been waiting for. It's..just that I miss

her like crazy, Milo. It's the longest we've been

apart and I've lost my taste for solitude."

"That all of it?" he asked, pickingup his fork.

I looked up sharply. "What else?"

"Well," he said, between mouthfuls, "I may be

totally off base here, Doctor, but it seems to me

that this Japanese thing puts a new perspective on

your--pardon the expression--relationship."

"How so ?"

"Like for the past couple of years, you've been

the one with the bread, right? She makes a living,

106 Jonathan Ket/ennan

but the. life the two of you've been leading--Maui,

theater tickets, that incredible garden--who pays

for it?"

"I don't get the point," I said, annoyed.

"The point is that despite your pretending it

ain't so, you guys have had a traditional setup. Now

she's got the chance to become a big shot and it

could all change."

"I can handle it."

"Sure you can. Forget I brought it up."

"Consider it forgotten." I looked down at my

plate. All of a sudden my appetite was gone. I

pushed the food away and fixed my gaze on a flock

of gulls raiding the pier for bait scraps. "You

insightful bastard," I said. "Sometimes you're

spooky."

He reached across the table and patted my shoulder.

"Hey, you're not a very subtle guy. Everything

registers on that lean and hungry face."

I rested my chin in my hands. "Things were

going along so nice and simple. She kept the studio

after she moved in, we prided ourselves on giving

each other room to move. Lately we'd started talking

marriage, babies. It was great, both of us moving

at the same pace, mutual decisions. Now," I

shrugged, "who knows?" I took a long swallow of

the Dutch brew. "I'll tell you, Milo, they don't

cover it in the psych books, but there's such a thing

as the paternal urge and at thirty-five I'm feel.ing

it."

"I know," he said. "I've felt it, too,"

My stare was involuntary.

"Don't look so surprised. Just because it's never

gonna happen doesn't mean I don't think about it."

"You never can tell. They're getting pretty liberal."

He loosened his belt

of bread. "Not that liberal."

Rick and I are not equiped for mothe

ever you wanna call it. Can't you just

shopping at Toys "}{" Us and Dr. Fastidi°Us'changing

diapers ?"

We shared a good laugh over that.

"Anyway," he said, "I didn't mean to bring up a

sore point, but it's something you're gonna have to

deal with. I did. For most of my life I .made my own

way. My parents didn't give me squat. I've been

working at one dodge or another since ele,en, Alex.

Paper routes, tutoring, picking pears, construction,

a little time out for the M.A., then Saigon and the

force. You don't get rich in Homicide, but a single

guy can get by nicely. I was lonely as hell but my

needs were met. After I met Rick and we started .

living together, it all changed. You remember my

old Fiat--piece of shit that it was. I never-dxove

anything but garbage and unmarkeds. Now we tool

around in that Porsche like a pair of coke dealers.

And the house--no way I could ever have had a

place like that on my salary. He goes shopping at

Carrols or Giorgio, picks me up a shirt or tie. I'm

not a--kept man, but-my lifestyle has changed. For

the better, but that hasn't-made it easy to accept.

Surgeons make more than cops, always have, always

will, and I've finally accommodated myself to

it. Makes you stop and think about what women go

through, huh?"'

"Yup.' I wondered if Robin had been faced with

the type of adjustment he'd described. Had there

been a struggle that I'd been too insensitive to notice?

"In the long run," he said, "it's better if both

parties feel like adults, don't you think?"

"What I think, Milo, is that you're an amazing

guy."

He hid his embarrassment behind the menu. "If I

remember correctly the ice cream is good, right?"

"Right,"

Over dessert he had me tell him more about

Woody Swope and childhood cancer. He was shocked,

like most people, that it was the second most

common cause of death in children; only accidents

kill more,

The mechanics of the Laminar Airflow rooms

particularly fascinated him and he asked .me detailed,

analytical questions until my fund of answers

was exhausted.

"Months in that plastic box," he said, troubled.

"And they don't freak out?"

"Not if it's handed right. You've got to orient

the child to time and space, encourage the family o

spend as much time there as possible. You sterilize

favorite toys and clothes and bring them in, provide

lots of stimulation. The key is to minimize the

difference between home and hospital--there's always

going to be some, but you can buffer it."

"Interesting. You know what I'm flashing on, don't

you ?"

"What's that?"

"AIDS. Same principle, right ? Lowered resistance

to infection."

"Similar but not identical," I said. "The laminar

airflow filters out bacteria and fungi in order to

protect the kids during treatment. But the loss of

immunity is temporary--after chemotherapy's over,

their systems rebound. AIDS is permanent and AIDS

victims have other problems--Kaposi's Sarcoma, vi-

BLOODTEST 109

ral infections. The modules might

a while, but not indefinitely."

"Yeah, but you gotta admit, it's a hell of an ira--age:

Santa Monica Boulevard lined with thousands

of plastic cubes, each one with some poor guy wast-

ing away inside. You cbuld charge admission, raise

enough money to find a cure."

He let out a hitter laugh.

"The wages of sin," he shook his head. "Enough

to make you a Puritan. I hear the horror Stories and

thank God I'm monogamous. Rick's been fielding a

lot'of shit from both sides. Last week a patient

came to the E.R. with a mangled arm--bar fightm

and g]ommed onto the fact that Rick was gay. Probably

a paranoid guess, because Rick doesn't exactly

swish, but he didn'-t deny it when this turkey demanded

to know if they were giving him a faggot

doctor. The guy refused to let Rick touch him,

screamed about AIDS--no matter that he's bleeding

all over the place. So Rick walked away. But

the rest of the docs were up to their elbows in

shit--Saturday night and they were wheeling 'em

in one after the other. It threw the whole system

out of whack. Everyone ended up getting pissed at

Rick. He was a goddamn leper for the rest of the

shift."

"Poor guy. '

"poor guy .s right. The man was top of his class,

chief resident at Stanford, and he's taking this kind

of crap? He came home in a dark mood. The hell of

it is, night before, he was telling me that working

with gay patients--especially the ones who came in

bleeding--was making him antsy. I did heavy-duty

therapy that night, Alex."

He spooned the last bit of ice cream into his

mouth.

"Heavy-duty," he repeated and brushed the hair

out of his eyes. "But hey, that's what love's all

about, right?"

MILO BEGGED off the case during the drive back to

the Sea Breeze Motel,

"I can't take it any further," he said apologetically.

"All we've got at this point is a missing persons

squeal, and that's stretching it."

"I know. Thanks for coming down."

"No big deal. It was a break from routine. Just so

happens I've got a particularly cruddy routine right

now. Gang shooting--two cholos blown away--liquor

store clerk ripped with a broken bottle, and, a real

sweethearta rapist who shits on his victims' abdomens

when he's through with them. We know he's

attacked at least seven women. The last one ended

up more than defiled."

'Jesus."

"Jesus won't forgive this creep." He frowned and

turned on Sawtelle toward Pico. "Each year I tell

myself I've witnessed the depths of depravity and

each year the scumbags out there prove me wrong

Maybe I should have taken the exam."

111

Fifteen months ago he and I had exposed a prominent

orphanage as a brothel catering to pedophiles,

solving a handful of murders in the process. He'd

been a hero and had been invited to take the lieutenant's

exam. There was no doubt he'd have passed,

because he's brilliant, and the brass had let him

know the city was ready for a gay loot as long as he

didn't flaunt it.H'e d debated it internally for a

long time before turning it down.

"No way, Milo. You would have been miserablel

Think back to what you told me."

"What's that?"

"l didn't give up Walt Whitman to push paper."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's right,"

Prior to his hitch in Vietnam, Milo had been

enrolled in the graduate program in American Lit

at Indiana U., contemplating life as a teacher, hoping

the academic world would be a setting where

his sexual preferences would be tolerated. He'd

gotten as far as an M.A. and then the war had

turned him into a policeman.

"Just imagine," I reminded him, "endless meetings

with desk jockeys, considering the political

implications of taking a leak, no contact with the

streets."

He held up a hand and feigned suffering.

"Enough, I'm gonna puke."

"Just a little aversive therapy."

He pulled the Matador into the motel lot. The

sky had darkened in anticipation of twilight and

the Sea Breeze benefited from it aesthetically. Take

away the sunlight and the place looked almost

habitable.

The office was brightly lit and the Iranian clerk

was visible behind the counter, reading. M y Seville

BLOOD TEST 113

was the lone occupant of the lot. The half-empty

pool looked like a crater.

Milo stopped the car and let the engine idle.

"You understand about my stepping out of this ?"

"Of course. No homicide, no homicide detective."

"They'll probably be back for the car. I had it

impounded so they'll have to check in to get it

back. They do, I'll call you and give you a chance to

talk to them. Even if theydon't show, we'll proba-

bly find out' they're back home, no harm done."

He realized what he'd said and grimaced.

"Shit. Where's my head? The kid."

"He could be all right. Maybe they've taken him

to another hospital." ! wanted to sound hopeful but

memories--the pain on Woody's face, the bloodstain

on the motel carpet--eroded my faith in a

happy ending.

"If they don't treat him that's it, right"

I nodded. '

He stared out the windshield. "That's one kind

of murder I've never dealt with."

Raoul had said the same thing in different words.

I told him so.

"And this Melendez-Lynch doesn't want to go

the legal route ?'

"He was trying to avoid it. It may end up in court

yet."

He gave his big head a shake and placed a hand

on my shoulder. "I'll keep my ears open. Anything

comes up I'll let you know."

"I'd appreciate it. And thanks for everything,

Milo."

"It was nothing. Literally." We shook hands "Sa

·

.

y

hello to the entrepreneur when she gets. back.'

"Will do. The best to Rick."

114

Jonathan Kellerman

I got out of the car. The Matador's headlights

striped the gravel as Milo swung out of the lot. The

truncated patter of the radio dispatcher created a

punk rock concerto that hung in the air after he

was gone.

I drove north to Sunset, planning to turn off at

Beverly Glen and head home. Then I remembered

that the house would be empty. Talking to Milo

about Robin had opened a few wounds and I didn't

want to be alone with my thoughts. I realized that

Raoul knew nothing about what we'd found at the

Sea Breeze, and decided now was as good a time as

any to tell him.

He was huhched over his desk scrawling notations

on the draft of a research paper. I knocked lightly

on the open door.

"Alex!" He rose to greet me. "How did it go? Did

you convince them ?"

I/ecounted what we'd found.

"Oh my God!" He slumped in his chair. "This is

unbelievable. Unbelievable.'! He exhaled, compressed

his jowls with his ha.ds, picked up a pencil and

rolled it up and down the surface of the desk.

"Was there much blood?"

"One stain about six inches wide."

"Not enough for a bleed-out," he muttered to

himself. "No other fluids? No bile, no vomitus?"

"I didn't see any. It was hard to tell.. The place

was a shambles."

"A barbaric rite, no doubt. I told you, Alex, they

are madmen, those damned Touchers! To steal a

child and then to run amok like that! Holism is

nothing more than a cover for anarchy and nihilismS"

He was jumping to conclusions in quantum leaps

: BLOOD TEST t 1.

but I had neither the desire'nor the energy to argue

with him. .

"The police, what did they do?" .

"The detective who ran the show is a friend of

mine. He came down as a favor. There's an All

Points Bulletin out On the family, the sheriff in La.

Vista has been notified to watch for them. They

did a crime scene analysis and filed a report. That's

it. Unless you decide to push it."

"Your friend--is he discreet?"

"Very."

"Good. We can't afford a media side show. Have

you ever talked to the press ? They are idiots, Alex,

and vultures! The blonds from the television stations

are the worst. Vapid, with paste-on smiles,

always trying to trick you into making outrageous

statements. Barely a week goes by that one of them

doesn't attempt to get me to say that the cure for

cancer is just around the corner. They want instant

information, immediate gratification. Can you imagine

what they'll do with something like this?"

He'd gone quickly from defeatism to rage and the

excess energy propelled him out of his chair. He

traversed the length of the office with short nervous

steps, pounding his fist into his hand, swerved

to avoid the piles of books and manuscripts, walked

back to the desk, and cursed in Spanish.

"Do you think l should go to court, Alex?"

"It's a tough question. You need to decide if going

public will help the boy. Have you done it before ?"

"Once. Last year we had a little girl who needed

transfusions. The family were Jehovah's Witnesses

and we had to get an injunction to give her blood.

But that was different. The parents weren't .fighting

us. Their attitude was, our beliefs don't allow

116 Jonathan Kelleroum

us to give you permission, but if We're forced

comply we will. They wanted to save their child,

Alex, and were happy when we took the responsibility

away from them. That child is alive today

and thriving. The Swope boy should be thriving,

too, not dying in the back room of some scabrous

voodoo den."

He thrust his hand into the pocket of his white

coat, removed a packet of saltine crackers, tore open

the plastic, and nibbled on the crackers until they

were consumed. After brushing crumbs out of his

mustache he continued.

"Even in the Witness case the media tried to

make a cause clbre of it, implying that we were

coercing the family. One of the stations sent around

a moron masquerading as a medical reporter to

interview me--probably one of those fellows who

wanted to be a doctor but flunked his science

courses. He swaggered in with a little tape recorder

and addressed me by my first name, Alex! As if we

were buddies! I dismissed him and he made the 'no

comment' sound like concealment of guilt. Fortu-

nately the parents took our advice and refused to

- talk to them, too. At that point the so-called controversy

died a quick death--no carrion, the vultures

go elsewhere."

The door leading to the lab opened and a young

woman clutching a clipboard entered the office.

She had light light brown hair cut in a page boy,

round eyes that uncannily matched the hair, pinched.

features, and a petulant mouth. The hand holding

the clipboard was pale, and her nails were gnawed

to the quick. She wore a lab coat that reached

below her knees and crepe-soled flats on her feet.'

She looked through me to Raoul' and said, "There's

something

lack of inflection in her voice

her message.

Raoul got up. "Is it the new membrane, Helen?"

'Yes."

"Wonderful." He looked as if he were going to

hug her then stopped suddenly, remembering my

presence. Clearing his throat, he introduced us:

"Alex, meet a fellow Ph.D., Dr. Helen Holroyd."

We exchanged the most cursory of pleasantries.

She edged closer to Raoul, a proprietary gleam in

the beige eyes. He fought, unsuccessfully, to erase

the naughty boy took from his face

The two of them were trying so hard to look

platonic that for the first time all day I felt like

smiling. They were sleeping together and it was

supposed to be a secret. Without a doubt everyone

in the department knew about it.

"I've got to get going," I said.

"Yes, I understand. Thank you for everything. I

may call you to discuss this further. In the meantime,

send your bill to my secretary."

As I walked out the door they were gazing into

each other's eyes and discussing the wonders of

osmotic equilibrium.

On the way out I stopped in the hospital cafeteria

for a cup of coffee. It was after seven and the

dining room was sparsely populated. A tall Mexican

man wearing a hair net and blue scrubs ran a

dry mop over the floor. A *trio of nurses laughed

and ate doughnuts. I lidded the coffee ar/d was

preparing to leave when movement fluttered in the

corner of my eye.

118

Jonathan Kellerman

It was Valcroix and he was waving me over. I

walked to his table.

"Care to join me?"

"All right." I put down my cup and took a chair

facing him. The remains of a giant salad sat on his

tray along with two glasses of water. He used his

fork to move a tumbleweed of alfalfa sprouts around

the bowl.

He'd traded his psychedelic sport shirt for a black

Grateful Dead T-shirt and had tossed his white

coat over the chair next to him. From up close I

could see that the long hair was thinning on top. He

needed a shave but his beard growth was sparse,

spotting only the mustache and chin areas. The

drooping face had been worked over by a bad cold;

he sniffled, red-nosed and bleary-eyed.

"Any news on the Swopes?" he asked.

I was tired of telling the story but he'd been their

doctor and deserved to know. I gave him a brief

summary.

He listened with equanimity, no emotion registering

in the hooded eyes. When I was finished he

coughed and dabbed at his nose with a napkin.

"For some reason I feel an urge to proclaim my

innocence to you," he said.

"That's hardly necessary," I assured him. I drank

some coffee and put it down quicklY, having forgotten

how awful it was.

His eyes took on a faraway look and for a moment

I thought he was meditating, retreating to an internal

world as he'd done during Raoul's harangue. I

found my attention wandering.

"I4mow Melendez-Lynch blames me for this. He's

blamed me for everything that's gone wrong in the

BLOODTEST . 119

department since I

that way when you worked

"Let's just say t took a while to develop

working relationship."

-

He nodded solemnly, picked some strands from

the ball of sprouts and chewed on them.

"Why do you think they ran away?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"No insights at all ?"

"None. Why should l'have, any more than anyone

else ?"

"I was under the impression they related well to

you."

"Who told you that?"

"Raoul."

"He wouldn't recognize relating if it bit him in

the ass."

"He felt you'd developed especially good rapport

with the mother."

His hands were scrubbed and pink. They tightened

around the salad fork.

"l was a nurse before I became a doctor," he said.

"Interesting."

"Is it?"

"Nurses are always complaining about their lack

of status and money and threatening to quit and go

to reed sc'hooi You're the first I've met who actuo

ally did it."

"Nurses gripe because their lot in life is shit. But

there are insights to be learned at the bottom of the

ladder. Like the value of talking to patients and

families. I did it as a nurse but now that I'm a doc

it makes me a deviate. What's pathetic is that it's

viewed as sufficiently deviant to be noticed. Bap-port?

Hell, no. I barely knew them. Sure I spoke to

120 Jonathan ellerman

the mother. I was sticking her son every day with

needles, puncturing his bone and sucking out mar-

row. How could I not speak to her ?

He gazed into the salad bowl.

"Melendez-Lynch can't understand that, my wanting

to come across as a human being instead of

some white-coated technocrat. He didn't bother to

get to know the Swopes but it doesn't occur to him

that his remoteness has anything to do with their--defection.

I extended my'self, so I'm the goat." He

sniffed, wiped his nose, and drained one of the

water glasses. "What's the use of dissecting it?

They're gone."

I remembered Milo's conjecture about the abandoned

car.

"They may be back," I said.

"Be serious, man. They see themselves as having-escaped

to freedom. No way."

"Freedom's going to sour pretty quickly when

the .disease gets out of control."

"The fact is," he said, "they hated everything

about this place. The noise, the lack of privacy,

even the sterility. You worked in Laminar Flow,

right?"

"Three years."

"Then you know the kind of food the kids in

there get--processed and overcooked and dead."

It was true. To a patient without normal immunity

a fresh fruit or vegetable is a potential medium

for lethal microbes, a glass of milk a breeding pond

for lactobacillus. Consequently, everything the kids

in the plastic rooms ate was processed to begin

with, then heated and sterilized, sometimes to the

point where no nutrients remained.

"We Understand the concept," he said, "but tots

of-parents have difficulty grasping

bly sick kid can have his fill of cola and potato

chips and all kinds of junk while carrots are out. It '

goes against the grain."

"I know," I said, "but most people accept it pretty

quickly because their child's life is at stake. Why

not the Swopes?"

"They're country 'folk. They come from a place

where the air is clean and people grow their own

food. They see the city as a poisonous place. The

father used to rail on about how bad the air was.

'You're breathing sewage' he'd tell me every time I

saw b, im. He had a thing for clean air and natural

foods. For how healthy it was back home.'-'

"Not healthy enough," I said.

"No, not healthy enough. How's that for a frontal.

assault on a belief system?" He gave a mournful

look. "Isn't there a term in psych for when it all

comes tumbling down like that ?"

"Cognitive dissonance."

"Whatever. Tell me," he leaned forward, "what

do people do when they're in that state?"

"Sometimes change their beliefs, sometimes distort

reality to fit those beliefs."

He leaned back, ran his hands through his hair

and smiled.

"Need'I say more.?"

I shook m y head and tried the coffee again. It had

gotten colder, but no better.

"I keep hearing about the father," I said: "The

mother sounds like his shadow."

"Far from it. If anything, she was the tougher of

the two. It's just'that she was quiet. She let him

run off at the mouth while she stayed with Woody,

doing what needed to be done."

122 Jonathan Kellerman

"Could she have been behind their leaving?"

"I don't know," he said. "All I'm saying is she

was a strong woman, not some cardboard cutout."

"What about the sister? Beverly said there was

no love lost between her and her parents."

"I wouldn't know about that. She wasn't around

much, kept to herself when she was."

He wiped his nose and stood.

"I don't like to gossip," he said. "I've indulged in

too much of it already."

He snatched up his white coat, flung it over his

shoulder, turned his back and left me sitting there.

I watched him walk away, lips moving, as if in

silent prayer.

It was after eight by the time I reached Beverly Glen.

My house sits atop an old bridle path forgotten by the

city. There are no streetlights and the road is serpentine

but I know every twist by heart and drove home

by Sense of touch. In the mailbox was a love letter

from Robin. I got high on it for a while but after

the fourth reading, a hazy sense of sadness set in.

It was too late to feed the koi so I took a hot bath,

toweled off, put on my ratty yellow robe, and carried

a brandy into the small library off the bedroom.

I finished writing a couple of overdue.forensic

reports then settled in an old chair and went through

the stack of books I'd promised myself to read.

The first volume I grabbed was a collection of

Diane Arbus photographs but the unforgiving portraits

of dwarfs, derelicts, and other walking wounded

made me more depressed. The next couple of

choices were no better so I went out on the deck

with my guitar, sat looking at the stars, and forced.

myself to play in a major key.

10

THE NEXT morning I went out on the terrace to get

the paper and saw it lying there, sluglike and bloated.

It was a dead rat. A crude noose of hemp had

been tied around its neck. Its lifeless eyes were

open and clouded, its fur matted and greasy. A pair

of disturbingly humanoid forepaws were frozen in

supplication. The half-open mouth revealed frontal

incisors the color of canned corn.

Underneath the corpse was a piece of paper. I

used the Times to push the rodent away--it resisted,

sticking, then slid like a puck to the edge of

the terrace.

It was straight out of an old gangster movie:

letters had been cut out of a magazine and pasted

up to read:

HERES TO YOU MONEYCHASER HEADSHRINK

I'd probably have figured it out anyway, but that

made it a cinch.

Sacrificing the classified section to the task, I

wrapped up the rat and carried it down to the

garbage. Then I went inside and got on the phone.

Mai Worthy's secretary had a secretary and I had

to be assertive with both of them to get through to

him.

Before I could speak he said, ".I know, I got one

too. What color was yours ?"

"Brownish gray, with a noose around its scrawny

little neck."

"Count yourself lucky. Mine came decapitated,

in a box. I almost lost a damn good mailgirl because

of it. She's still washing her hands. DaschofiVs was

ratburger."

He was trying to make light of it, but sounded

shaken.

"I knew the guy was a sicko," he said.

"How'd he find out where I live?"

"Your address on your resume?"

"Oh shit. What did the wife get?"

"Nothing. Does that make sense?"

"Forget making sense. What can we do about it?"

"I've already begun drafting a restraining order

keeping him a thousand yards from any of-us. But

to be honest, there's no way to prevent him. from

defying it. If he gets caught at it, that's another

story, but we don't want it to get that far, do we?"

"Not too comforting, Malcolm."

"That's democracy, my friend." He paused. "This

taped ?"

"Of course not."

"Just checking. There is another option, but it

would be too risky before the property settlement

has been completed."

LOOD TEST 125'

"What's that?"

"For fie hundred dollars I can have him sufficiently

damaged so he'll never be able to piss without

crying."

"Democracy, huh?"

He laughed.

"Free enterprise. Fee for service. Anyway, it's

just an option."

"Don't exercise it, Mai."

"Relax, Alex. Just theorizing."

"What about the police?"

"Forget it. We have no evidence it was him. 1

mean we both know it but there's no proof, right?

And they're not going to fingerprint a rat because

sending rodents to your loved ones is no felony.

Maybe," he laughed, "we could get Animal Regula-

tion on it: A stern lecture and a night at the pound?"

"Wouldn't they at least go out and talk to him?"

"Not with the workload they've got. If it had

been more explicit, something that constituted a

threat, maybe. 'Here's to You Motherfucking Shyster'

won't do, I'm afraid--the cops feel the same

way he does about lawyers. I'm going to file a report

just for the record, but don't count on help

from the blue guys."

"I know someone on the force."

"Metermaids don't carry much weight, fella."

"How about detectives?"

"That's different. Give him a call. You want 'me

to talk to him, I will."

'!I'll handle it."

"Great. Let me know how it goes. And Alex

sorry for the hassle." He sounded, eager to get off

the phone. At three and a half bucks a minute it

1 0 Jonathan Kellernur

doesn't pay to give it away free for any length of

time.

"One more thing, MM."

"What's that?"

"Call the judge. If she hasn't gotten a care package

yet, warn her she may."

"I've already called her bailiff. Scratch up a few

more brownie points for our side."

"Describe this asshole as precisely as you can,"

said Milo.

"My size almost exactly. Say five eleven, one

seventy-five. Raw-boned, muscles. Long face. a reddish

tan like construction workers get, busted nose,

big jaw. Wears Indian jewelry--two rings, one on

each hand. A scorpion and a snake. A couple of

tattoos on the left arm. Bad dresser."

"Eye color ?"

"Brown. Bloodshot. A binge drinker. Brown hair

combed back, greasy kid stuff."

"Sounds like a shitkicker.'

"Exactly."

"And this Bedabye Motel's where he lives?"

"As of a couple of days ago. He may be living in

his truck for all I know."

"I know a couple of guys in Foothill Division. If I

can get one of them in particular, to go down and

talk to this Moody, your troubles'Il be over. Guy

name .of Fordebrand. Has the worse breath you've

ever smelled. Five minutes of face to face with him

and the asshole will repent."

I laughed but my heart wasn't in it.

"He got to you, huh?"

"I've had better mornings."

BLOOD TEST

"If you're spooked and wanna stay at my place,

feel free."

"Thanks, but I'll be okay."

"If you change your mind, let me know. Meanwhile,

be-careful. He may be just an asshole and a

wiseguy, hut I don't have: to tell you about crazies.

Keep your eyes open, pal."

I spent most of the day doing mundane things

and appearing outwardly relaxed. But I was in what

I call my karate state--a heightened level of consciousness

typified by perceptual vigilance. The.

senses are finely tuned to a point, just short of

paranoia, where looking over one's shoulder at frequent

intervals seems perfectly normal.

To get that way I avoid alcohol and heavy foods,

do limbering exercises and practice katas---karate

dances--until exhausted. Then I relax-with a half

hour of self-hypnosis and auto-suggest hyperalert-ness.

I learned it from my martial arts instructor, a

Czech Jew named Jaroslav, who had honed his self-preservation

skills fleeing the Nazis. I sought his

advice during the first weeks after the Casa de Los

Ninos affair, when the wires in my. jaw made me

feel helpless and nightmares were frequent visitors.

The regimen he taught me had helped me

mend where it counted--in my head.

I was ready, I told myself, for anything Richard'

Moody had in store.

I was dressing to go out for dinner when the

service called.

"Good evening, Dr. D., it's Kathy."

"Hi, Kathy."

I A5 Jonathan Kellerman

".Sorry to bother you but I've got a.Beverly Lucas

on the line. She says it's an emergency."

"No pi?oblem. Put her on, please."

"Okay. Have a nice night, Doc."

"You too."

The phone hissed as the lines connected.

"Bev?"

"Alex? I've got to talk t'you.'

There.was loud music in the background--syn-thesized

drums, screa!lqing guitars, and a heart-

stopping bass. I could barely hear her.

"What's up ?'

"Can't talk about it here--using the bar phone;

Are you busy right now ?"

"No. Where are you calling from?"

"The Unicorn. In Westwood. Please. I need to

talk to you."

She sounded on edge but it was hard to tell with

all that noise. I knew the place, a combination bistro-discotheque

(bisco?) that catered to the upscale

singles crowd. Once Robin and I had stopped in for

a bite after a movie but had left quickly, finding

the ambience too nakedly predatory.

"I was just about to have dinner," I said. "Want

to meet somewhere?"

"How 'bout right here? I'll put my name down for

a table and it'll be ready when you get here."

Dinner at the Unicorn wasn't an appealing pros-pectmthe

noise level seemed likely to curdle the

gastric juices--but I told her I'd be there in fifteen

minutes.

Traffic in the Village was heavy and I was late

getting there. The Unicorn was a narcissist's paradise,

mirrored on every surface except the floor.

Hanging Boston ferns, half a dozen fake Tiffany

lamps, and some brass and wood

tossed in, but the mirrors were the essence of the

place.

To the right was a smallish-restaurant, twenty

tables draped with parrot green damask, to the left

a glassed-in disco where-couples boogied to a live

band, the glass shimmying with the backbeat. In

between was the lounge. Even the bar was covered

with reflective glass, its base a display of trendy

footwear.

The lounge was dim and packed with bodies. I

edged my way through the throng, surrounded by

laughing faces in triplicate, quadruplicate, unsure

what was real, what was illusion. The place was a

damned funhouse.

She was sitting at the bar next to a chesty guy in

abody shirt. He alternated between trying to make

time with her, guzzling light beer, and visually

trawling the crowd for a more hopeful prospect.

She nodded from time to time but was clearly

preoccupied.

I elbowed my way next to her, She was staring at

a tall glass half-filled with foamy pink liquid, lots

of candied fruit, and a paper, parasol. One hand

twirled the parasol.

"Alex." She wore a lemon-colored Danskin top

and matching satin jogging shorts. Her legs were

sheathed from ankle to knee with yellow and white

warmers that matched her running shoes. She had

on lots of makeup and plenty of jewelry--at-work

she'd always been conservative with both. A glittery

sweatband circled her forehead. "Thanks for

comin'." She leaned over and kissed me on the

mouth. Her lips were warm. Body Shirt got up and

left.

"Bet that table's ready," she said.

"Let's check." I took her arm and we-wedged

through waves of flesh. Plenty of male eyes followed

her exit but she didn't seem to notice.

There was a bit of confusion because she'd given

the maitre d' the name 'Luke' and hadn't told me,

but we got it straightened out and were Seated in a

corner able ander a colossal Creeping Charlie.

"Damn," she said, "left my zinger at the bar."

"How about some coffee ?"

She pouted.

"You think I'm drunk or somethin' ?"

She was talking clearly and moVing normally.

Only her eyes gave her away, as they focused and

unfocused in rapid succession.

I smiled and shrugged.

"Playing it safe, huh?" She laughed.

I called for the waiter and ordered coffee for

myself. She had a glass of white wine. It didn't

seem to affect her. She was main 'raining as only a

heavy drinker can.

A while later the waiter returned. She asked me

to order first while she scanned the menu. I kept it

simple, choosing .a small spinach salad and broiled

chicken, because trendy places usually have lousy

food and I wanted something they couldn't ruin too

easily.

She continued to study the menu as if it were a

textbook, then looked up brightly.

"I'll have an artichoke," she said.

"Hot or cold, ma'am?"

"Uh, cold."

The waiter wrote it down and looked at her expectantly.

When she didn't say anything .he asked

if that was all.

BLOOD TEST 131

"Uh huh."

He left, shaking his head.

"I eat artichokes a lot because when you run you

lose sodium and artichokes have lots of sodium."

"Uh huh."

"For dessert I'll have-something with bananas

because b&nanas are high in potassium. When you

up your sodium you have to up your potassium to

put your body in balance."

I'd always seen her as a level-headed young lady,

if a bit too hard on herself and prone to self-punishment.

The dizzy broad across the table Was a

stranger.

She talked about running marathons until the

food came. When the artichoke was set down before

her she stared at it and began picking delicately at

the leaves.

My food was unpalatable--the salad gritty, the

chicken arid. I played with it to avoid eating.

When she'd dismantled and polished off the artichoke

and seemed settled, I asked her what she

wanted to talk about.

"This is very difficult, Alex."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I feel like a--traitor."

"Against whom ?"

"Shit." She looked everywhere but at me. "It's pobably

not even important and I'm just shooting

offmy mouth for nothing but I keep.thinking about

Woody and wondering howbng it'll be before the

metastases start popping uI>--if they haven'l al-ready--and

I want to do something, to stop feeling

so .damned helpless."

I nodded and waited. She winced.

? -' : "'132 Jonat/um Kellermaa

"Augie Valcroix knew the couple from the Touch

who came to visit the Swopes," she said.

"How do you know ?"

"I saw him talking to them, calling them by name,

and I asked him about it. He said he visited the

place once, thought it was nice. Peaceful."

"Did he say why ?"

"Just that he was interested in alternative lifestyles.

I know that's true because in the past he'd

spoken of checking out other groups--Scientologists,

Lifespring, a Buddhist place in santa Barbara. He's

Canadian, thinks the whole California thing is

fascinating."

"Did you ever detect any collusion between

them?"

"None. Just that they knew each other."

"You said he used their names. Do you remember

them?"

"I think he called the guy Gary or Barry. I never

heard the woman's name. You don't really think

this was some sort of conspiracy, do you?"

"Who knows?"

She squirmed as if her clothes were too tight,

caught the waiter's eye; and ordered a banana liqueur.

She sipped it slowly 'trying to appear relaxed,

but she was jumpy and ill-at-ease.

She put the glass down with a furtive look in her

eyes.

"Is there anything else, Bev ?"

She nodded, embarrassed. When she spoke it was

barely a whisper.

"This is probafiy even less relevant but as long

as I'm blabbing I might as well spill it all out. Augie

and Nona Swope had a thing going. I'm not sure

when it started. Not too long ago because the lam-

ily was only in town a couple

died with her napkin. "God, I feel like such a

If it weren't for Woody I'd never have opened my

mouth."

"I know that."

"I wanted to tell your cop friend about it right

there, at the motel--he seemed nice enough--but I

just couldn't. Then I got to thinking about it later

and I couldn't let go of it. I mean, what if there was

a way to help that little boy and I let it go by ? But I

still didn't want to go to the police. I figured if I

told you, you'd know what t'o do with it."

"You did the right thing."

"I wish doing right didn't feel so wrong." Her

voice broke. "I wish I could be sure. that my telling

you has any meaning."

"All I can do is let Milo know. At this point he'S

not even convinced acrime's been committed. The

only one who seems sure of that is Raoul."

"He's always sure of everything," she said angrily.

"Ready to assess blame at the lrop of a hat.

He dumps on everyone but Augie's been his favor,

ite scapegoat since he got here."

She dug the nails of 'one hand into the palm 'of

the other. "And now I've made things worse for

· "Not necessarily. Milo may brush it off completely

or he may choose to talk to Valcroix. But he

doesn't care what Raoul thinks. No one's going to

get railroaded, Bev."

That was meager balm for her conscience.

"I still feel like a traitor. Augie's my friend."

"Look at it this way, if Valcroix's sleeping with

Nona had anything to do with this mess, you did a

good deed. If not, he can endure a. few questions.

It's not like the guy's a total innocent."

"What do you mean ?"

"The way I hear it he makes a habit of sleeping

with his patients' mothers. This time it was a sister,

for variety. At the very least it's unethical."

"That's so self-righteous," she snapped, turning

scarlet, "so damned judgmental!"

I started' to reply but before I knew what was

happening she got up from the table, grabbed her

purse, and ran out of the restaurant.

I pulled out my wallet, threw down a twenty and

went after her.

She was half-running, half-walking north on

Westwood Boulevard, swinging her arms like a foot

soldier, heading into the crush and commotion of

the Village at night.

I ran, caught up, and took her arm. Her face was

wet'with tears.

"What the bell's going on, Bev?"

She didn't answer but let me walk with her. The

Village seemed especially Felliniesque that evening,

litter-strewn Sidewalks clogged with street musicians,

grim-faced college students, squealing packs

of junior high kids wearing oversized clothes pocked

with highpriced holes, empty-eyed bikers, gawking

tourists from the exurbs, and assorted hangers-on.

We walked in silence all the way to the southern

edge of the UGLA campus. Inside the grounds of

the university the pandemonium and bright lights

died and were replaced by tree-shadowed darkness

and a silence so pure it was startling. Except for an

occasional passing car, we were alone.

A hundred yards into the campus I got 'her to

stop and sit on a bench at a shuttle stop. The buses

BLOOD TEST 135

had stopped running for thenight

near the stop had been turned off. She turned away

and buried her face in her hands.

"Bev--"

"lmust be going nuts," she mumbled, "running

out .like that."

I tried, to put my arm around her for comfort but

she jerked away.

"No, I'm okay. Let me spit it out, once and for

She sucked in her breath, bracing herself for an

ordeal.

"Augie and I were--involved. It started pretty

soon after he came to Western Peds. He seemed so

different from the men I'd been meeting. Sensitive,

adventurous. I thought it was serious. I allowed

myself the luxury of romance and it turned to shit.

When you talked about his sleeping around it brought

back all that shit,

"I was a fool, Alex, because he never promised

me anything, never lied 'to me or told me he was

anything other than what he was. It was me. I

chose to see him as some noble knight. Maybe he

came. along at a time when I was ready to believe

anything, I don't know. We slept together for six

months. Meanwhile he was making it with every

woman he could findmnurses, lady docs, mothers.

"I know what you're thinking. He's an unethical

creep. I dotbtI can convince you of this, but he's

not a bad man, just a weak one. He was always

loving and gentle. And open. When I confronted

him with the stories I was hearing he said sure, he

was giving pleasure and receiving:it in return. What

could be wrong' with that; especially with all the

WAn 'and suffe .'ring and death we had to deal with.

136

Jonathan Kellerman

He was so convincing I didn't stop seeing him even

then. It took me a long time to get my head straight.

"1 thought I'd gotten over it until a week ago

when I saw him with Nona. I was out on a date--a

fix-up, a real disaster---at an intimate little Mexican

place not far from the hospital. The two of

them were across the room, tucked away in a dark

little booth. I could barely see them. They were all

over each other. Drinking margaritas and laughing. Tongue-dueling, for God's sake. Like a couple of

reptiles."

She stopped, caught her breath.

"It hurt bad, Alex. She was so confident, so beaUtiful.

The jealousy went through me like a knife.

I'd never felt that kind of jealousy before--I was bleeding. Their eyes were horribly orange from the

candlelight. Two vampires. There I was, stuck with

some dull creep, dying for the evening to be over,

and they were just about fucking on the table. It

was obscene."

Her shoulders shook. She shivered and hugged

herself.

"So you can see why I was so torn about telling

anyone about it. I'd be seen as the woman scorned,

doing it out of spite. That's a degrading role and

I've been degraded enough for a lifetime."

Her eyes implored me to understand

"Everyone takes a bite out of me and I'm fucking

disappearing, Alex. I want to forget him, her, everyone.

But I can't. Because of that little boy."

This time she accepted my comfort and put her

head on my shoulder, her hand in mine.

"You've got to get some distance from it," I said,

"so you can start to see straight again. He may have

been gentle and 'honest,' in some perverse way but

he's no hero. The

best off without him. He's a druggie,

"Yes. How'd you know that?"

"

I decided not to cite Raoul's suspicions.

of his name would set her off. Besides, I had suspi- ·

cions of my own.

"I talked to him last night. He was sniffing the

whole time. At first it looked like a cold but later I

started wondering about coke."

"He's into coke pretty heavily. Grass and downers,

on the side. Sometimes speed when he's on

call. He talked about dropping acid in med school

but I don't' think he does that anymore. He does

booze, too: I started drinking heavilywhen I was

with him and kept it up ever since. I know I have

to stop."

I gave her a squeeze.

"You deserve a lot better, hon."

"It's nice to hear that," she said in a small voice.

"I'm saying it because it's true. You're intelligent,

you're attractive, and you have a good heart.

That's why you're hurting so badly. Get the hell

away from all the death and misery. It'll destroy

you. I know."

"Oh, Alex," she sobbed into my shoulder, "i'm so

cold."

I gave her my jacket. When the tears stopped I

walked her back to her car.

11

NEITHER THE Swopes' disappearance nor Richard'

Moody's rat fell under Mfio's jurisdiction, Out of

friendship he'd helped me with both and I was

reluctant to bother him so soon with the information

on Va]croix.

But what Beverly had told me the night before

was disturbing. As Raoul had claimed, the Cana

dian was unethical and a drurlk, and his familiarity

with the Touch visitors fleshed out the suspicion of

a conspiracy to remove Woody Swope from treatment.

I felt some obligation to let him know what

was going on, but I didn't look forward to it because

he was sure to flip out. Before the. pyrotechnics

began I wanted to consult a professional.

Milo, bless his soul, sounded genuinely glad to

hear from me.

"No sweat. Iwas gonna call you anyway. Forde-brand

went out to the Bedabye to breathe on Moody

but when he got there the asshole was gone. Left

behind a room full of bommit would have been a

139

battle of the stinkers--and candy wrappers. Foot-

hill will keep an eye out for him and I'll have the

boys here do the same, but be careful. Also, I got a

call back from that Carmichael character--the one

who messengered with the Swope girl. Normally I

might have just talked to him on the phone but this

guy sounded very uptight. Like he's sitting on some-

thing. He's also got a record--busted for prostitu-

tion a couple of years ago. So I'm gonna head out

an,dTld a 'face t° face' N°w what's °n y°ur mind?"'

's

go with you to Carmchael and tell you in

the car."

He absorbed the information on Valcroix while

speeding along the Santa Monic,F,,reeway

"What is he, some kind of stu ·

"Far from it. An old, ersatz hippie. Saggy face,

flabby body, kind of a slob really." , n

"No accounting for taste. Maybe he shu g like a

horse."

"I doubt the appeal's strictly physical. He's a

scavenger, Milo. Moves in on women when they're

under stress, plays Mr. Sensitive, gives them what

passes for love and understanding."

He put a finger to his nose and sniffed

"And a little blow, too?"

"Could be." -

'Tll tell you what, after we're finished with

Carmichael we'll head out to the hospital,and interview

him. I've got a little slack because the gang

thing resolved nicely--confessions all around. The

shooters were fourteen years old. They'll end up at

the Youth Authority. The liquor store cutting due

to close any day--Del Hardy's interviewing a snitch

who looks promising The main thing pending is

the stomach-shitter

on that."

He exited at Fcurth Avenue, headed'

Pico, took Pico to Pacific, and continued

ward into Venice. We passed Robin's studio, an

unmarked storefront with the windows painted

opaque white, but neither of us mentioned it. The

neighborhood changed from sleazy to slick as we

approached the Marina.

Doug Carmichael's house was on a walk-street

west of Pacific, half a block from the beach. It

resembled a landlocked cabin cruiser, all peaks and

portholes, narrow and high, and wedged into a lot

no wider than thirty feet. The exterior was teal

blue wood siding and white trim. Fish-scale shingles

graced the gablelike peak above the door. A

planter brimming with nail-polish pink geraniums

hung from the sill of the front window. A white

.picket fence ringed the dwarf lawn. The door was

inlaid with a stained-glass window. Everything

looked clean and well tended]

This close to the beach the place had to cost a

pretty piece of ch.ange.

11"

"Fulfilling fantasies must be paying we , I said.

·

7"

"Hasn't it always.

Milo rang the doorbell. It opened quickly and a

tall muscular man in a red-and-black plaid shirt,

faded jeans, and topsiders flashed us a smile satu-

rated with fear, introduced himself ("Hi, I'm Doug"),

and asked us in.

' He

bout my age. I'd been expecting someone

gras d was surprised. He had thick blond

youn a

hair, layered and blow-dried to look dashingly

mussed, a full but neatly trimmed reddish-blond

beard, sky blue eyes', artist's model features, and

the stomach-shitter. We're

on that,"

He exited at Furth-Avenue,

Pico, took Pico to Pacific, and continued

ward. into Venice. We passed Robin's studio, an

unmarked storefront with the WindOws painted

opaque white but neither of us mentioned it. The

neighborhood changed from sleazy to slick as we

approached the Marina.

Doug Carmichael's house was on a walk-street

west of Pacific, half a block from the beach. It

resembled a landlocked cabin cruiser, all peaks and

portholes, narrow and high, and wedged into a lot

no wider than thirty feet. The exterior was teal

blue wood siding and white trim. Fish-scale shingles

graced the gablelike peak above the door. A

planter brimming with nail-polish pink geraniums

hung from the sill of the front window. A white

picket fence ringed the dwarf lawn. The door was

inlaid with a stained-glass window. Everything

looked clean and well tended

This close to the beach the place had to cost a

petty piece of ch.ange.

"Fulfilling fantasies must be paying well," I said.

"Hasn't it always?"

Milo rang the doorbell. It opened quickly and a

tall muscular man in a red-and-black plaid shirt,

faded jeans, and topsiders flashed us a smile saturated

with fear, introduced himself ("Hi, I'm Doug"),

and asked us in.

He was about my age. I'd been expecting someone

younger and was surprised. He had thick blond

hair, layered and blow-dried to look dashingly

mussed, a full but neatly trimmed reddish-blond

beard, sky blue eyes', artist's model features, and

142 Jonathan Kelleman

poretess golden skin. An aging beachboy who'd preserved

well.

The interior walls of the house had been torn

down to create a thousand square feet of skylit

living space. The furniture was bleached wood, the

walls oyster white. The scent of lemon oil was in

the air. There were maritime lithographs, a saltwater

aquarium, a small but well-stocked kitchen, a

partially folded futon bed. Everything in its place,

neat as a pin.

In the center of the room was a sunken area

half-filled by a bottle green velvet modular couch.

We stepped down and sat. He offered us coffee

from a pot that had already been set out on the

table.

He poured three cups and sat across from us, still

smiling, still scared.

"Detective Sturgis " he looked from me to Milo

who identified himself with a nod--"over the phone

you said this had to do with Nona Swope."

"That's correct, Mr. CarmichaeL"

"I have to tell you at the outset, I'm afraid I

won't be of much help. I barely know her--"

"You messengered with her several times." Milo

pulled out his pencil and pad.

Carmichael laughed nervously. "Three, maybe four

times. She didn't stick around very long."

"Uh huh."

Carmichael drank coffee, put the cup down, and

cracked his knuckles. He had iron-pumper's arms,

each muscle defined in bas relief and roped with

veins.

"I don't know where she is," he said.

"No one said she was missing, Mr. Garmichael."

-"'Jan

about She said you took m3

"Does that bother you, Mr.

'eYes, it does. It's private and I

has to do with anything." He was trying to assert

himself but despite the muscles there was something

preternaturally meek and childish about him.

"Mr, Carmichael, you were pretty keyed up over

the phone and you're just as nervous inperson.

Want to tell us why?" Milo sat back-and crossed

his legs.

It's always pathetic when someone physically impressive

starts to fall apart, like watching a monument

crumble. I saw the look on the blond man's

face and wanted to be somewhere else.

"Tell us about it," said Milo.

"It's my own damned fault. Now I'm going to

pay." He got up, went into the kihen, and came

back with a bottle of pills.

"B-twelve. I need R when I'm stressed out." He

unscrewed the lid, shook out three capsules, swallowed,

and washed them down with coffee. "I

shouldn't 'be taking in so much caffeine but it calms

me down. Paradoxical reaction."

"What's on your mind, Doug?"

"My working at Adam and'Eve has been a a

secret. Until now. I knew all alon it was rfiky,

that I might run into someone who knew me. !

don't know, maybe that was part of the thrill."

"We're not interested in your private life. Just in

what you know about Nona Swope."

"But if it leads somewhere and ends up in court

I'm gonna be subpoenaed, right?"

"Could happen," admitted Milo, "but we're a

' long way from that. Right now we just want to find

144 Jonathan Kelhrrnm-

Nona and her parents so we can save a little boy's'

life." -.,-

The detective went on. in great detail about'

Woedy's lymphoma. He'd retained everything I told

him and was throwing it back in Carmichael's handsome

face. The biond man tried hard not to listen

but failed. He took all of it in, obviously pained. He

seemed a sensitive one and I found myself liking

him.

"Jesus. She told me she had a sick brother but

she never said how sick."

"What else did she tell you?"

"Not much. leally. She didn't say much about

anything. Talked about wanting to be an actress--the

usual delusional stuff you hear from most of

the girls. But she didn't seem depressed like you'd

expect with a brother that sick."

Milo changed the subject.

"What kind of gigs did you two do?"

Returning to the topic of his work made Car-michael

anxious ag 'aim He tangled his fingers together

and twisted. Knots rose on the heavy, ams.

"Maybe I should get an attorney before we go any

further."

"Stiit yourself," said Milo, pointing to the phone.

Carmichael sighed and shook his head. "No. That

would only complicate things even more. Listen, I

can give you some insights into Nona's personality

if that's what you're after."

"It would help."

"But that's all I've got: Insights, no' facts. How

about you forget where you got them from?"

"Doug," said Milo, "we know who your father is

and we know all about, the bust, so stop dancing

around, okay ?"

Carmichael looked like a

stable, ready to bolt despite

"Don't panic," said Milo. "We couldn'

about that stuff."

"I'm not some kind of pervert," Carmichael

insisted. "If you traced me that far back you know

how it happened."

"Sure. You were a dancer at Lancelot's. After the

show one of the ladies in the audience picked you

up. Sex for money was discussed and she busted

yOU."

"She entrapped me. The cunt!"

Lancelot's was a male stripper joint in west L.A.

catering to women who thought liberation meant

aping the crudest aspects of male behavior. The

club had long been the object of neighborhood complaints

and a couple of years 'back the police and

the fire inspectors had paid it lots of attention. A

harassment suit by the owner had ended that.

Milo shrugged. "Anyway, daddy got you off, the

file was closed, and you promised to behave yourself."

"Yeah," said Carmichael, bitterly: "End of story,

right? Only it wasn't that simple." The blue eyes

burned. "Dad commandeered my trust fund--money

left to me by my mom. It was illegal, I'm sure of it,

but the lawyer in charge of the trust is one of Dad's

California Club buddies and before I knew it the

old man had all of it under his control. And me by

the balls. It was like being a kid again, having to ask

permission for everything. He forced me to go to

school, said I had to make something of myself.

Christ, I'm thirty-six and I'm in junior college! If I

get good grades there'll be a place for me at Car-michael

Oil. What a crock. Nothing's gonna change

146

Jonathan Kellermaa

me into someone I'm not. What the hell does he

want from me?"

He looked at us beseechingly, wanting support.

My instinct was to give it to him but this wasn't

therapy. Milo let him cool down before he spoke.

"And if he finds out about your current job, kaput,

eh?"

"Shit." Carmichael stroked his beard. "I can't

help it. I like doing that kind of thing. God gave me

a great body and a great face and I get off on

sharing it with other people. It's like acting but

private, .so it's better, more intimate. When I used

to dance I could feel the women's eyes on me. I

played to them, treated them good. I wanted them

to cream right there. It felt so--loving."

"I told this to your boss and I'H tell it to you,"

said Milo, "we don't give a damn who fucks who in

this city. It only becomes a problem wheh people

get cut or shot or strangled in the process."

Carmichael didn't seem to have heard,

"'I mean it's not like I'm hooking or anything," he

insisted. "I don't need the moneymin a good week I

pull in six, maybe seven hundred bucks." He dismissed

that kind of money with a wave of his hand,

Operating from the distorted value system of one

born into wealth.

"Doug," said Milo, with authority in his voice,

"stop defending yourself and listen: we don't care

about what you do with your dick. Your file will

stay sealed. Just tell us about Nona."

The message finally got through. The look on

Carmichael's face was that of a child who'd reo

ceived an unexpected gift. I realized that I kept

thinking of him as a big kid because, except for the

manly outer husk, everything about him was child-

like-, immature. A classic case of arrested"

opment.

"She was a barracuda," he said. "You had to hold

her back or she got too aggressive. The last time wc

yorked together was a stag party for an older guy

who was getting married for the second time. A

bUnCh of middle-aged men, salesman types, in this

apartment in Canoga Park. They'd been drinking

hard and watching fuck films before we got there.

We were doing jock and cheerleader that nght. I

had on a football uniform and she was wearing a

jersey top, a little pleated skirt, and sneakers. Pompons,

her hair in pigtails, the works.

"Those guys were harmless old farts. Before.we

got there they'd probably been talking big, hooting

at the movies like guys do when they're 'nervous.

Then wc walked in,they saw her, and I thought a

few hearts were gonna give out. She wiggled at 'em,

batted her lashes, showed a lot of tongue. We had

the skit all planned out but she decided to ad lib.

The script says we do a little minor league fondling

while trading suggestive lineS--you know stuff like

I ask her how she'd like to be my wide receiver and

she says 'Do it again, we like it, we like it!' She was

a lousy actress, by the Way, rea] flat, no emotion.

But the audiences seemed to dig her--her looks

made up for it, I guess. Anyway, these old 'guys

were eating it up and she got toff on it. That's

probably what gave her the idea of getting really

outrageous.

'"AH of a sudden she reached into my pants,

grabbed my cock, did a bump and grind, started

jerking me off all the time gyrating at them. I

wanted to stop her--we're not supposed to go past

the ipt. unless we,re asked'to." He stopped, looked

14 Jomthan

uncomfortable. "And paid to. But I couldn't do it

because it would have ruined the skit and been a

downer for all those old guys.

."They were staring at her and she was groping

me and I was smiling through it ail. Then she-let

go and Waltzed over to the guy who was getting

- hitchedmpudgy little fellow with big eyeglasses--and

slipped her hand down his pants. Everything

got real quiet then. He was red as a beet but he

couldn't say anything cause it woulda made him

look like a wimp in front of his friends. He got a

sick look on his face, forced himself to smile. She

started tonguing his ear, kept yanking his chain.

The other guys started to laugh. To relieve their

tension. Soon they'were yelling out lewd comments.

Nona was high, like she was really getting off on

groping the poor sucker.

"Finally I was able to ease her away without it

looking like a hassle. We got out of there and I

yell.ed at her in the car. She looked at me like I was

nuts, said what was the matter, we got a big tip,

didn't we. I could see it was no use talking to her so

I gave up. We got on the freeway. I was driving fast

because I couldn't Wait to get away from her. Then

all of a sudden I felt her pulling at my zipper.

Before I know it, my cock is out and she's got it in

her mouth. We're going seventy and she's sucking

me off and telling me to admit it, I love it. I was

helpless, just praying the highway patrol wouldn't

pull us over--that would be my balls, right? I asked

her to stop but she had me and she wouldn't let go

until she finished me off."

"The next day I complained to Rainbo, insisted .I

wouldn't work with her anymore. She just laughed,

said Nona would be

out she'd left, just walked out."

Telling the story had made

cused himself, went to the bathroom,

back freshly combed and sprayed and-smelling of

aftershave. Milo started questioning before he sat

back down.

"And you have no idea where she went?"

Carmichael shook his head.

"She ever talk about anything personal ?"

"Nope. There was nothing personal about her.

She was all on the surface."

"No hint where she might be headed ?"

"She never even said where she came from. Like

I told you, we did three or four gigs, then she

split."

"How'd she connect with Adam and Eve?"

"No idea. Everyone gets into it differently. Rainbo

called me after she caught my act at Lancelot's.

Some find out by word of mouth. She runs ads in

the underground papers and skin mags. Gets more

applications than she wants."

"All right, Doug," said Milo, standing, "I hope

you've been straight with us."

"I really have, Detective. Please don't pull me

into this."

"I'll do the best I can."

We left. Back in the car Milo checked in with the

dispatcher. There were no important messages·

"So what's the diagnosis on Surfer Boy?" he asked.

"Off the cuff? Personality problems, probably

narcissistic."

"Which means ?"

"That he's got low self-esteem and it expresses

150

Jonathan Kellrman

itself in self-obsessionmm'uscles, vitamins, constant

attention paid to his body."

"Sounds like half of L.A.," hegrowled and turned

on the ignition. As we pulled away, Carmichael.

came out of his house in swim trunks carrying a

surfboard, a towel, and tanning lotion. He saw us,

smiled, waved, and headed toward the beach.

Milo parked in a no parking-zone near the entrance

to Western Peds. "I hate hospitals," he said,

as we boarded the elevator and rode up to the fifth

floor. It took a while to locate Valcroix. He was

examining a patient and we waited for him in a

small conference room off the ward.

He came in fifteen minutes later, gave me a disgusted

look, and told Milo to hurry, he was busy.

When the detective began talking, he made a show

of pulling out a medical chart, perusing it, and

writing notes.

Milo's a skilled interrogator but he struck out

with the Canadian. Valcroix continued to chart,

unflustered,as the detective confronted him with

knowing the Touch visitors and his affair with NOna

Swope.

"Are you through, Officer?"

"For the time being, Doctor."

"What am I supposed to do, defend myself?"

"You might start by explaining your role in the

disappearance."

"That will be quite simple. There is none."

"No collaboration between you and the couple

from the Touch?"

"Absolutely not. I visited them once. That's the

extent of it.".

"What Was the purpose of your visit?"

"Educational. I'm interested

ties."

"Did you learn much,'Doctor?'

Valcroix smiled.

"It was a peaceful place· They have no need for

policemen."

"What were the names of the people Wh.o visited

the Swopes ?"

"The man was called Baron, the woman, Delilah."

"Surnames ?"

"They don't use them."

"And you've only visited the Touch once or twice."

"Once."

"All. right. We'll be verifying that."

"Feel free."

Milo fixed him with a hard stare. The Fellow

smiled contemptuously.

"Did Nona Swope tell you anything that would

.lead us to her family's whereabouts?"

"We didn't talk much· We just fucked'

·de"

"Doctor, I suggest you rethink your attitu .

"Oh really?" The squinty eyes became hyphens.

"You interrupt my work to ask me stupid ques 'tions

about my personal life and expect me to have a

good attitude ?"

"In your case·personal and professiOnal seem

pretty enmeshed."

"How insightfax[ of you to notice."

"Is that all you have to say, Doctor?"

"What more would you like to hear? That I like

to fuck vomen? Ali right. I do. I crave it. I'm going

to fuck as many women as I can in this life and if

there's a life thereafter 'I hope it will provide an

endless chain ot: .warm, willing women so I can

152

onathan Keltennan

keep fucking. Last I heard, fucking was no crime,

or have they passed a new law in America?"

"Go back to work, Doctor."

Valcroix gathered his charts and left, dreamy-eyed.

"What an asshole," said Milo walking back to the

car. "I wouldn't let him near my hangnail."..There

was an illegal parking warning from Hospital Security

taped on the windshield. He ripped it off and

put it in his pocket. "I hope he's not typical of what

they're passing off as doctors nowadays."

"He's one of a kind. He won't last much longer

here."'

We headed west on Sunset.

"You going to check out his story?" I asked.

"I could ask the Touch people how well they

know him but if there is some kind of conspiracy

they'd lie. Best thing is to call the sheriff down

there and find out if the joker's been spotted more

than once. Small town like that the law tends to

notice things."

"I know someone who might be familiar with the

Touch. Want me to call him ?"

"Why not? Couldn't hurt."

He drove me home and stayed for a minute to

look at the koi. He was transfixed by the colorful

fish and smiled as they gobbled down the pellets he

tossed them. When he tore himself away to leare,

his big body seemed heavy and slow.

"Any longer, I'd stay here till my beard turned

white."

We shook hands, he gave a little salute, turned

and ambled off for another afternoon of witnessing

the human animal at its worst.

12

I PHONED Professor Seth Fiacre at UCLA. He's an

old classmate from grad school, a social psychologist

who'd been studying cults for several years.

"Hi, Alex," he said, cheerful as always, "just got

back from Sacramento. Senate hearings. Stultifying."

We reminisced and played catch-up and then I

told him why I'd called.

"The Touch? I'm surprised you've even heard of

them. They're not well-known and. they don't pros-'

elytize. They've got a place called the Retreat, used

to be a monastery, down near the Mexican border."

"What about the leader--Matthias?"

"Noble Matthias..He was a lawyer originally. Used

to call, himself Norman Matthews,"

"What kind of law did he practice?"

"I don't know. But it was high powered. Beverly

Hills."

Attorney to guru seemed an unlikely metamorphosis.

"Why the change of lifestyle?" I asked.

153

154

"I don't know, Alex, Most charismatic leaders

claim some sort of cosmic vision, usually after a

trauma. Your basic voice in the desert stuff. Maybe

he ran out of gas in the Mojave and saw God."

I laughed.

"I wish I could tell you more, Alex. The group

hasn't attracted much attention because it's so small,

maybe sixty members. And like I said, they're not

out looking for converts, so it'll probably stay small.

Whether or not that'll change if there's increased

attrition remains to be seen. They've only been

around for three or four years. Another thing that's

unusual is that most of their members are middle-aged.

Groups that recruit tend to go after young

people. In practical terms that means you don't

have parents screaming to the. cops or calling in the

deprogrammers."

"Are they into holistic health?"

"Probably. Most of these groups are. It's part of

rejecting the values of the greater society. But I

haven't heard about them obsessing on it, if that's

what you mean. I think their focus is more on

self-sustenance. Growing their own food, making

their own clothes. Like the original utopians--Oneida,

Ephrata, New Harmony. Can I ask why

you want to know all of this?"

I told him about the Swopes' decision not to treat

Woody and the family's subsequent disappearance.

"Does that sound like something this group could

be involved in, Seth?"

"It doesn't seem likely, because they're reclusive.

Taking on the medical establishment would subject

them to lots of scrutiny."

"They did visit the family," I reminded him.

"If they wanted to be subversive why do it so

publicly? You said the .family lived

treat ?"

"From what I understand."

"So maybe they were just being neighborly. In a

small town like La Vista there's bound to be plenty

of distrust of oddballs on the part of the natives. A

smart oddball makes a special effort to be friendly.

It's good survival strategy."

"Speaking of survival," I asked, "how do they

support themselves?"

'My guess is member contributions. On the other

hand, Matthews was a rich man. He could be bao. k-rolling

the whole 'thing-himself just for the power

and prestige. If they're really into self-reliance the

overhead wouldn't be that high."

"One more thing, Seth. Why do they call themselves

the Touch?"

He laughed. "Damned if I know. I .think I'll sic a

grad student on it."

Mai Worthy called me later that day.

"It appears that Mrs. Moody didn't get a rat

because she was des .tined for bigger and better

things. This morning she found a dog eviscerated,

hanging from the front doorknob by its entrails. He

castrated it too, stuffed the balls in its mouth."

Revulsion kept me silent.

"What a guy, hUh? On top of that he snuck in a

phone call, in defiance of the order, talked to the

boy and told him to run away. The kid obeyed and

it took seven hours to Fred him. They finally caught

up with him late last night, wandering around the

parking lot of some mall, ive miles from home.

Apparently he, thought his father was going to pick

him up and take him away. No one showed up and

156 Jonathan Ketlerman

he was scared out of his mind, poor kid. Needless

to say Darlene is going bananas, and I'm calling to

ask you to see the kids, More for their mental health

than anything else."

"Did they see the dog?"

'-Thank God, no. She cleaned it up before they

had.a chance. How soon can you see them ?"

"I won't have access to the office until Saturday.''

I'd been renting space for forensic evalUations

in the Brentwood suite of a colleague, but

only had use of the office on weekends..

"You can do it here. Just name the time."

"Can you get them down there in a couple of

hours?"

"You got it."

The offices of Trenton, Worthy. & La Rosa were

located on the penthouse floor of a high-prestige

building at the intersection of Roxbury and Wil-shire.

Mai, resplendent in a navy silk and worsted

from Bijan, was in the waiting room to greet me

personally. He informed me I'd be using his office.

I remembered it as a cavernous, dark-walled room

with an oversized amorphous desk that looked like

a piece of free-form sculpture, saw-toothed abstract

prints hanging from the paneling, and shelves full

of expensive--and breakable--mementos. Not an

ideal place for child therapy but it would have to

do.

I rearranged some chairs, moved an end table,

and created a play area in the center of the room.

Removing paper, pencils, crayons, hand puppets,

and a portable playhouse from my carrying case, I

placed them on the table. Then I went to fetch the

Moody children.

They were waiting in the law

Carlton Conley, and the children, who

dressed as if for church.'

. The three year old, April, wore a white taffeta

dress and white patent leather sandals over lace-hemmed

socks. Her blond hair had been ribboned

and braided. She nestled sleepily in her mother's

lap, worrying a knee scab and sucking her thumb.

Her brother'd been costumed in a white western

shirt, brown corduroy pants with the cuffs turned

up, a snap-on tie and black oxfords. His face had

been scrubbed, his dark hair slicked down in an

unsuccessful attempt to make it behave. He looked

as miserable in the getup as any nine year old

could. When he saw me he turned away.

"Now, Ricky, don't be rude to the doctor," admonished

his mother. "Say hello, nice and polite.

Hello, Doctor."

'.'Hello, Mrs. Moody."

The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and

scowled.

Conley got up from his seat next to her and shook

my hand, grinning awkwardly. The judge had been

right. Except for being significantly taller, he looked

strikingly like the man he'd replaced.

"Doctor," he said weakly.

"Hello, Mr. Conley.'.'

April stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled at me.

She'd been the easy one during the-evaluation, an

expressive, happy child. Because she was a girl her

father had chosen to ignore her and she'd been

spared his destructive love. Ricky was the favorRe;

he'd suffered for it.

"Hi, April."

158 Joaat/um Kel/ermaa

She batted her lashes lowered her face, and giggled,

a natural coquette.

"Remember the toys we played with last time?"

She nodded and giggled again.

"I have them here. Would you like to play with

them again?"

She looked at her mother, requesting permission.

"Go 'head, honey."

The little girl climbed down and took my hand.

"I'll see you in a while, Bicky," I said to the

sullen boy.

I spent twenty minutes with April mostly observing

as she manipulated the miniature inhabitants

of the playhouse. Her play was organized and

structured and relatively untroubled. Though she

enacted several episodes of parental conflict, she

was able to resolve them by having the father leave

and the family live happily ever after. For the most

part, hope and determination emanated from the

scenarios she constructed.

I drew her out about the situation at home and

found that she had an age-appropriate understanding

of what was going on. Daddy was angry at'

mommy, mommy was angry at daddy, so they

weren't going to live with each other anymore. She

knew it wasn't her fault or Ricky's and she liked

Carlton.

Everything was .consistent with what I'd learned

during the initial evaluation. At that time she'd

expressed little anxiety over her father's absence

and had seemed to be growing attached to Conley.

When I questioned her abott him now her face lit

up.

"Carlton's so nice, Docka Alek. He take me to da

zoo. We saw da diraffe. An da

widened with wonder, the rnemor

-She went on sin 'grog his praises and I

Judge Severe's cynical prophecy would be proved

wrong. I'd treated countless girls who'd suffered

tortured relationships with their fathers or no relationship

at all, and had witnessed the psychic damage

they'd incurred, grievously handicapped in the

relationship game. This little sweetheart deserved

better.

When I'd observed long enough to convince my-serf

she was functioning reasonably well, I took her

back. She stood on tippy toes and reached out tooth-

pick arms. ! bent ami she kissed my cheek.

"Bye, Docka Alek."

"Bye, honey. If you ever want to talk to me, tell

your mommy. She'll help yon call."

She said okay and crawled back to the pillowy

sanctuary of her mother's thighs.

Ricky'd moved to a far corner where he stood

alone, staring out the window. I walked over to him,

put my hand on his shoulder, and spoke softly so

only he could hear: "I know you're really madabout

having to do this."

He thrust out his lower lip, stiffened his neck,

-and crossed his arms across his chest. Darlene got

up, still holding April, and started to say someing

but I motioned her down.

"It must be real hard not to see your dad," I said.

He stood as straight as a Marine, trying hard to

look tough and grim.

"I heard you ran away."

No reply.

"That must have been a real adventure."

160 Jonathan Kellerman

The hint of a smile danced across his lips and

escaped.

"I knew you had strong legs, Ricky, but to go five

miles all by yourself. Whew!"

The smile returned, staying a little longer this

time.

"See anything interesting ?"

"Uh huh."

"Can you tell me about it?"

He looked back at the others.

"Not here," I assured him. "Let's go to another

room. We can draw and play like the last time.

Okay?!'

He frowned but followed me.

Mal's office amazed him and he circled the im-

mense room several times before settling down.

"Ever see a place like this ?'

"Uh huh. In a movie."

"Oh yeah? Which one?"

"It was about bad guys who were taking over the

world. They had an office with lasers and stuff. It

looked like this."

"Bad guy headquarters, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think Mr. Worthy's a bad guy?"

"My dad said he was."

"Did he tell you anyone else was a bad guy ?"

He looked uneasy.

"Like me? And Dr. Daschoff?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you understand why your father said that?"

"He's mad."

"That's right. He's really mad. Not because of

anything you or April did, but because he doesn't

want your mom and him to get divorced."

- "Yeah," the boy said

her damn fault!"

"The divorce?"

yea-h: She kicked him out and he even pid for

the house with his money!" '

I sat him down, took a chair opposite him, and

put my hands on his small shoulders as I spoke:

"RiCky, I'm sorry everything is so sad. I know

you want your mom and dad to get back together.

But that's not going to happen. Do you remember

how they used to fight all the time?"

"Yeah, but then they'd stop fighting.and be happy

to us."

"When that happened it was nice."

"Yup."

"But the fighting got worse and worse and there

wasn't much happiness left."

He shook his head.

"Divorce is terrible," I said. "Like everything's

falling apart."

He looked away.

"It's okay to be angry, Ricky. I'd be angry too, if

my parents were getting divorced. But it's not okay

to run away because you could get hurt that way;"

"My dad'll tare care ot m .

"Ricky, I know you love your dad very much.

You should. A dad is someone special. And a dad

should be able to be with his children, even after a

divorce. I hope some day your dad can see you a lot,

and take you places and do fun stuff with you. But

right now--and this is really sadwit's not a good

idea for him to spend a lot of time with you and

April. Do you understafid why.

"Cause he's sick?"

"Right. Do you know what kind of sickness?"

t62 Jonathan Kellerman

He ruminated on the question.

"He gets mad?"

"That's part of it. He gets real mad or real sad or

real happy all of a sudden. Sometimes without a

good reason. When he's real mad he could do mad

things that wouldn't be right, like fight with somebody.

That could be dangerous."

"Uh uh! He could beat'em up!"

"That's true, but it would be dangerous for the

person he beat up And you.or April could gethurt,

accidentally. Do you understand?"

A grudging nod.

"I'm not saying he'll always be sick. There are

'medicines he can take that can help. And talking to

doctor, s, like me, can help, too. But right now your

dad doesn't want to admit that he needs help. So

the judge said he couldn't see you until he got

better. That made him really mad and now he thinks

everyone is a bad guy trying to hurt him. But we're

really trying to help him. And to protect you."

He stared at me, stood, found the drawing paper,

and proceeded to construct a fleet of paper airplanes.

For the next quarter hour he waged a solitary

battle of epic proportions, destroying entire

cities, massacring thousands, stomping and shouting

and shredding paper until Mal's antique Saruk

was covered with confetti.

After that he drew for a while but wasn't happy

with any of his creations and tossed them, crumpled;

in the trash. I tried to -get him. to talk about

the runaway episode but he refused. I reiterated

'the danger and he listened, looking bored. When I

asked him if he'd do it again he shrugged.

I brought him back and took Darlene into the

office. She wore a pink pantsuit with a faint dia-

mond pattern and

piled high and. sprayed in place. She'd

of time on her

worn and scared. After seating herself she pulled a

handkerchief 'out of her purse and passed it from

hand to. hand, kneading and squeezing.

"This must be really hard on you," I said.

Tears oozed out'of her eyes. Up went the hand

kerchief.

"He's a crazy man, Doctor. He's been getting

crazier all along and now he won't let me go without

doing something really crazy,"

"How have the kids been doing?"

"April's a little clingy--you saw her out there.

She gets up a couple of times at night, wants to

come into our. bed. But she's a sweet thing. He's my

problemi just angry all the time, refusing to mind.

Yesterday he said the ef word to Carlton."

"What did Carlton do?"

"Told him he'd whip him if he did it again."

Great.

"It's not a good idea to et Carlton involved in

discipline at this point. Having him there is a big

adjustment for the kids in the. first Place. If you-tet

him take over they'll feel abandoned."

"But Doctor, he can't use language like that!"

"Then you need to handle it, Mrs. Moody. It, s

important for the children to know that yoU'rerthere

for them. That you're in charge."

';Okay," she said, without enthusiasTM, "Iqt try

it."

I knew she wouldn't comply. The word try was

the tipoff. In a couple of mont] she'd be wondering

why both children were ornery and miserable -and

impossible to manage.

164 Jot Kel/ermn

I did my job anyway, telling her that-both of the

children could benefit from professional help. April,

I explained, showed no serious problems but was

insecure. Therapy for her was likely to be short-term

and could reduce the-risk of more severe proly

lems in the future.

Bicky, on the other hand, was a troubled little

boy full of anger and likely to run away again. She

interrupted at that point to blame the running away

on the. boy's father and said that come to-think of it

he reminded her of his father.

"Mrs. Moody," I said, "Bicky needs the chance

to blow off steam on a regular basis."

"You know," she said, "Carlton andhim are starting

to get along better. Yesterday they were playing

catch in the backyard and having agreat time. I'

know Carlton's gonna be a good influence on him."

"Great. But that won't take the place of professional

help."

"Dtctor," she said, "I'm broke. Do you know how

much lawyers cost? Just being here today is draining

me dry."

"There are clinics that operate on a sliding scale

based on ability to pay. I'll give some numbers to

Mr. Worthy."

"Are they far? I don't drive freeways.."

'"I'll try to find one close to you, Mrs. Moody."

"Thank you doctor." She sighed, picked herself

up, and let me hold the door for her.

Watching her trudge down the hall like an old

woman it was easy to forget she was twenty-nine

years old.

I dictated my findings to Mal's secretary as she

typed silently on a court stenographer's machine.

When she left he brought out a .bottle of

Walker Black and poured us each a couple-of fia,.gers

"Thanks for coming by, Alex."

"No problem, but I don't know that. i( did any

good. She won't follow through."

"I'll see to it that she does. Tell her it's important

for the case."

We sipped Scotch.

"Incidentally," he said, "the judge hasn't gotten

any nasty surprises so far---apparently Moody's crazy

but not stupid. But she's mega-pissed about the

whole thing. She called the D.A. and ordered him

to get someone on it. He dumped it on Foothill

Division."

"Who said they'd been looking for him already."

"Right." He looked surprised. I told him about

Milo's call to Fordebrand.

"Very impressive, Alex. More?" He picked up

the bottle. I declined a refill. Good Scotch is hard

to resist but talking about Moody reminds me of

the importance of staying clear-headed.

"Anyway, Foothill claims to be looking for him

seriously but they think he's gone into Angeles

Crest."

"Wonderful."

Angeles Crest National Forest is 600,000 acres of

wilderness bordering the city to the north. The

Moodys had lived in nearby Sunland, and the forest

would be familiar territory to Richard, a natural

.place to escape. Much of the acreage was

impenetrable except on foot and a man could stay

lost there for as long as he pleased. It was a haven

for hikers, campers, naturalists, and climbers; as

well as for packs of outlaw bikers who partied all

166 Jonathan Kel/erman

night and sacked out in caves And its ravines and

washes were favorite dumping spots for bodies.'

Just before we'd scuffled in the court parking lot,

Moody'd talked about surviving in the wilderness,

,clearly including his children in the ,fantasy. I let

Mai know that.

He nodded .grimly.

"I've instructed Darlene to take the kids and get

out of town for a while. Her folks have a farm up

near Davis. They're leaving today."

"Won't he be able to figure that out?"

"If he comes out in the open. I'm hoping he

decides to play mountain man for a while."

He threw up his arms.

"It's the best I can do, Alex."

The conversation was taking an unsettling turn. I

got up to go and we shook hands. At the door I

asked him if he'd ever heard of a lawyer named

Norman Matthews.

"Stormin' Norman? That's a golden oldie. I went

up against him at least a dozen times. Biggest

ballbreaker in Beverly Hills,"

"He was a divorce lawyer?"

-"The best. Super-aggressive, had a reputation for

getting his clients what they wanted no matter who

he offended in the process. Handled lots of Hollywood

dissolutions with big bucks at stake and got to

thinking of himself as a star. Very image conscious--an

Excalibur and a Corniche, conspicuous clothes,

blonds on each arm, blew Downhill latakia through a

thousand-dollar meerschaum."

"He's a bit more spiritual nowadays."

"Yeah, I heard. Got a weird group down on the

border. Calls himself Grand Noble Poobah or something

like that."

BLOOD Test

"Noble Matthias. Why'd he leave law?"

He laughed uneasilY.

"You might say it left him. This was five or six

years ago. It was in the papers. I'm surprised you

don't remember. Matthews was representing the

wife of some playwright. The guy had just hit it

big--a smash on Broadway--after ten years of eating

air sandwiches. At that point the wife found

another loser to mother and filed. Matthews got her

everything--a huge chunk of royalties from the play

and a healthy percentage of everything the guy

would bring in for the next ten years. It was a

publicized case and there was a press conference

scheduled on the courtroom steps, Matthews and

the wife were headed there when hubby came out

of nowhere with a twenty-two. He shot them both

in the head. She died but Matthews squeaked by

after half a year of touch and go, Then he dropped

out of sight, resurfaced a couple of years later as a

maharishi. Your basic California story."

I thanked him. for the information and turned to

leave.

"Hey," he asked, "why the interest?"

"Nothing important. His name came up in conversation.''

"Stormin' Norman," he smiled. "Sanctification

through brain damage."'

13

THE NEXT morning, Milo knocked on my door and

woke me at six forty-five. The sky was alley-cat

gray. It had rained all night and the air smelled like

damp flannel. The glen harbored a relentless chill

that seeped into my bones the moment I opened the

door.

He wore a thin shiny black raincoat over a wrinkled

white shirt, a brown and blue tie, and brown

slacks. His chin was blued with stubble, his eyelids

weighted by fatigue. There was mud on. his brogues,

which he scraped off along the edge of the terrace

before coming in.

"We found two of the Swopes, the ,mother and

father, up in Benedict Canyon. Shot in the head

and back."

He talked rapidly without making eye contact

and walked past me into the kitchen. I followed

him and put up coffee. While it brewed I washed

my face in the kitchen sink and he chewed on a log

of French bread. Neither of us spoke until we'd sat

169

at t able and punished our gullets

with large swallows of scalding liquid.

"Some old character with a metal detector found

them a little after one a.m. He's a rich guy, a re-

tired dentist, has a bighouse off Benedict but likes

to roam around in the dark prospecting. His gizmo

picked up the coins in the father's pocketsthe

two of them weren't buried very deep. The rain

had washed away some of the dirt and he could see

part of a head in the moonlight. Poor fellow was

shaking."

He looked downward, dispiritedly.

"Another detective picked up the squeal but when

they identified the bodies he remembered my in-.

volvement and called me. He was scheduled or

vacation anyway and more than happy to hand it

over. I've .been there since three."

"No sign of Woody and Nona ?"

Milo shook his head.

"Nada. We combed the immediate area. The place

we found them is just before the road climbs

toward the Valley. Most of Benedict's pretty well

built up but there's a small gul/y on the west side

that the developers haven't gotten to. It's concave,

kind of like a saucer in the ground, covered with

-.brush and layered with about a foot of dead leaves.

Easy to miss if you drive by quickly 'cause it's blocked

from the road by big eucalyptus. We used the grid

approach, went over it foot by foot. Funny thing is,

we did dig up another body, but this one was. all

bones. From the shape of the pelvis, the M.E. says a

woman. Been there for at least a couple of years."

He was concentrating on details to avoid dealing

with the emotional impact of the murders. Taking

BLOOD TEST 171

a large gulp of coffee, he rubbed his eyes and

shivered.

"I'm soaked. Lemme peel out of this;"

He pulled off the raincoat and draped it over a

chair.

"Let's hear it for sunny goddamn California," he

snarled. "I feel like I've been marinating in a rice

paddy."'

"Want a warm shirt?"

"Nab:" He rubbed his hands together, drank more

coffee, and got up for a refill.

"Not a sign of the kids," he reiterated upon

turning to the table. "Several possibilities present

themselves: one, they weren't with the parents and

escaped what went down. When they got back to

the motel, they saw the blood and ran scared."

"Why wouldn't the family stick together if they

were returning home?" I asked.

"Maybe she took him for an ice cream. While the

parents packed."

"No way, Milo. He was too sick for that."

"Yeah, I keep forgetting that. Must be uncon-

scious repression, huh?"

"Must be."

"Okay, hypothesis two, then. They weren't to'

gether because the sister snatched the kid. You 'told

me Bev said she didn't like the parents. Could be it

came to a head."

"Anything Bev has to say about her needs to be

taken with a shaker of salt, Milo. Nona made it

with a man she once loved. Down deep she hates

the girl's guts."

"You told me yourself the kid was pissed the

time you met her, how she lit into Melendez-Lynch.

172 Joathaa Kt/maa·

And the picture we get of her after talking to Rambo

and Carmichael is one strange little girl."

"That's true. She sounds like she's got plenty of

problems.-But why would she abduct her brother?

All indications-are that she was self-centered, cut

off from family feelings. She and Woody didn't

have a close relationship. She rarely visited and

when she did it was at night when he was asleep.

Her not being there with the others makes sense.

But not the rest of it."

"Gee, you're fun to be with," said Milo. 'Tll call

you next time I need a yes man."

His face opened in a giant yawn. When he'd taken

in enough air he continued. "Everything you say is

logical, pal, but I've gotta touch all bases. I called

Houten in La Vista just before I came here. Woke

the poor devil up and told him to scour the town

for her and the kid. He was pretty broken up hearing'about

the parents, said he'd already searched

carefully the first time I asked, but agreed to do it

again."

"Including the Touch's plaee?"

"Especially there. Melendez-Lynch may have been

right from the beginning. Even if Houten comes up

empty they're sweet suspects I'm heading down

there today to Check them out. Especially the two

that visited the Swopes. A couple of my guys are

going to the hospital to interview anyone who took

care of the Swopes. With special emphasis on squeezing

that asshole Valcroix."

I told him about Seth Fiacre's assessment of the

Touch as a reclusive group that shunned the limelight

and tacked on Mal's account of the greening of

Norman Matthews.

"They don't' seek converts," I pointed Out. "They

seclude themselves.' What motivation would there

be for'them to get involved with outsiders?"

Milo seemed to ignore the question and expressed

Surprise at Noble Matthias's identity.

"Matthews is the guru? I always wondered what

happened to him. I remember the case. It went

down in Beverly Hills so we weren't involved. They

locked the husband up in Atascadero and six months

later he mixed himself a Draino cocktail." He smiled

mirthlessly. "We used to call'Matthews .the 'Shy

ster to the Stars.' What do you know?"

He yawned again and drank more coffee.

"Motivation?" he repeated. "Maybe they-thought

they'd convinced the parents to treat the kid their

way, there was a change of heart and things got out

of control."

"That's pretty far out of control," said.

"Don't forget what ! told you in the motel room.

About the world getting crazier and crazier. Besides,

maybe 'the cultists were camera-shy when

your professor friend studied them but not anymore.

Weirdos change, like anyone else. Jim Jones

was everyone's hero until he turned intO Idi Amin."

"It's a good point."

"Of course it is. I'm a pro-fesh-you-nole.'" He

laughed, a good warm' sound soon replaced by silence

made cold by unspoken words.

"There's another possibility," I said, finally.

"Now that you've mentioned it, yes." His green

eyes darkened with melancholia. "The kids are buried

somewhere else. Whoever did it got scared before

he could finish dumping them at Benedict and

took off. There are coyotes and all sorts of creepy

crawlies out there. You could see a pair of eyes and

easily get spooked."

174 tonathan I&llern

I'd been heartsick and numb since learning of the

killings, my attention vacillating between Milo's

words and the images they evoked. But now the

full impact of what he was saying slammed straight

into me and I mustered up a walt of denial to block

it out

"You're still going to look for him, aren't you?"

He looked up at the urgency in my voice.

"We're canvassing-Benedict from Sunset up into

the Valley, Alex, doing door-to-doors on .the chance

someone saw something. But it-was dark so an

eyewitness is unlikely. We're also going to cruise

the other canyonsMalibu, Topanga, Goldwater,

Laurel, right here in the Glen. About a thousand

man hours and unlikely to be productive."

I got back on the subject of the parents' murders

because grim as it was, it was preferable to fantasizing

about Woody's fate.

"Were they shot right there, in Benedict?" I asked.

"Not likely. There was no blood on the ground

and we couldn't find any spent shells. The rain

introduces a little uncertainty, but each of them

had half a dozen bullet holes. That much shooting

would make a lot of noise and there'd have to be

some shells left behind. They were killed somewhere

else, Alex, and then dumped. No footprints

or tiretracks, but that you can definitely put down

to the rain."

He ripped viciously at the French bread with

small, sharp teeth, and chewed noisily.

"More coffee ?" I offered.

"No thanks. My nerves are scraped raw as it is."

He leaned forward, thick, spatulate Fingers splayed

on the table. "Alex, I'm sorry. I know you cared

about the kid."

"It's like

not to think of b. im."

face floated into consciousness. A game

in a plastic room...

"When I saw the motel room I really thought-'

they'd gone home, that it was a family thing," he

was saying morosely. "From the looks of the bodies,

the M.E. guessed they were murdered a couple of

days ago. Probably not too long after the kid was

pulled out of the hospital.

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Milo," ! said, trying

to sound, supportive. "There was no way anyone

could have known."

"Bight. Let me use your john."

After he left I set about pulling myself togetherm

with meager success. My hands were unsteady and ·

my head buzzed. The last thing I needed Was to be

left alone with my helplessness and my anguish. I

searched for absolution through activity.-I'd have

gone to the hospital to tell Baoul about the murders

but Milo had asked me not to. I paced the room,

filled a cup with coffee,' tossed it down the sink,

snatched up the paper and turned to the movie

section. A revival house in Santa Monica was featuring

an early matinee, a documentary on William

Burroughs, which sounded sufciendy bizarre to

crowd out reality. Just as I was stepping out the

door Robin called from Japan.

"Hello, lover," s!e said.

"Hello, babe. I miss you."

"Miss you too, sweetie.'

I took the phone to the bed and sat down facing a

framed picture of the two of us. I remember the

day it had been taken. We'd gone to the arboretum

176 Jonathan lellerman

on a, Sunday in April and had asked a passing

octogenarian to do us the favor. Despite his trembling

hands, and protestation 'of ignorance about modern

cameras it had come out beautifully.

We held each other against a backdrop of royal

purple rhododendrons and snowy camelias. Robin

stood in front, her back to my chest, my arms around

her waist. She wore tight jeans and a white turtleneck

that showed off her curves. The sun had picked

up the auburn highlights in her hair, which .hung

long and curly, like coppery grapes. Her smile was

wide and open, the perfect teeth a crescent of white.

Her face was a valentine, her dark eyes liquid and

dancing.

She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. Hearing

the sound of her voice was sweetly painful.

"I bought you a silk kimono, Alex. Gray,blue, to

match your eyes."

"Cn't wait to see it. When are you coming home?"

"About another week, honey. They're tooling up

to actually manufacture a gross of instruments and

they want me here to inspect them."

"Sounds like things are going well."

"They are. But you sound distant. IS something

wrong?"

"No. Must be the connection."

"You sure, baby ?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. I miss you, that's all."

"You're mad at me, aren't you? For staying so

long."

"No. Really. It's important. You have to do it."

"It's not like I'm having, fun, you know. The first

couple of days they entertained me, but after the

amenities were over it was strictly business. De-

sign studios and factories

geishas to help me

'"Poor baby."

"You bet." She laughed.

it's a fascinating country. Very tense, very struc-

tured. Next time I go you have to come with me."

"Next time ?"

"Alex, they love my designs, ff the Billy Orleans

does well they're sure to want another. We could go

during cherry blossom time. You'd love it. They've

got beautiful gardens--lger versions of ours--in

the public parks. And I saw a koi almost five feet

long. Square watermelons, sushi brs you wouldn't

believe. It's incredible, hon."

"Sounds like it."

"Alex, what's wrong? And stop saying nothin, g.'

"Nothing."

"Come on. I was so lonely, sitting by myself in

this sterile hotel room, drinking tea and watching

'Kojak' with Japanese subtitles. I thought talking to

you wOUld help me feel alive again. But it' only

made me sadder."

'Tm sorry, babe. I love you and I'm really proud

of you. I'm trying really hard to be noble, to put my

needs aside. But as it turns out, I'm just another

selfish, sexist bastard, threatened by your success

and worried that it won't be the same."

"Alex, it'll always be the same. The most precious

tlZmg in my life is us. Didn't you once tell me

that al] the busy little things we do--career, achieve-ment--are

just trim around the edges? That what's

important is the intimacy we establish in our lifetime?

I bought it. I really believe that:t'

Her voice broke. I wanted to hold her near.

"What's this about square watermelons?' I said.

178 Jonatha/Ol

We laughed together and the next five minutes

were long-distance heaven.

She'd been traveling around the country but was

now settled in Tokyo and would be there until

returning to the States. I took down the address of

her hotel and her room number. Her travel plan

included an overnight stopover in Hawaii before

the final flight back to L.A.. The idea of my flying

to meet her in Honolulu and our spending a week

together on Kauai came up as a lark but ended up

as a serious possibility. She promised to call when

her departure date had been determined.

"Do you know what's been keeping me going?"

she giggled. "RememberLr$ that wedding we went

to last summer in Santa Barbara."

"The Biltmore, room three Ftfty-one?''

'Tm getting wet right now just thinking about

it."

"Stop or I'll be limping all day."

"That's good. You'll appreciate me."

"Believe me, I already do."

We prolonged the good-byes and then she was

gone.

I hadn't told her about my involvement with the

Swopes. We'd always had an open relationship and

I couldn't help feeling that holding back had been

an unfaithful act of sorts. Stiff, I rationalized, it

had been the right thing to do, because hearing

about such horror from so great a distance would

only have burdened her with intractable anxiety.

In an attempt to quell my guilt I spent a long

time on the phone with a histrionic florist, arranging

for a dozen coral roses to be sent halfway around

the world.

14

THE PERSON on the phone was female, agitated, and

vaguely familiar.

"Dr. Delaware, I need your help!"

I tried to place her. A patient 'from years back

reaching out in the throes of crisis? If so, not being

remembered would only compound her anxiety. I'd

fake it until I figured out who 'it was.

"What can I do for you ?" I said soothingly.

"It's RaouL He's gotten himself into terrible

trouble."

Bingo. Helen Holroyd. Her voice sounded different

when heated by emotion.

"What kind of trouble, Helen ?"

"He's in prison, down in La Vista!"

"I just spoke to him--they allowed him one call.

He sounds terrible! Heaven knows what they're

doing to him! A genius locked up like a common

criminal! Oh GOd!, please help!"

She was falling apart, which didn't surprise me.

179

180 Jmthm lllrrmm

Icy people often freeze themselves in order to hold

in check a volcanic stew of disturbing and conflic-tual

feelings. Emotional hibernation, if you will

Crack the ice and the stuff inside comes pouring

out with all the discipline of molten lava.

She was sobbing and began tohyperventilate.

"Calm down," I said. "We'll clear it up. But first

tell me how it happened."

It took a couple of minutes for her to regain

control.

"The police came to the lab late yesterday afternoon.

They told him about those people being killed.

I was there, working on the other side of the room.

Hearing about it didn't seem to affect him. He was

at the computer, typing in data, and he didn't stop

the entire time they were there. Just kept on working.

I knew something was wrong. It's not like him

to be that impassive. He had to be really upset.

When they were gone I tried to talk to him but he

shut me out. Then he left, just walked out of the

building without telling anyone where he was going."

"And drove to La Vista."

"Yes! He must have thought about it all night

and left early in the morning because he got there

by ten and had some kind of altercation with someone.

I'm not sure who, they wouldn't let us talk

long and he was so agitated he wasn't making much

sense. I called back and talked to the sheriff but he

said they were holding Raoul for the Los Angeles

police to question. He wouldn't tell me more, said I

was free to get a lawyer, and hung up. He was rude

and insensitive, talking about Raoul as ff he were a

criminal and my knowing him made me a criminal,

tOO."

She sniffled, remembering the indignity.

"It's all

know how to help him I thought of

Raoul said you had connections

Please tell me, what should I do?"

"Nothing for the time being. Let me make a few

calls and' get back to you. Where are you calling

from?"

"The lab."

"Don't go anywhere."

"I rarely do."

Milo wasn't available and the desk man at the

station wouldn't tell me where he was so I asked

for Delano Hardy, .my friend's occasional partner,

and. was connected to him after being put on hold

for ten minutes. Hardy is a dapper, balding black

man with an easy wit and a ready smile. His skill

with a rifle had once saved my life:

"Hey, Doc."

"Hi, Del. I need to talk to Milo. The guy at the

desk was all hush-hush. Isn't he back from La-Vista?"

"He's not back because he never went. Change of

plans. We've been working on a very hot case and a

big break came through yesterday."

"The stomach-shitter?"

"Yeah. We've got him cold and Milo and another

guy have been locked up with the prick all morning

playing good-cop, bad-cop."

"Congratulations on the bust. Could you give him-

a message to call me when he's free?"

"What's the trouble?"

I told him.

"Hold on. Lemme see if he's gonna break soon."

He returned to the phone moments later.

182 J' 'oUmn Kel/ers

"He said gige him another half hour: He'll call

yOU."

"Thanks a lot, Del."

"No sweat. By the way, I'm still diggin that

Strat."

Hardy was a fellow guitarist, a first-rate musi-

cian who gigged with an R & B group after hours.

I'd bought him a vintage Fender Stratocaster in

gratitude-for his marksmanship.

"Glad you're enjoying it; Let's jam again."

"Absolutely. Come by the club and bring your

axe. Gotta go now."

I called Helen and told her it would take time.

She sounded shaky so I talked her through it by

getting her to tell me about her work. When the

chill came back into her voice I knew she'd be okay.

At least for a while.

Milo called an hour later.

"Gan't talk long, Alex. We've got the asshole.

nailed. A Saudi Arabian student, related to the

royal family. It's gonna get hairy but I'll be danmed

if this one is gorma slither away on diplomatic

immunity."

"How'd you get him?"

"I wish I could say it was brilliant police work.

He attacked another woman and. she had mace in

her purse. Sprayed the fucker until he shrieked,

knee-dropped him, and called us. Little wisp of a

thing, too," he added, with admiration. "We found

articles belonging to the other victims in his apartment.

The guy s.hits his pants when he gets excited.

It's been a giggle interrogating him. Only

cheerful note is that his asshole lawyer has to Sit

there and smell it, too."

"Sounds like fun. Listen, ff you can't talk now--"

'It's'okay. I took a break. Gotta come up for air.

Del told me about the Cuban. I called Houten and

he told me what happened. Seems your friend is a

hothead. Drove into town this morning like Gary

Cooper before the big showdown. Barged in on-Houten,

demanded he arrest the Touch people for

the murder of the Swopes, and claimed the boy and

Nona were being held captive at their place. Houten

told him they'd already been questioned by him,

that I was planning to come down and do it again,

and that the premises had been thoroughly searched.

Melendez-Lynch wouldn't listen, got really abusive

and eventually Houten had to basically kick him

out. He got in his car and drove straight to the

Retreat."

I groaned. -

"Wait, it gets better. Apparently they have big

iron gates at the front entrance that they keep' locked.

Melendez-Lynch drove up and started screaming

for them to let him in. A couple of them came out'

to calm him down and it got physical. He absorbed

most of the damage. They went back in, he started

up his car and rammed the gate. At that point they

called Houten and he busted Melendez-Lynch for

disturbing the peace, malicious mischief, and .who

knows what else. Houten said the guy seemed like a

lunatic and he got to wondering if we'd be interested

in interviewing him. So he locked him up,

offered him an attorney, which he refused, and

gave him the proverbial one phone call."

"Unbelievable."

Milo laughed.

"Isn't it? Between him and Valcroix and the stories

Rick tells me, I'm losing What little faith I had

184 oaatha#/(el/ermaa

in modern medicine. I mean, these guys are not

confidence inspiring."

"Maybe the Swopes didn't think so either.'.'

"That's right. If they saw the kind. of flakiness

we've been uncovering I can understand them wanting

out."

"Not as far out as they got."

"Yeah. Once we're sure the Saudi's off the streets

their case will be my number one problem. But it's

going to have to wait awhile because if we don't

play close attention to Shitpants, he'll weasel out

and be back in Riyadh before we know it."

His .words chilled me. Human life meant a lot to

Milo, and if he thought Woody and Nona were alive

he'd find a way, Saudi or not, to pursue their case

aggressively.

I fought back my anger.

"When did you decide they were dead ?"

"What?--Jesus, Alex, stop-analyzing! I haven't

decided a goddamn thing. I've got platoons going

through the canyons, I check the APB's at least

two, three times a day. So, it's not like I'm sitting

on my ass. But the fact is I've got a suspect in

custody in one case and zilch on the other. Where

would you put your priorities?"

"Sorry. I was way out of line. It's 'just that it's

hard to think of that little boy as beyond hope."

"I know, pal.'! His tone softened. "I'm on the rag,

too. Too much time spent with blood and crud. Just

be careful you're not getting overinvolved. Ain."

Unconsciously, I fingered my jaw..

"Okay. Now what's the story with Raoul? I need

to tell his girlfriend something?'

"No story. I told Houten we didn't care if he let

him go. The guy may be whacko but right now he's

"-

185

not a suspect. Houten says

out of there.

lng since they locked him up,

him causing trouble the minute they let him out. If

you think you can keep him calm, l'il tell Houten t0

release him to your custody. Your being a shrink

would make it look better, too."

"I don't know," I said. "I've seen Baoul pull

tantrums but never like this."

p to you. unless the guy calms down and agrees

to talk to a lawyer or someone comes to get him, he

could be there for a while."

If wordgot out about Melendez-Lynch's incarcer- ·

ation, his professional reputation would be compromised.

I knew of no one close to him except Helen

Holroyd and she was definitely not up to the task

of dragging him away from La Vista.

ney re canng me back, Alex," Milo was saying,

"gotta hold my nose and jump into it."

"All right. Call the sheriff. Tell him I'll et down

there as soon as I can."

"What a nice guy. Bye."

I called Helen again and told her I'd secured the

release of the esteenled Dr. Melendez-Lynch. She

thanked me effusively and was starting to lapse

into tears before I cut her off. For her own good.

15

THE SEVlLLEglided onto the interstate shortly past

noon. The first half of the two-hour journey to La

Vista was a southward slice through the industrial

underbelly of California I sped past stockyards

and freight docks, mammoth auto .dealerships, grimy

warehouses, and factories belching effluvia' into a

sky obscured by billboards. I kept the windows

closed, the air conditioning on, and Flora Purina on

the tape deck.

At Irvine the terrain shifted, suddenly to endless

expanses of green--fields of rich, dark soil stitched

precisely with emerald rows of tomatoes, peppers,

strawberries, and Corn, spasmodically bathed by

Whirligig sprinklers. I opened the window and let

in the good stench of manure. A while later the

highway edged closer to the ocean and the fields

gave way to the affluent suburbs of OrangeCounty,

then thinned to miles of empty scrub enclosed by

barbed chain-link fence--government land, rumored

to harbor secret nuclear testing plants

187

188 Joahan ltlerman

Just past Oceanside, traffic going the other way

slowed to a crawl: the Border patrol had set up a

spot check for illegal aliens. Gray-uniformed officers

in Smoky the Bear hats peered into each vehi

cie, waving on the majority, pulling a few over for

closer scrutiny. The process had a ceremonial' look

to it, which was appropriate, for stemming the tide

of those yearning for the good life was as feasible as

capturing the rain in a thimble.

I exited a few miles later, heading east on a state

highway that slogged through blocks of fast-food

joints and self-serve gas stations before turning into

two-lane blacktop.

The road rose, climbing toward mountains veiled

by lavender mist. Twenty minutes out of the junction

and there wasn't another vehicle in sight. I

passed a granite quarry where mantislike machines

dipped into the earth and brought up piles of rocks

and dirt, a horse ranch, a field of grazing Holsteins,

then nothing. Dusty signs heralded the construction

of "luxury planned communities" and "town-homes,"

but apart from one abandoned projectmthe

- roofless remains of a warren of small houses cranmd

into a sun-baked gully--it was empty, silent land.

As the altitude increased the scenery grew lush.

Acres of eucalyptus-shaded citrus groves and a mile

of avocado preceded the appearance of La Vista.

The town sat in a valley at the foot of the mountains,

surrounded by forest, vaguely alpine. A wayward

glance and I would havemissed it.

The main drag was Orange Avenue and a good

part'of it was given over to a sprawling gravel yard

filled with somnolent threshers, tillers, bulldozers,

and tractors. A long, low, glass-fronted structure

occupied one end of the yard and a worn wooden

sign above the

and repair of farm equipment and

The street was quiet and ribbed

parking lines. Few of the s

those that were housed half-ton pickups and old

sedans. The posted speed limit was 15 m.p,h. I

decelerated and coasted past a dry-goods store, a

market, an eight-dollar-a-visit chiropractor ("no apo

pointment necessary"), a barbershop complete with

spinning pole, and a windowless tavern named

Erna's,

City Hall was a two-story square of pink cinder

block midway through the town. A concrete walkway

ran down the center of a well-tended lawn,

flanked by towering date palms, and leading to

brass double doors, propped open. Weathered brass

rods bearing Old Glory and the flag of California

jutted out above the entrance.

I parked in front of the building, stepped out into

the dry heat, and walked to the door. A plaque

commemorating La Vista's World War II dead and

dated 1947 was inlaid in the block at eye level, just

left of the doorpost. I stepped into an entry hall

containing a pair of slat-backed oak benches and

nothing else. I looked for a directory, saw none,

heard the sound of typing and walked toward it,

footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

There was a woman pecking at a Royal manual in

a stuffy room full of oak file cabinets. Both she and

her machine were of antique vintage. An electric

fan perched atop one of the files spun and blew,

causing the ends of the woman's hair to dance.

I cleared my throat. She looked up with alarm,

then smiled, and I asked her where the sherift%

190 ]o,zdum. Kellerman

office could be found. 'She directed me to a rear

stairwell leading to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs was a' tiny courtroom that

looked as if R hadn't been used in a long time. The

word SHERIFF had' been painted in glossy black on

lime green plaster. Underneath it, was an arrow

pointing 5o the right.

La Vista law enforcement was headquartered in

a small dark room containing two wooden desks, an

unmanned switchboard, and a silent teletype mao

chine. A map of the county covered one wall Wanted

posters and a well-stocked gun rack rounded out

the decor. At the center of the rear wall was a

metal door with a four inch wire-glass window.

The beige-uniformed man at one of the desks

looked too young to be a peace officermpink chipmUnk

cheeks and guileless hazel eyes under brown

bangs. But he was the only one there and the

nametag over his breast pocket said Deputy W.

Bragdon. He was reading a farm journal and when I

entered, looked up and gave me a cop's stare: wary,

analytic, and inherently distrustful.

"I'm Dr. Delaware, come to pick up Dr. Melen-dez-Lynh."

W. Bragdou stood, hitched up his holster, and

disappeared through the metal door. He returned

with a man in his fifties who could have stepped

off a Remington canvas.

He was short and bowqegged, but broad shouldered

and rock-solid, and he walked with a hint of a

bantam swagger. His razor-creased trousers were 'of

the same tan material as. the deputy's uniform, his

shirt green plaid and pearl buttoned. A crisp, wide-brimmed.

Stetson rested squarely atop his long head.

The suggestion of vanity was conCarmed by his tail-

· BLOOD TEST

191

oring: the shirt and slacks had been tapered to hug

a trim physique.

The hair under the hat was dun and cropped

close 'to narrow temples. His facial features were

prominent and somewhat avian. A'thick gray han-

dlebar mustache flared under a strong beakish nose.

I was drawn to his hands, which were unusually

thick and large. One rested on the butt of a long-barreled

Colt.45 nestling in a hand-tooled holster,

the other extended in a handshake.

"Doctor," said'a deep mellow voice, "Sheriff Ray°

mond.Hou{en." His grip was solid but he didn't

exert pressur-e--a man well aware of his own

strength.

He turned to Bragdon. "Walt." The baby-faced

deputy looked' me over once more and returned to

his desk.

"Come on in, Doctor."

On the other side of the tin mesh window were

ten feet of corridor. To the left was a bolted metal

door, to the right his office, high-ceilinged, sunlit,

and redolent of tobacco.

He sat behind an old desk and motioned me to a

scarred leather armchair. Removing his hati he

tossed it on a rack fashioned from elk antlers.

Pulling Out a pack of Chesterfields, he offered

me one and when I declined, lit up, leaned back,

and looked out the window. A large bay window

afforded a view of Orange Avenue and his eyes

followed the path of a semi hauling a load of produce.

He waited until the big truck had rumbled

out of sight before speaking.

"You're a psychiatrist ?'

"Psychologist."

192

Jonathan Kellerman

He held the cigarette between thumb and 'forefinger

and inhaled.

"And you're here as Dr. Lyneh's friend, not in a

professional capacity."

His tone implied the latter would have been more

than appropriate.

"That's correct."

"I'll take you to see him in just a minute. But I

want to prepare you. He looks like he fell into a

combine. We didn't do it."

"I understand. Detective Sturgis said he started

a, fight with members of the Touch and came out

the worse for it."

Houten's mouth twisted under his mustache.

"That about sums it up. From what I understand

Dr. Lynch is a prominent man," he said skeptically.

"l-e's an internationally renowned expert on children's

cancer."

Another look out the window. I noticed a diploma

hanging on the wall behind the desk. He'd

earned a bachelor's degree in criminology from one

of the state colleges.

"Cancer." He mouthed the word softly. "My wife

had. it. Ten years ago. It ate her up like some wild

animal before it killed her. The doctors wouldn't

tell us anything. Hid behind their jargon till the

end."

His smile was fr.fghtful.

"Still," he said, "I don't recall any of them quite

like Dr. Lynch."

"He's one ora kind, Sheriff."

"Seems to have a temper problem. What is he,

Guatemalan?"

"Cuban."

"Same thing. The latino temperament."

"What

edge he's never been in

"I know that, Doctor. We rar

computer. That's one reason 1

nient and let him go with just a fine. I've

to hold him over for quite a while--trespassing,

assault, malicious mischief, interfering with an officer.

Not to mention the damage he did to' their

gate with his car. But the circuit judge doesn!t get

up this way until winter and we'd have to

to San Diego. It would be complicated."

"I appreciate your leniency and I'll write a check

for. any damages."

He nodded, put out his cigarette, and got on the

phone.

"Walt, write up Dr. Lynch's fines and include

the estimate on the gate... No need, Dr. Delaware

will come by and pay for it." A glance in my direction.

"'Take his check, he looks like an honest man."

When he hung up he said, "It's going to be a

sizable sum. The man created lots of problems."

"He must have been traumatized hearing about

the Swope murders."

"We were all traumat/zed, Doctor. Nineteen hundred

and seven people live in this town, not count-lng

migrants. Everyone knows everyone. Yesterday

we flew the flag at half mast. When little Woody

got sick it was a kick in the gut for all of us. Now

The sun had changed position and it flooded the

office. Houten squinted. His eyes disappeared in a

thatch of crow's feet.

"Dr. Lynch seems to have gotten it into his head

that the children are here, over in the Retreat," he

aidexpectantly: I gt the feelingtwas-be'rog tested

and turned it back on him.

"And you feel that's out ofthe question."

"You bet. Those Touch people are--unusual--but

they're not criminals. When folks found out who

bought the old monastery, there was one hell Of an

uproar. I was supposed to play Wyatt Earp and run

'em out of town." He smiled .sleepily. "Farmers

don't always grasp the finer points of due process,

so I had to do a bit of educating.' The day they

drove into town and actually moved in, it was a

circus, everyone gawking and pointing.

"That very day I went over and had a chat with

Mr. Matthias, gave him a sociology lesson. Told

him they'd do best to keep a low p'ofile, patronize

local businesses, make timely contributions to the

church auxiliary."

It was precisely the strategy Seth Fiacre had

described.

"They've been here three years, without a traffic

ticket. Folks have grown used to them. I drop in on

them when I please, so that everyone knows there's

no witchcraft brewing behind those gates. They're

just as strange as the day they moved in. But that's

all. Strange, not criminal. If felonie were being

committed, I'd know about it."

"Any chance Woody and Nona could be somewhere

else around here?"

,H,,e lit up again?nd regarded me coldly..

Those children were raised here. They played

in the fields and explored the dirt roads and never

fell into harm's way. One trip to your big city and

all that's changed. A small town is like a family,

doctor. We don't murder each other, or kidnap each

other's young."

him that families ar

lence is brewed. But I.,

"There's one more thing I Want

that you can pass it along to Dr. Lynch." He

and stood in front of the window. "This is

giant TV screen. The show is called La Vista. Some

days it's a soap opera, other times a comedy. Once

ina while there's action and adventure. No matter

what's on, I watch it every day."

"Iunderstand.''

"I thought you would, Doctor."

He retrieved his hat and put it on.

"Let's go see how the renowned expert is doing."

The bolt on the metal door responded noisily to

Houten's key. On the other side were three cells in

a row. I thought of the Laminar Airflow rooms. The

jail was hot and humid, and it stank of body odor

and solitude.

"He's in the last one," said Houten.

I followed his bootsteps down the windowless

passageway.

Raoul was sitting on a metal bench bolted to the

wall, staring at the floor. His cell was seven feet

square and contained a bed, also bolted down and

covered by a thin stained mattress, a lidless toilet,

and a zinc washbasin. From the smell of things the

toilet wasn't in peak condition.

Houten unlocked the door and we walked in.

Baoul looked up with one eye. The other was

blackened and-swollen shut. A crust of dried blood

had formed under his left ear. His lip was split and

the color of raw steak:: Several buttons were missing

from his white silk shirt,, which hung open,

196 Jonatha/(el ./erman

exposing his soft hairy chest. There was a blue-black

bruise along his ribcage. A shirtsleevhad

been ripped at the seam and it dangled vestigially.

His belt, tie, and shoelaces-had-been taken from

him and I found the sight of his alligator shoes,

caked with dirt, the tongue protruding, especially

pathetic.

Houten saw my expression and said, "We wanted

to clean him up but he started fussing so we let it

Raoul muttered something in Spanish. Houten

looked at me, his expression that of a parent faced

with a tantruming child.

"You can go now, Dr. Lynch," he said. "Dr. Delaware

will drive you home. You can have your car

towed back to Los Angeles at your expense, or leave

it here to ! fixed. Zack Piersall knows foreign

ca--"

'Tm not going anywhere," snapped Baoul.

"Dr. Lynch--"

"It's Melendez-Lynch, and your deliberate failure

to remember that doesn't intimidate me. I'm not

leaving until the truth comes out."

"Doctor, you're in a lot of trouble, potentially:

I'm letting you go with fines in order to simpli

things for all of us. I'm sure you've been under a lot

of strain--"

"DOn't patronize me, Sheriff. And stop covering

for those murderous quacks!"

"Raoul--" I said.

"No, Alex, you dreamt understand. These people-are

close-minded imbeciles. The tree of knowledge

could sprout on their dorstep and they wouldn't

pick the fruit."

Houten moved his

cud of patience.

"I want you out of my town;" he Said softly.

"I won't go," Raoul insisted, gripping the bench'

with both hands to demonstrate his intransigence.

"Sheriff," I said, "let me speak to him alone."

Houten shrugged, left the cell, and locked me in.

He walked away, and after the metal dOor closed

behind him I turned to Raoul.

"What the hell's the matter with you!"

"Don't lecture me, Alex." He stood and shook a

fist in my face.

I stepped back instinctively. He stared at

upraised hand, dropped it to his side and mumbled

an apology. Collapsing as if he'd been fileted, hesat

back down.

"What in the world possessed you to conduct a

one-man invasion of this place?" 1 asked him.

"I know they're in there," he panted. "Behind

those gates. I can feel

"You turned the Volvo into an assault tank because

of feelings? Remember when you called intuition

'just another form of soft-headed hocus-pocus'?"

"This is different. They wouldn't let .me in. If

that's not proof they're hiding something I don't

know what it is!" He punched his palm with his

fist. "I'll get in there somehow and tear that place

apart until I find him."

"That's crazy. What is it about the Swopes that's

turned you into a damned COwboy ?"

He covered his face with his hands.

I sat down next to him and put my arm around

his shoulder. He was soaked with sweat.

"Come on, let's get out of here," I urged.

"Alex," he said hoarsely, his breath sour and

198

Jonathan Kdlerman

strong, "oncology is a specialty-for those who are

willing to learn how to lose graciously. Not' to love

failure or accept it, but to suffer with dignity, as a

patient must. Did you know that I was first in my

medical school class ?"

"I'm not surprised."

"I had my pick of residencies. Many oncologists

are .the cream of medicine. And yet we confront

failure each day of our lives." -

He pushed himself up and walked to the bars,

running his hands up and down the ragged and

rusty cylinders.

"Failure," he repeated. "But the victories are

uncommonly sweet. The salvage and reconstruc-

tion of a life. What could create greater illusions of

. omnipotence, eh, Alex ?"

"There'll be many more victories," I assured him.

"You know that better than anyone. Remember the

speech you used to give at fund raisers--the slide

show with all those pictures of cured kids? Let this

one go."

He swiveled around and faced me, eyes blazing.

"As far as I'm Concerned that boy is alive. Until I

see his corpse I won't believeotherwise.''

I tried to speak but he cut me off.

"I didn't go into this field because of mawkish

sentimentality-no favorite cousin died of leukemia,

no grandpapa wasted away- of carcinoma. I

became an oncologist because medicine is the sci-ence--and

the art--of fighting death. And cancer is

death. From the first time, as a medical student,

when I viewed those monstrous, primitive, ew/t ceils

under the microscope, I was seized with that truism.

And I knew what my life's-work would be."

Beads of perspiration had collected on his high

dark forehead. The

roamed the cell.

"I won't give up," he said,

"Only the conquest of death, my friend, allows a

glimpse of immortality."

He Was unreachable, caught up in his own fi'antic

vision of the world. Obsessive and quixotic and

denying what was most probable: Woody and Nona

were dead, buried somewhere in the shifting mulch

beneath the city.

"Let the police handle it, Raoul. My friend's due

to come down here soon. He'll check everything

Out."

"The police," he spat. "A lot of good they've

been. Bureaucratic pencil pushers. Mediocre minds

of hmited vision. e that stupid cowboy out there.

Why aren't they here fight now---every day is crucial

for that little boy. They don't care, Alex. To

them he's just another statistic. But not to mci"

He folded his arms in ront of him, as if warding

off the indignity of confiinement, unaware of his

derelict appearance.

I'd long thought that a surfeit of sensitivity could

be a killing thing, too much insight malignant-in its

own right. The best survivors--there are studies

that show it---are those blessed with an inordinate

ability to deny. And keep on marching.

Raoul would mrch till he dropped.

I'd always considered him a touch manic. Perhaps

as manic at the core as Richard Moody, but

more generously endowed intellectually so that the

excess energy was channeled honorably. For the

good of society.

Now, tdo many failures had converged upon him:

the Swopes' rejection of treatment, which, because

helived .his work, was seon as a rejection of him, an

atheismof the worst sort. The abduction of his

Patient--hurniliation and loss of control. And now,

death; the ultimate insult.

Failure had. made him irrational.

I couldn't leave him there but didn't know how

.to get him out.

Before either of us could speak, the gound of

approaching footsteps punctuated the silence. Hou-

ten peered into the cell, keys in hand.

"Ready, gentlemen ?"

"I've had no luck, Sheriff."

The news deepened the worry lines around his

eyes.

ou re choosing to stay with us, Dr. Melendez-

Lynch?"

"Until I've found my patient."

"Your patient isn't here."

"I don't believe that."

Houten's mouth tightened and his eyebrows lowered.

"I'd like you out of there, Dr. Delaware."

He turned a key, held the door barely open and

kept a watchful eye on Raoul as I slipped through.

"Good-bye, Alex,"-sald the oncologist with a martyr's

solemnity.

Houten spoke to him in clipped cadence.

"If you think Prison is fun, sir, you're going to

'learn different. I promise you that. In the mean-

time, I'm getting you a lawyer."

"I refuse legal services."

"I'm getting you one anyway, Doctor. Whatever

happens to you is going to be by the book."

He turned on his heel-and stomped away.

As we left the jail I caught a last glimpse of

Raoul behind the bars. There Wasn't any good reason

for me to feel unfaithful, but I did.

16

HOUTEN MADE a phone call out of earshot, Ten

minutes later a man in shirtsleeves showed up and

the sheriff came forward to greet him.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Ezra."

"Pleased to help, Shei'iff." The man's voice was

soft, modulated, and even.

He looked to be in his late forties, medium-sized

but sparely built, with a scholar's stoop, Everything

about him was compact and neat. The smallish

head was covered with thin salt-and-pepper

hair combed straight back. The ears were elfin and

close set. His facial features were regular but too

delicate to be handsome. His short-sleeved white

shirt was spotless and, despite the heat, free of

wrinkles. His khaki trousers seemed freshly laundered.

He wore rimless octagonal eyeglasses and

carried a clil>-on case for them in his breast pocket.

He looked like a man who r/ever perspired.

I stood up and he appraised me mildly.

"Ezra," said Houten, "this is Dr. Delaware, a

201

202- Jmuu/um Kel/erm

Psychologist rom Los Angeles. Cune all the way

down to take back the one I told You about. Doctor,

meet Mr. Ezra Maimon, the best lawyer in town."

The neat man laughed gently.

"The Sheris engaging in a bit of hyperbole," he

said and held out a thin callused hand., "I'm the

only attorney in La Vista, and the cases I usually

work with are made of wood'."

"Ezra owns a rare fxuit nursery just out of town,"

explained Houten. "Claims he's retired but we still

get him to do a bit of lawyering from time to time."

"Wills and small estates are comparatively simple

matters," said Maimon. "If this turns into criminal

defense you'll have to bring in a specialisti"

"That's all right,,' Houten twirled one of his mustaches.

'"This is no criminal case. Yet. Just a little

problem, like I told you over the phone.''.

Maimon nodded.

"Tell mfi the details," he said.

He listened quietly and impassively, turning once

or twice to smile at me. When Houten was through,

the attorney placed a finger to his lips and gazed

up at the ceiling, as if doing mental arithraetic.

After a minu etetetetetetetetetgof silent contemplation he said,

"Let me see my client."

He spent half an hour in the cell. I tried to kill

the time by reading a magazine for highway patrolmen

until I found that it specialized in4graphic

photoessays of fatal road wrecks accompanied by

'detailed descriptions of the vehicular horrors. I

couldn't imagine why those who witnessed such

carnage as part of their daily routine would be

attracted to a photographic reprise. Perhaps it provided

distance--the true solace of the voyeur. ! put

the magazine aside and

watching W. Bragdon read

while he picked at his cuticles..

,Finally a buzzer rang.

"Go in and get him, Walt," ordered Houten.

Bragdon said yessir, left, and came back with

Maimon.

-"I think," said the attorney, "we may be able to

reach a compromise."

"Run it by me, Ezra."

The three of us sat around one of the desks.

"Dr. Melendez-Lynch is a very intelligent man,"

said Maimon. "Perhaps overly persistent. But not,

in my opinion, at all malicious."

"He's a pain in the butt, Ezra."

"He's been a little overzealous in his attempts at

fulfilling his medical obligations: But, as we all

know, Woody's deathly ill. Dr. Melendez-Lynch feels

he has the means to cure him and he sees himself

as trying to save a life."

Maimon spoke with quiet authority. He could

have acted as Houten's mouthpiece but instead

seemed to be. functioning as a true advocate. I didn't

think it was for my benefit and I was impressed.

Houten's face darkened with anger.

"The boy's not here. You know that as well as I

"My client is an empiricist. He wants to see .that

for himself."

"No way is he going near that place, Ezra."

"I agree with you. That would be inviting trouble.

However he did agree to Dr. Delaware's conducting

a search of the Retreat. Promised to pay

his fines and leave without a fuss if the good doctor

finds nothing suspcou .

It was a simple solution. Bur neither Houten nor

I had come up with it. He, because his appetite for

concession wasn't hearty in the first place and he'd

already had his fill. And I!d been too overwhelmed

by Raoul's fanaticism to think straight.

The sheriff digested it.

"I can't force Matthias to open the place up."

"Of course not. He has every right to refuse. If he

does we'll reapproach the problem."

An eminently logical man.

Houten turned his attention to me.

"What about it? You up for it?"

"Sure. Whatever works."

Houten went into his office and returned saying

Matthias had okayed the visit. Maimon had another

talk with Baoul, buzzed, was retrieved by Bragdon

and left, telling the sheriff to call him if he was

needed. Houten put on his hat and absently touched

the butt of his Colt. He and I climbed down the

stairs and out of the building. We got into a white

E1 Camino decaled on the door with the sheriffs

star. He gunned the engine, which sounded supercharged,

and turned right in front of city hall.

The roadforked a half mile out of town. Houten

headed right, driving quickly and smoothly, accelerating

around turns that would have given a

stranger pause. The road narrowed and grew dim

in the shadows of bordering conifers. The El

Camino's tires churned up dust as it sped past. A

jackrabbit in our path froze, quivered, and bounded

into the shelter of the tall trees.

Houten managed to pull out a Chesterfield and

light it without reducing speed. He drove another

twO mileS, sucking in smoke and surveying the eoun-

tryside with a cot

rise he turned abruptly, drove a 1

braked to a stop in front of a pair of black:

arched iron gates.

The entrance to the Retreat was unlabeled as

such. Prickly mounds of cactus squatted at the

outer edges of both gates. A tide'of electric pink

bougainvillaea flowed over one of the adobe gateposts.

A single climbing rosebush awash with scarlet

blooms and studded with thorns embraced the

other. He turned off the engine and we were greeted

by silence. And all around, the deep, secretive green

of the forest

Houten stubbed out his cigarette, dismounted the

truck, and strode up to the entrance. There was a

large columnar lockbox affixed to one gate, but when. ·

he pushed the iron door, it swung open.

"They like it quieC' he said. "We'll walk from

here."

An unpaved path lined with smooth brown stones

and meticulously barbered beds of succulents had

been excised from the forest. It climbed and. we

moved briskly,-the pace set by Houten. He hiked

rather than walked, muscles swelling through the

tautness of his slacks, arms swinging by his sides,

military fashion. California jays squawked and

fussed. Large fuzzy bees nuzzled up to the labia of

wildflowers. The air smelled meadow-fresh,

The sun bore down relentlessly on the unshaded

path. MY thr6at was dry and I felt the sweat trickle

down my back. Houten seemed as crisp as ever.

Ten minutes of walking brought us-to the top of the

road.

"That's it,'" said Houten. He stopped to pull out

another cigarette and light it in 'the shelter ofcupped

gazed down at the

I saw perfection and it ved me.

The Retreat still looked Like a monastery, with

its towering cathedral and high walls. An assortment

of smaller buildings sat behind the walls and

fi..ated

a me of courtyards. A large wooden crux

topped the belfry of the churChtoWer, a rand

burned into the azure flanks of the sky The front

windows were leaded and supported by wooden

balconies. The roofs and the tops of the walls were

layered with red clay tile. The walls were fresh

.vanilla stucco splashed dove white where the sun

hit. A great deal of care had been taken to preserve

the intricate moldings and borders scored into the

stucco.

A running brook circled the compound like a

moat. Above it floated an arched viaduct that bled

into a brick pathway at the point where solid ground

reasserted itself. The path was hooded by a stone

arbor caressed by tendrils o pounds grape vine, ruby clusters

o pounds fruit ponderous amid the green leaves.

To the front of the compound was a small patch

of lawn shaded by ancient gnarled oaks. The big

twisted trees danced like witches around a foun

tain that spat into an enormous stone, urn. Beyond

the huildingswere acres o pounds armland. I-made out

corn, cucumbers, groves o pounds citrus and OLive, a sheep

APasturehandfulando pounds vineyardS,whitegarbedbUt there was plenty more.

figures worlted the land.

Heavy machinery buzzed wasplike in the distance.

"Pretty, isn't it?" asked Houten resuming, the

hike.

"Beautiful. Like out-of another time."

He nodded. "When I was a kid I used to c 'hmb

around the hi/ts, try to geta peek. at the monks--they

WOre heavy brown obes nO matter how' hotit

got. Never talked to anyone 'or had mything to do

With folks in town. The gates were always locked."

"Must have been nice growing up here.,

"Why's that?"

I shrugged.

"The open air, the freedom."

"Freedom, huh?"His smile was abrupt and bitter.

"Farming is just another word for bondage."

His jaw set and he kicked at a rock with sdden

changedsavagery, the I'd subject, hit some kind of nerve and quickly

'/When did the monks leave?"

He sucked on his cigarette before answering.

"Seven years ago. The land went fallow. Scrub

and brambles. Couple corporations thought of buy?

it--executive resort and all that--but all of m

backed out. The buildings weren't suited to

rooms like cells, no heat, looked like a church any

way you cut it. The cost of renovation would have

been t '

"But perfect for the Touch."

He shrugged.

"Something for everyone in this world."

The front door was rounded at the top, a slab of

stout boards braced by wide iron bands. Inside was

a three-story white-walled entrance floored with

Mexican pavers and skylit from above. A stoear of

color reflected from the stainedg/aSs windovs

rainbowed the tiles. The spicy aroma of,incense

suggested itself. The air was cool, almost to the

point of refrigeration.

A woman in her sixties sat at a wooden table in

front of a pair of oversized doors that were rounded

"I can't help you. They were private peoP/e. As

are we. We barely knew them.. There were brief

encounters-passing each other on the road, per-

functory smiles. Once or twice we purchased seeds

from them. In the summer of our first season the

girl worked for us as-a scullery 'maid."

"Temporary job ?"

"Correct. In the beginning we were not yet self

sufficient hnd we hired severa/of the lOCa/young-

sters to help. Her duties were in the kitchen, as I

fecal/; Scrubbing, scouring, readying the ovens for

use."

"How was she as a worker?"

A smile vented the

"We

cotton-candy beard.

are rather ascetic by contemporary standards.

Most young 'people would not be attracted to that."

Houten broke in. "Noua was--is a live one. Not a

bad kid, just a little on the wild side."

The message was e/ear: she'd been a problem, I

remembered Carmichael's storyabout the stag party.

That kind of spontaneity could wreak havoc in a

p/ace that prized discipline. She'd probably come

on-to theafien. But if that had anything to do with

the issue at hand I couldn't see it.

Anything else you could te//me that might help ?"

He s-tared at me, His gaze was intense, a/most

tangible. It was hard

"I'm

not to look away.

afraid riot."

Houten shifted restlessly in his chair, Nicotine

fidgets. His hand went up. to his cigarette pocket

then stopped.

'T.m go/ma take some air/' he said and wa/ked

out. Matthias didn't seem to notice his exit,

'BD TEST 211

"You didn't know the family well," I went on.

"Yet two of your people visited, them at the hospital.

I'm not doubting your word but it's a question

you're bound to be asked again."

He sighed.

"We had business in Los Angeles. Baron and

Delilah were assigned to handle it. We felt it would

be gracious for them to visit the Swopes. They

brought the family fresh fruit from our orchards."

"Not," I smiled, "for medicinal purposes."

"No," he said, amused. "For nourishment. And

le

"

p asure.

"So this was a social call."

"In a sense."

"What do you mean ?'

ere not sociable. We don't malte small talk.

Visiting them as an act of good wilt, not part of

some nefarious scheme. No attempt was made to

interfere with the child's medical care. I've notified

Baron and Delilah to join .us momentarily so

you'll have a chance to obtain additional details."

"I appreciate that."

A vein throbbed in the center of the crater in his

brow. He held out his hands as if to ask, What next?

The remote look on his face reminded me of someone

else. The association triggered my next question.

-here s a doctor who treated Woody by e

of August Valcroix. He told me he visited here. Do

you remember him ?"

He twirled the ends of his beard around one long

mger.

"Once or twice a year we offer seminars on or-

gallic gardening and meditatiorl. Not to proselytise,

but to enlighten. He may have attended one of

those. I dont remember him specifically."

212 Jothn

I gave him a physical description.of Valcroix but

it didn't evoke recognition.

"That's it, then. I appreciate yourhelp.'

He sat there, unblinking and unmoving. In the

stingy light of the room his pupils had expanded so

-that only a thin rim of pale iris was visible. He had

hypnotic eyes. A prerequisite for charisma.

"If you have any more questions you may ask

them."

"No questions, but I would like to hear more

about your philosophy."

He nodded.

"We are refugees from a former life We've chosen

a new life that emphasizes purity and industry.

We avoid environmental poisons and seek self-sufficiency.

We believe that by changing ourselves

we increase the positive energy in the world."

Standard stuff. He rattled it off like some New

Age pledge of allegiance.

"We're not killers," he added.

Before I could reply, two of them came into the

room.

Matthias stood up and left without acknowledging

their presence. The man and woman took the

two empty'seats. The transaction was oddly mechanical,

as if the people were interchangeable parts

in some smoothly functioning apparatus.

They sat, hands in laps--more good schoolkids--and

smiled with the maddening serenity of the

born-again and the lobotomized.

I was far from serene. Because I recognized both

of them, though in quite different ways.

The man who called himself Baron was medium-sized

and thin. Like Matthias, his hair was cut

short and his beard left untrimmed. But in his case

BLOOD TEST - 213

the effect was less dramatic than untidy. His hair

was medium brown and wispy. Patches of skin

showed through the sparse frizzy chin whiskers

and his cheeks were covered with soft fuzz. It was

as if he'd forgotten to wash his face.

In graduate school I'd known him as Barry Graf-tlus.

He was older than I, in his early forties, but

had been a class behind, a late starter who'd decided

to become a psychologist after trying just

about everything else.

Graffius's family was wealthy, big in the movie

business, and he'd been one of those rich kids-who

couldn't seem to settle down--inadequate drive level

because he'd never been deprived of anything. The

consensus was that family money had gotten him

in, but that may have been a jaundiced view. Because

Barry Graffius had been the mos unpopular

person in the department.

I've always tended to be charitable in my evaluations

of others but I'd despised Graffius. He was

loudmouthed and contentious, dominating seminars

wi irrelevant quotes and statistics aimed at impressing

the professors. He insulted his peers, bullied

the meek, played devil's advocate with malicious

glee.

And he loved toflaunt his money.

Most of us were struggling to get by, working

extra jobs in addition to our teaching assistantships.

Grafus delighted in coming to class in hand-tailored

leather and suede complaining about the repair

bill on his XKE, lamenting the tax bite. He was an

outrageous name dropper, recounting lavish Hollywood

parties, offering a teasing glimpse into a glamorous

world beyond the grasp of the rest of us.

I'd heard that after graduating he'd gone into

practice on Bedford Drive---Beverly Hills Couch

Row--planning to capitalize on his connections and

become Therapist to the Stars.

I could see where he'd mn into Norman Matthews.

He recognized me too. I could tell by the flurry of

activity behind his watery brown eyes. As we looked

at each other that activity crystallized: fear. The

fear of being discovered.

His former identity was no secret in the strict

sense. But he didn't want to be confronted by it:

for those who imagine themselves reborn, bringing

up the past has all th appeal of exhuming one's

own moldering corpse.

I said nothing, but wondered if he'd told Matthias

about knowing me.

The woman was older, but uncommonly pretty

despite the ponytail no-makeup look that seemed to

be de r/gueur for Touch women. Madonna-faced with

ivory skin, raven hair now streaked with silver, and

brooding gypsy eyes. Beverly Lucas had called her

a hot number who'd lost it but that seemed unfairly

bitchy. Perhaps knowing the woman's true age would

have softened the critique.

S.he looked a well-preserved fifty but I knew she

was at least sixty-five.

She hadn't made a film since 195 l, the year I was

Desiree Layne, Queen of budget films noirs.

There'd been a revival of her movies when I was in

college, with free screenings during finals week. I'd

seen them all: Phantom Bt/de, Darken My Doorstep,

The Savage Ptace, Secret Admirer.

An eon.ago, before my early retirement, I'd been

a frantic, lonely man, with little free time. But one

of the few pleasures I'd allowed myself was a Sun-

day afternoon in bed with a tall

a Desiree Layne flick.

It hadn't mattered who the leading man was

long as there were lots of closeups of those beautiful

evil eyes, the dresses that looked like lingerie.

The voice husky with passion...

She emitted no passion now, sitting statue-still,

white-garbed, smiling vacantly. So goddamned

harmless.

The place was really starting to spook me. It Was

like walking through a wax museum ...

"Noble Matthias told us you. have questions,"

said Baron.

''¥es. I just wanted to hear more about your visit

to the Swopes. It could help explain what's hap-

pened, aid in locating the children."

They nodded in unison.

I waited. They looked at each other. She spoke.

"We Wanted to cheer them up. Noble Matthias

had us pick frttit--oranges, grapefi'uit, peaches,

plums--the best we could find. We put it all in a

basket, wrapped it with gay paper."

She stopped talking and smiled, as ff her narrative

had explained everything.

"Was your graciousness well received?"

Her eyes widened.

"Oh yes. Mrs.-SWope said she was hungry. She

ate a plum--a Santa Rosa plum--right there. Said

it was delicious."

Baron's face hardened as she prattled on. When

she paused he said, "You want to know ff we tried

to talk them out of treating the boy." He sat ps-sively

but there was a,, aggressive edge to his voice.

"Matthias told me you didn't. Did the subject of

medical treatment come up?"

She complained about the plas-

- tic room, said she felt cut off from' the boy, that the

family was being divided',"

"Did she explain what she meant ?"

"No. I assumed she was ta/king about the physi-ca/separation--not

being a/lowed to touch him with-

out gloves, only one person in the room at a time."

De/ilah nodded in assent.

"Such a cold place," she said. "Physically and

spiritua/ly." To illustrate she gave a little shudder.

Once an actress...

"They didn't feel the doctors treated them Like human

beings," added Baron. "Especially the Cuban."

"Poor man," said Delilah. "When he tried to force

his way in this morning I couldn't help feeling

sorry for him. Overweight and flushed red as a

tomato---he must have high blood pressure."

"What were their complaints about him "

Baron pursed his lips.

'

"Just that he was impersonal,'; he said.

"Did they mention a doctor named Va/croix"

Delilah shook her head. '

Baron spoke again.

"We didn't talk about much of anything. It was

just a brief visit."

"I couldn't wait to get out of there,, recalled

Delilah. "Everything was so' mechanical."

"We dropped off the fruit, left, and drove back

home," Baron said with finality.

"A sad situation," she sighed.

A GROUP of Touch people were sitting yoga-style on

the grass when I came out, eyes closed, palms

pressed together, faces glowing in the sun. Houten

leaned against the fountain, smoking, eyes drifting

idly in their direction. He saw me coming, dropped

the butt, stomped on it, and tossed it in an earthenware

trashbasket.

"Learn anything?"

I shook my head.

y , ne cocked his head toward the

meditators who had now started to hum, "strange

but harmless."

I looked at them. Despite the white costumes, the

sanda/s, and the untrimmed beards, they resembled

participants in a corporate seminar, one of

those glossy pop-psych affairs promoted by management

to increase productivity. The'faces gazing

heavenward were middle-aged and we/l-fed, suf-'

fused with an executive look that bespoke prior

lives of comfort and authority.

217

Norman Matthews had been described to me as-an

aggressive and ambitious man. A hustler. As

Matthias he'd tried tocome across a holy man but

there was enough cynicism in me to wonder if he

hadn't simply traded one hustle for another.

The Touch was a gold mine: offer the prosperous

simplicity amid lush surroundings, remove the burden

of personal responsibility, substitute an ethos

that equated health and vitality with righteousness,

and pass the collection plate. How could it

mis s ?

But even if the whole thing was a scam it didn't

spell kidnapping and murder. As Seth had pointed

out, loss of privacy was the last thing Matthias

wanted, be he prophet or con man.

"Let's take a look around,!' said Houten, "and be

done with it."

I was allowed free access to the grounds, permitted

to open any d.oor. The sanctuary was domed

and majestic, with clerestory windows and biblical

murals on the ceiling. The pews had been removed

and the floor covered with padded mats. There was

a rough pine table in the center of the room and

little else. A woman in white dusted and swept,

stopping only to smile at us maternally.

The sleeping rooms were indeed cells--no larger

than the one in which Baou! was confined--tow-ceilinged,

thick-walled, and cool, with a single window

the size of a hardbound book and grilled with

wood. Each room was furnished with a cot and a

chest of drawers. Matthias's differed only in that it

had a small bookcase. His literary taste was eclectic--the

Bible, the Koran, Perls, Jung, Cousins's Anatomy

of An Illness, Toffler's Future Shock, the Bha-

gavad-Gita; several texts on organic gardening-and

ecology.

I took a tour of the kitchen, where cauldrons of

broth simmered on industrial stoves and bread baked

sweetly in brick ovens. There was a member's library,

its stock leaning toward health and agriculture,

and a conference room with textured adobe

walls. And everywhere people .in white working,

smiling, bright-eyed and friendly.

Houten and I traipsed through the fields, watching

Touch members tend the grapes. A black-bearded

giant put down his shears and offered us a freshly

picked cluster. The fruit was moist to the touch

and it burst electrically upon my tongue. I complimented

the man on the flavor. He nodded and returned

to' his work.

It was well into the afternoon but the sun continued

to rage. My unprotected head began to ache

and after cursorily inspecting the sheepyard and

the vegetable plots I told Houten I'd had enough.

We turned and walked back toward the viaduct. I

wondered .what I'd accomplished, for the search

had been symbolic, at best. There wasn't any'tea-son

to believe the Swope children were there. And

if they were, there'd be no way to find them. The

Retreat was surrounded by hundreds of acres, much

of it forest. Nothing short of a bloodhound pack

could cover it all. Besides, monasteries are secret

places, designed for refuge, arid the compound might

very well 'harbor a maze of underground caverns,

secret compartments, and hidden passages that only

an archaeologist could unravel.

It had been -a futile day, I thought, but if it

helped Raoul confront reality it was worth it. Then

I realiZed what reality meant and craved the balm

of denial.

Houten had Bragdon bring Raoul's personal effects

in a large manila envelope. In the end he'd

agreed to accept the oncologist's check for six hundred

eighty-seven dollars worth of fines and while

he recorded the amount in triplicate, I walked

around the room restlessly, eager to get going.

The county map caught my eye. I located La

Vista and noticed a back road to the east that seemed

to skirt the town, allowing entry to the region from

the outly'mg woodlands without actually passing

through the-commercial district. If that was the

case, avoiding Houten's scrutiny was easier than

he'd let on.

After some hesitation I asked him about it. He

fiddled with a piece of carbon paper and continued

writing.

"Oil companybought up the land, got the county

to seal off the road. There was big talk of deep

deposits, prosperity just around the corner."

"Did they strike it rich ?"

"Nope. Bone dry."

The deputy brought Raoul out. I told him about

my visit to the Retreat and the.negative findings.

He took it in, looking downcast and beaten, and

offered no protest.

The sheriff, pleased With-his passivity, treated

him with exquisite courtesy while he signed him

out, He asked Raou] what he wanted to do about

his Volvo, and the oncologist shrugged and said to

have it fixed, he'd pay for it.

I led him out of the room and down the stairs.

BLOOD TEST '221

He was silent throughout the ride home, not even

losing his cool when a chubby female border guard

pulled us over and asked for his identification. He

accepted the indignity with a mute acquiescence

that I found pitiful. Two hours ago he'd been aggressive

and poised for battle. I wondered if he'd

been laid low by the accumulated stress or if cycIi-cal

mood swings were a part of his makeup i'd

never noticed.

I was famished but he looked too grungy to take

to a restaurant so I 'bought a couple of burgers and

Cokes at a stand in Santa Ana and pulled to the

side of the road near a small municipal park. I gave

BaoUl his food and ate mine while watching a group

of teenagers play softball, racing to finish before

nightfall. When I turned to look at him, he was

asleep, the food still wrapped and lying in,his lap. I

took it, stowed it in a trashcan and started up the

Seville. He stirred but didn't awaken and by the

time I got back on the freeway he was snoring

peacefully.

We reached L.A. by seven, just as traffic on the

downtown interchange was untangling. When I

turnedoff at the Los Feliz exit he opened his eyes.

"What's your address ?"

"No, take me back to the hospital."

"You're in no shape to go back there."

"I must. Helen will be waiting."

"You'll only scare her looking like that. At least

go home and freshen up first."

"I have a change of clothes in my office. Please,

I threw up my hands and drove to Western Peds..

After parking in the doctors' lot I walked him' to

the front door of Prinzley.

222 Jonatkan Kelterman

"Thank you," he said, looking at his feet.

"Take care ofyourself."

On the way back to the car .I met Beverly Lucas

leaving the wards. She looked tired and worn, the

oversized, purse seeming to weigh her down.

"Alex, I'm so glad to see you."

"W-hat's the matter?"

She looked around, to make sure no one was

listening.

"It's Augie. He's been making my life miserable

ever since your friend interrogated him, calling me

unfaithful, a quisling. He even tried to embarrass

me on rounds but the attending doc stopped it."

"Bastard."

She shook her head.

"What makes it hard is that I see his point. We

were--close, once. What he did in bed was nobody's

business."

I took her by the shoulders.

"What you did was right. If you got enough distance

to see straight that would be obvious. Don't

let him get .to you."

She flinched at the harshness in my voice.

"I know you're right. Intellectually. But he's falling

apart and it hurts me. I can't help my feelings."

She started to cry. A trio of nurses walked our

way. I steered her off the walkway and -into the

stairwell to the doctors' level.

"What do you mean falling apart?"

"Acting strange. Doping and drinking more heavo

ily than usual. He's bound to get caught. This morning

he pulled me off the ward and into a conference

room, locked the door, and came on to me."

She lowered her eyes in embarrassment.

"He told me I was the best he'd ever had, actu-

BLOOD TEST 223

ally tried to get physical. When ! stopped -him he

looked crushed. Then he started to rant about

Melendez-Lynch--how he'd scapegoated him and

was going to try to use the Swope case to terminate

the fellowship. He started to laUgh---it was a freaky

laugh, Alex, full of anger. He said he had an ace up

his sleeve. That Melendez-Lynch would never get

rid of him."

"Did he say what that was?"

"I asked him. He just laughed again and walked

out. Alex, I'm worried. I was just on my way to the

residents' dorm. To make sure he was okay."

I tried to talk her out of it but she was resolute.

She had an infinite capacity for guilt. Someday

she'd make someone a wonderful doormat.

It was ciear she wanted me to accompany her to

his apartment, and tired as I was, I agreed to go

with her, in case things got hairy. And on the-off

chance Valcroix really had an ace and might show

it.

The residents' dorm across the boulevard from

the hospital was a utilitarian affair, three stories of

unfinished concrete over a subterranean parking

lot. Some of the windows had been brightened up

with plants and-flower arrangements resting on

sills or hanging from macrame harnesses. But that

didn't stop it from looking like what it was: low-cost

housing.

An elderly black guard was stationed at the doorm

there had been rapes in the neighborhood and the

residents had screamed for- security. He looked at

our hospital badges and let us pass.

Valcroix's apartment was on the second floor.

"It's the one with the red door," said Beverly,

pointing.

The corridor and all the other doors were beige.

Valcroix's was scarlet and stood out like a wound.

"Amateur paint job?" I ran my hand over the

wood, which was rough and bubbled. A segment

froTM a doper comic had been pasted to the doorm

furry people popping pills and hallucinating in technicolor,

their fantasies sexually explicit and ex-cessivg.

"Uh huh."

She knocked several times. When there was no

answer she bit her lip.

"Maybe he went out," I-suggested.

"No. He always stays home when he's not on call.

That was one thing that .bothered me about our

relationship. We never went out."

I didn't remind her that she'd spotted him in a

restaurant with Nona Swope. No doubt he was one

of those men as stingy about giving as he was greedy

about taking. He'd do the least amount possible to

enter a woman's body. With her lowered expectations,

Beverly would have been his dream. Until he

got bored with her.

"I'm worried, Alex. I know h's in there. He

could be OD'ed on something."

Nothing t said alleviated her anxiety. Finally, we

went downstairs and convinced the guard to use

his master key on the red door.

"I don't know 'bout this, Doctor," he said, but he

unlocked the apartment.

The place was a sty. Dirty laundry was piled on

the grubby carpet. The bed was unmade. On the

nightstand was an ashtray brimming with mari-j

uana roaches. Nearby was an engraved roach clip

in the shape of a pair of femate legs. Medical books

and more doper comics coexisted in the paper bliz-

IP pounds OOD TEST 225'

zardthat 'covered half the living room flOor. The

kitchen sink was a swamp of dirty dishes and cloudy

water. A fly Circled overhead.

No one was home.

Beverly walked through and unconsciously began

straightening up. The guard looked at her quizzically.

"Come on," I said with surprising vehemence.

"He's not here. Let's get out."

The guard cleared his throat.

She covered the bed, took a last look around, and

left.

Outside the dorm she asked if we should call the

police.

"What for?" I demanded sharply. "A grown man

leaves his apartment? They'd never take it seriously.

And for good reason."

She looked wounded and wanted to discuss it

further but I begged off. I was weary, my head

hurt, my.joints were sore; it felt like I was coming

down with something. Besides, my altruism account

Was already badly overdrawn.

We crossed the street in silence and parted ways.

By the time I got home I felt really lousy--feverish,

logy, and aching all over. There was a bright spot--an

express letter from Robin confirming he departure

from Tokyo in a week. One of the Japanese executives

owned a condo on Kauai and he'd offered her

the use of it. She was hoping I could meet her flight

in Honolulu and se aside two weeks for fun and'

sun. I called Western Union and wired a Yes on all

accounts.

A hot bath didn't make me feel any better. Neither

did a cool drink or self-hypnosis. I dragged

myself downstairs to feed the koi but didn't linger

to watch them eat; Back in the house I fell into bed

226 Jonathan Kel/ennan

with the aper, the rest of the mail, and Leo Kottke

on the stereo. But I found myself too drained to

concentrate, and surrendered to sleep without a

struggle.

BY MORNING my malaise had matured to influenza.

I took aspirin, drank lemon tea, and wished Robin

were there to take care of me.

I kept the TV on for background noise and slept,

on and off, all day. By evening I was feeling well

enough to hobble out of bed and eat Jell-O. But'

even that tired me and soon I was back asleep.

In my dream I was adrift on an A/ctic ice floe,

seeking shelter from a violent hailstorm in a meager

cardboard lean to. Each new fusillade shredded

the cardboard, leaving me increasingly terrified and

exposed.

I awoke naked and shivering. The hailstorm continued.

Digital numbers glowed in the dark: 11:26.

Through the window I saw clear black skies. The

hail turned into bullets. Shotgun fire stinging the

side of the house, '

I dove to the floor, lay flat, belly-down, breathing

hard.

227

228 Jonathan Kellerman

More gunfire. A percussive pop, then the tinkle

of broken glass. A cry of pain. A sickening dull

sound, like a melon bursting under a Sledgeham-

mer. An engine starting. Automotive escape.

Then silence.

I crawled to the phone. Called the police. Asked

for Milo. He was off-shift. Del Hardy, then. Please.

The black detective came to the phone. Between

gasps I told him about the nightmare that had turned

real.

He said he'd call Milo, both of them would be

there code three.

Minutes later the wail of sirens stretched up the

glen, trombones gone mad.

I put on a t0be and stepped outside.

The redwood siding on the front of the house was

peppered with holes and spl'mtered 'in a dozen

places. One window had been blown out.

I smelled hydrocarbons.

On the terrace were three open cans of gasoline.

Wadded rags had been fashioned into oversized

wicks and stuffed into the spouts. Oily footprints'

led to the edge of the landing'and ended in a single

smear of a skidmark. I looked over the railing.

A man sprawled face down and motionless in the

Japanese garden.

I climbed down just as the black and whites

pulled up. Walked barefoot' to the garden, the stone

cool under feet burning with fever. I called out.

The man didn't respond.

It was Richard Moody.

Half his face had been blown away. What remained

was dog food. Or more precisely, fish food,

for his head was submerged in my pond and the koi

LOOD TEST 229

nibbled at it, sucking up the bloody water, relishing

the novelty of a new snack,

Sickened, I tried to wave them away but the

sight of me was a conditioned stimulus for feeding

and they grew more enthusiastic, feasting and slurping,

scaly gourmands. The big black and gold carp

came half out of the water to get a mouthful. I

could swear he grinned at me with whiskered lips.

Someone was at my side. I jumped.

"Easy, Alex,"

"Milo!"

He looked as if he'd crawled out of bed. He wore

a lifeless windbreaker over a yellow Hang-Ten polo

shirt and baggy jeans. His hair was a fright wig and

his green eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

"Come on," he took my elbow. "Let's go upstairs,

get something liquid in you and then you can

tell me what happened."

As the crime scene crew busied themselves with

the technical minutiae of murder I sat in my old

leather sofa and drank Chivas. The shock was beginning

to slough .off; I realized I was still sick--chilled

and weak. The Scotch went down warm

and smooth. Across from me sat Milo and Del Hardy.

The black detective was dapper, as always, in a

shaped dark suit, peach-colored shirt, black tie, and

spit-polished demiboots. He put on a pair of reading

glasses and took notes.

"On the surface," said Milo, "it looks like Moody

had plans to torch your place and somebody followed

him, caught him in the act, and took him

out." He thought for a moment. "There was a triangle,

right? How do you like the boyfriend for the

shooter role?"

20 Jonathan- Kell

"He didn't seem the type to stalk a man tike

that."

"Full name," said Hardy, pen poised.

"Carlton Conley. He's a carpenter for Aurora Studios.

He and Moody were friends before it triangulated.''

Hardy scribbled. "Did he move in with the Wife?'?

"Yes. They're all supposed to be up near Davis.

On the advice of her lawyer."

"The lawyer's name?"

"Malcolm J. Worthy. Beverly Hills."

"Better call him," said Milo. "If Moody had a list

he'd be on it. Find out. the number up in Davis and

check out if anything went down there--shes still

next of kin, has to be notified anyway. Have the

local law go over there and read her face--see if

she's surprised by the news. Call the judge, too.

Anyone else you can think of, Alex ?"

"There was another psychologist involved in the

case. Dr. Lawrence Daschoff. Lives in Brentwood.

Office in Santa Monica." I knew Larry's office number

by heart and gave it to them.

"What about Moody's own lawyer?" asked Del.

"If the joker thought his case had been botched he

might lash out, right?"

"True. The guy's name is Durkin. Emil or Elton

or something like that." '

A grimace of recognition crossed the black detective's

face.

"Elridge," he growled. "Fucker represented my

ex-wife. Cleaned me out."

"Well, then," laughed Milo, "you can have the

pleasure of interviewing him. Or consoling his

widow."

BLOOD TEST 23i

Hardy grumbled, closed his pad, and went into

the kitchen and left to make the calls.

A crime scene tech beckoned from the door and

Milo patted my shoulder and went out to talk to

him. He returned in a few minutes.

"They found tire tracks," he said. "Fat ones, hke

on a hot rod. Ring any bells ?"

"Moody drove a truck,"

"They already looked at his wheels. No match."

"Nothing else comes to mind."

"There were six more gas cans in the truck, which

supports the hit list theory. But it also doesn't

make sense. He was ing to use three cans here.

.Let's assume that he planned this out as some kind

of structured revenge ritual, three cans per victim.

Given a minimum of five victims--you, the other

shrink, both lawyers, and the judge, that adds up to

fifteen cans. Six left means nine used. Not count°

ing you, that makes two prior attempts. If he planned

on torching the family home, make it twelve and

three possible priors. Even if the numbers are wrong

it's unlikely you were singled out for more gas than

anyone else. Which means you probably weren't his

first stop. Why would the shooter follow him around

town, watch him set two or three fires, risk being

seen, and wait until the third to do-the job?"

I puzzled over that.

· "Only thing I can think of," I said, "is this is a

pretty secluded area. Lots of big trees, easy for a

sniper to hide."

"Maybe," he said skeptically. "We'll pursue the

tire angle. The Hot Rod Killer. Catchy."

He chewed on a hangnail, looked at me gravely.

"Got any enemies I don't know about, pal?"

My stomach lurched. He'd put into words what

22

]omtum Kelt .erm

bd been fulminating in my mind. That I was:the

intended victim..,

"Just the Casa de Los Ninos guys, and they're

behind bars. No one on the streets that I know of."

"Way the system runs you never know whether

they're on the streets or not. We'll run parole checks

on .all of them. Which'll be in my best interests,

too."

He sipped coffee and leaned forward.

"1 don't want to raise your anxiety level, Alex,

but there's something we should deal with. Remember

when you called me about the rat and I

asked you-to describe Moody? You told me you and

he were almost exactly the same size and coloring."

I nodded numbly.

"You've been in the house all day, sick in bed.

Someone arriving after dark wouldn't have known

that. From a distance, the mistake would be easy to

make."

He waited a moment before continuing.

"It's not pretty to think about, but we've got to

consider it," he said, almost apologetically. "In my

gut I doft think the Casa thing'll pan out. What

about the jokers you've run into on the Swope case ?"

I thought of the people I'd encountered during

the last couple of days. Valcroix. Matthias and the-Touchers.

Houten--did the sheriffs E1 Camino have

fat tires? Maimon. Bragdon. Carmichael. Rambo.

Even Beverly and Raoul. None seemed remotely

likely as suspects and I told Milo so.

"Of all of them, I like that asshole Canadian the

best," he said. "Guy's a Class A bad actor."

"I don't see it, Milo. He resented being interrogated

and could have held that against me. But

BLOOD TEST 233

resentment isn't hatred and whoever fired those

shots did it out of blood lust."

"You told me he was a heavy doper, Alex. They've

been known to get paranoid."

I thought of what Beverly had said about Valcroix's

increasingly strange behavior and repeated it to

-Milo.

"There you go," he said. "Cokehead madness."

"I guess it's possible, but it still doesn't feel right.

I wasn't that important to him. Anyway, he seems

more of an escapist, someone who'd retreat rather

than act out. The peace-love-Woodstock type."

"So'were the Manson family. What kind of car

does he drive?"

"No idea."

"We'll run it through D.M.V., then pick the guy

up for questioning. Talk to the others, too. Hope:

fully the whole thing will boil down to Moody.

When you get dofi, n to it he sounds like an easy one

to hate."

He stood and stretched.

"Thanks for everything, Milo."

He waved it off. "Haven't done a damn thing so

don't thank me yet. And I probably won't be able to

handle it myself. Gotta travel."

"Where to?"

"Washington, D.C. On the rape-murder. The Sau-dis

have one of those slick public relations firms on

retainer. Been putting millions into commercials

showing they:re just plain folks. Prince Stinky's

exploits could make them look like the enemy again.

So there's been pressure from the top to let- him

slink out of town to avoid a trial and all the publicity.

The department won't let go of this one cause'

the crimes were too damned ugly. But the Arabs

234 Jonathan Kellerman

keep pushing and the politicos have to do a bit of

symbolic brownnosing.'

He shook his head in disgust.

"Other day a couple of gray suits from the State

Department came down and took Del and me out to

lunch. Three martinis and haute cuisine at the

taxpayer's expense, followed by congenial chitchat

about the energy crisis. I let them talk, then I shoved

a bunch of pictures of the girl Stinky killed right in

front of them. Foreign Service types must have

delicate constitutions. They almost heaved right

into the coq au yin. That afternoon I got voluno

teered to fly to D.C. and discuss it further."

"That'll be something to see," I said. "You and a

room full of bureaucrats. When are you leaving?"

"Don't know. I'm on call. Could be tomorrow or

the day after. Going first class for the first time in

my deprived life."

He looked at me with concern.

"At least Moody's out of the way."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I wish it could have happened

another Way." I thought of April and Ricky, what

this would do to them. If Conley turned out to have

been the one who blew away their father, the tragedy

would be compounded. The entire case had a

raw, primal stink that foreshadowed tragic endings

for generations to come.

Hardy came back from the kitchen and gave his

report,

"Coulda been worse than it was. Half of Durkins

house is up in smoke. He and his wife suffered

second-degree burns and some smoke inhalation but

they're gonna live. Worthy had smoke alarms and

caught it in time, He lives in the Palisades, big

BLOOD TEST 25

property with lots of trees. Couple of 'em burned

down." -

Which meant plenty of hiding places. Milo glanced

at me meaningfully. Hardy kept on talking.

"The judge's and Daschoff's places haven't been

touched so the cans in the car were probably meant

for them. I sent uniforms to check out all of their

offices."

Richard Moody had ended his tormented life in a

blaze of twisted passion, r

Milo whistled and told Hardy the Delaware-as-victim

scenario. Hardy found merit to it, which did

nothing toimprove my state of mind.

They thanked me for the coffee and stood. Hardy

left the house and Milo lingered behind.

"You can stay here if you want," he said,. "because

most of the forensic work will go on outside.

But if you want to go somewhere else, that's okay,

too." It was intended more as advice than the granting

of permission.

The glen was filled with blinking lights, footsteps,

and muted human conversation. Safe, for now.

But the police wouldn't be there forever.

"I'll move out for a couple of days."

"If you wanna stay at my place, the offer's still

open. Rick'Il be on call next couple days, it'll be

quiet."

I thought for a moment.

"Thanks, but I really want to be alone."

He said he understood, drained his coffee' mug,

and came closer.

"I see that gleam in your eyes and it worries me,

pal."

"I'm fine."

· "So far. I'd like to see it stay that way.,

236

Jonathan' Kellerman

"There's nothing to worry about, Milo.- Really."

"It's the kid, isn't it? You haven't let go of R,"

I was silent.

"Look, Alex, if what happened tonight has anything

to do with the Swopes, that's all the more

reason for you to stay Out of it. I'm not saying cut

off'your feelings, just cover your ass."

He touched my bad jaw gently. "Last time you

were lucky. Don't push it."

I packed an overnight bag and drove around awhile

before deciding on the Bel-Air Hotel as a good place

to recuperate. And hide, It was just minutes away,

quiet and secluded behind high stucco walls and

towering subtropical shrubbery. The ambience--pink

exterior, forest green interiors, swaying coconut

palms, and a pond in which flamingos floated--had

always reminded me of the old mythical Holly-wood--romance,

sweet-fantasy, and happy endings.

All of which seemed in short supply.

I headed west on Sunset, turned north at Stone

Canyon 'Road, and drove past immense gated'estates

until coming to the hotel's entrance. No one

was parking cars at one forty in the morning; I

slipped the Seville between a Lamborghini and a

Maserati and left it looking like a dowager escorted

by two gigolos.

Thenight clerk was a brooding Swede who didn't

look up when I paid in advance with cash and

registered as Carl Jung. Then I noticed he'd. recorded

it as Karl Young.

A tired-looking bellman took me to a bungalow

overlOOking a pool, which was lit up like an aquamarine.

The room was understated and comfort-

BLOOD TEST 237

able, with a big sbft bed and heavy dark forties

furniture.

I slid my body between cool sheets and remembered

the last time I'd been there: the previous

July, on Robin's twenty-eighth birthday. We'd heard

the philharmonic do Mozart at the Music Center

and followed the concert with a late supper at the

Bel-Air.

The dining room had been dark and quiet, our

booth private .and next to a picture window. Be--tween

the oysters and the veal a stately older woman

in a formal gown had glided regally across the palm

court.

"Alex," Robin had whispered, "look--no it couldn't

But it was. Bette Davis. We couldn't have custom-ordered

it.

Thinking of that perfect night helped keep the

ghastliness of this quite imperfect one at bay.

I slept until eleven, dialed room servic and ordered

fresh raspberries, an herb omelette, bran muffins,

and coffee. The food came on china and silver

and was superb I chased images of death from my

mind and ate heartily. Soon, I started fo feel like a

human being again.

I slept some more, woke, and called West L.A.

Division at two. Milo had flown to Washington so I

checked in with Del Hardy. He informed me that

Conl6y was out as a suspect. While Moody was

being blown apart, he'd been on location in SaUgus

for a night shoot on a new TV series. I took the

news with equanimity, never having seen him as a

calculating killer. Besides, I'd already convinced

myself I was the sniper's intended victim. Accept-

238

Jonathan Kellerman

lng the role didn't make for tranquillity but at least

I'd be vigilant.

I went for a swim at four more for exercise than

pleasure, returned to my room, and called for the

evening paper and a Grolsch. The flu seemed to

have surrendered. I sank into an armchair to read

and drink.

The news of Valcroix's death was a two-inch

filler piece on page twenty-eight entitled DOCTOR

LOSES LIFE IN AUTO CRASH. From it I learned the

genre, if not the make, of the car the Canadian had

driven ("foreign compact") before crashing it into

an abutment near the Wilmington harbor. He'd been

pronounced dead at the scene and relatives in Montreal

had been notified.

Wilmington is midway between L.A. and San

Diego if you take the coastal route, a drab section of

warehou}es and shipyards. I wondered what hed

been doing there and which direction he'll, been

headed before the collision. He'd visited La Vista

before. Was he returning from there when he

crashed?

I thought of his boasts to Beverly about having an

ace up his sleeve with regard tothe Swopes. More

questions reverberated relentlessly: was the crash

an accident, the result of drug-numbed reflexes, or

had he tried to play that ace and lost his, life in the

process? And what was the secret he'd nsidered

his salvation? Could it solve the murder of the

Swopes ? Or help locate their children?

I turnedtt over, again and again, until my head

hurt, sitting tensely on the edge of the chair, gropr

lng haphazardly like a blind man in a maze.

It wasn't until I realized what was missing that I

was able to focus on what had to be done. Had I

BLOOD TEST 239

looked at it clinically,, as a psychologist, clarity of

purpose might have come sooner.

I'd been trained in the art of psychotherapy, the

excavation of the past as a means of untangling the

present and rendering it livable. It's detective work

of sorts, crouching stealthily in the blind alleys of

the unconscious. And it begins with the taking of a

careful and detailed history.

Four people had perished unnaturally. If their

deaths seemed a jumble of unrelated horrors, I knew

it was because such a history was missing. Because

insufficient respect had been paid to the past.

That had to be remedied. It was more than an

academic exercise. There were lives at stake.

I refused to compute the odds on the Swope children

being alive. For the time being, it was sufficient

that they weregreater than zero. I thought,

for the hundredth time, of the boy in the plastic

room, helpless, dependent, potentially curable but

harboring an internal time bomb ... He had to be

found or he'd die in pain.

Seized with anger at my helplessness, I shifted

from altruism to self-preservation. Milo had urged

me to be careful but sitting still-could be 'the most

dangerous act of all.

Someone had hunted me. The news of my sur-viva]

would eventually emerge. The hunter would

return to claim his prey, taking his time so as to do

it right. I wouldn't, couldn't play that waiting game,

living like a man on death row.

There was work to be done. Exploration. Exhumation.

The compass pointed south.

19

To TRUST someone is to'take the greatest risk of all.

Without trust nothing ever happens.

The issue, at this juncture, wasn't whether or

not to take the risk. It was who could be trusted.

There was Del Hardy of course, but I didn't see

him, or the police in general, as being much .help.

They were professionals who dealt with facts. Alii

had to offer were vague suspicions and intuitive

dread. Hardy would hear me out politely, thank me

for my input, tell me not to worry, and that would

be it.

The answers I needed had to come fram an iw

sider; only someone who had known the Swopes in

life could shed light on their deaths.

Sheriff Houten had seemed straight. But like many

a 'large frog in a small pond, he'd overidentified

with his role. He was the/aw in La Vista and crime

was a personal affront. I recalled his anger at my

suggestion that Woody and Nona might be some-

241

B-LOOD TEST 245

she should make sure not to clampdown. Even if it

gets abusive.''

"I'll pass iton. I'd like you to see them once they

get back to L.A."

"I can't, Mal. I'm too close to the whole thing." !

gave him the names of two other psychologists.

"All right," he said, with some reluctance. "I'll

give her the referrals, make.sure she calls-one of

them." He paused. "I'm staring out the window.

Place looks like a barbecue pit. Firemen sprayed it

with something that's supposed to make the smell

go away but it still stinks. I keep wondering if it

could have turned out differently.';

"I don't know. Moody was programmed roi violence.

He had a violent upbringing. You remember

th-e his0ry--his own father was explosive, died in

a brawl."

"History repeats itself."

"Get that boy in therapy and maybe it won't."

The whitewashed walls of Anita's Cafe were

backlit by lavender-tinted bulbs and trimmed with

used brick. The entrance was through a lattice-wo&l

arch; Dwarf lemon trees had been espaliered

to the lattice and the fruit glowed turquoise in the

artificial light.

The restaurant was tucked away, incongruously,

in an industrial park, flanked on three sides by

black-glass office buildings, acres of parking lot on

the fourth. The songs of nightbirds mingled with

the distant roar of the highway.'-

Inside, itwas cool and dim. Baroque harpsichord

music issued forth at low volume. The aroma of

herbs and spices--cumin, marjoram, saffron, basil--saturated

the air. Three quarters of the tables were

246 JoaatUm Rel/ea

occupied. Most of the diners looked young, hip,

affluent. They spoke earnestly in subdued, tones.

A stout blond woman in peas. ant blouse and. embroidered

skirt showed me to Maimon's table. He

rose in a courtly gesture and sat when I did.

"Good evening, Doctor." He was dressed as before:

spotless white shirt, pressed khaki trousers.

His eyeglasses had slid down his rose and he pushed

them back into place.

"Good evening. Thank you very much fdr seeing

me."

He smiled.

"You stated your case eloquently."

The waitress, a slender girl with long dark hair

and a Modigliani face, came to our table.

"They make an excellent lentil wellington," said

Maimon.

"That sounds fine." My mind wasn't on food.

He ordered for both of us. The waitress returned

with ice water in cut-crystal goblets, pillowy slices

of whole-wheat bread and. two small tubs of vegeta-bls

pit6 that tasted uncannily like the real thing. A

paper-thin lemon slice floated in each glass.

He spread pt on bread, took a bite, chewed

slowly and deliberately. After he swallowed he

asked," How can I help you, Doctor?"

"I'm trying to understand the Swopes. What they

were like before Woody's illness."

"I didn't know them well. They were secretive

people."

"I keep hearing that."

'Tm not surprised." He sipped his water. "I moved

to La Vista ten years ago. My wife and I were

childless. After she died I retired from my law

practice arid opened up thenursery--horticulture

-BLOOD TEST 247

had been my first -love. One of the first things t did

after settling :in was to contact the other growers in

the area. For the most part I was welcomed warmly.

Traditionally, horticulturists and orchardists are

cordial people. So much of our progress depends

upon cooperation--one grower wilt obtain seeds from

an unusual species and distribute it to the others.

It's in the best interests of all--scientifically and

· economically. A fruit that no one tastes will eventually

die out, as did so many of'the old American

apples and pears. One that achieves some degree of

circulation will survive.

"I'd expected to be welcomed warmly by Garland

Swope, because he was my neighbor, It was a

naive expectation.l dropped in on him one day and

he stood by his gate, not inviting me in, curt, almost

to the point of hostility. Needless to say, I was

taken aback. Not only by the unfriendliness but

also by his lack of desire to show offmmost of us love

to exhibit our prize hybrids and rare specimens."

The food came. It was surprisingly good, the lentils

intriguingly spiced and wrapped in filo dough.

Mairnon ate sparingly then put his fork down before

speaking again.

"I left quickly and never went back, though our

properties are less than a mile apart. There were

other growers in the area interested in collaboration

and I quickly forgot about Swope. About a year

later I attended a convention in Florida on the

cultivation of subtropical Malays/an fruits. I met

several people who'd known him and they explained

his behavior.

"It seems the man was a grower in name only.

He'd been prominent at-one .time,. but hadn't done

248

Jonathan getterman

anything for years. There's no nursery behindhis

gates, only an old house and acres of dust."

"What did the family live on?"

"Inheritance. Garland's father was a state senator,

owned a large ranch and miles of coastal land.

He sold .some to the government, the.rest to developers.

Much of the proceeds were immediately lost

to bad investments, but apparently there waft enough

left to support Garland and his family."

He looked at me with curiosity.

"Does any of this help you?"

"I don't know. Why did he give up horticulture?"

"Bad investments of his own. Have you heard of

the cherimoya ?"

"There's a street in Hollywood by that name.

Sounds like a fruit."

He wiped his lips.

"You're correct. It is a fruit. One that Mark Twain

called 'deliciousness of deliciousness.' Those who've

tasted it are inclined to agree. It's subtropical in

nature, native to the Chilean Andes. Looks somewhat

like an artichoke or a large green strawberry.

The skin is inedible. The pulp is white and textured

like custard, laced with many large, hard

seeds. Some joke that the seeds were put there by

the gods So the fruit wouldn't be consumed with

undue .haste. One eats it with a spoon. The taste is

fantastic, Doctor. Sweet and tangy, with perfumed

overtones of peach, pear, pineapple, banana, and

citrus, but a totality that is unique.

"'It's a wonderful fruit, and according to the people

in Florida, Garland Swope was obsessed with

it.. He considered it the fruit'of the future and was

convinced that once the public tasted it, there would

be instant demand. He dreamed of doing for the

g LOOD TEST . 249

cherimoya what Sanford Dole had done for the-pineapple.

Even went so far as to name his first

child after it--Annona cherimola is the full botanical

name."

"Was it a realistic dream?"

"Theoretically. It's a finicky tree, requiring a temperate

climate and consant moisture, but adaptable

to the subtropical strip that ruias al. ong the coast of

California from the Mexican border up through

Ventura County. Wherever avocadoes grow so can

the cherimoya. But there are complications that I'll

come to.

"He bought uP land on credit. Ironically, much of

it had originally been owned by his father. Then he

went on expeditions to South America and brought'

back young trees. Propagated seedlings and planted

his orchard. It took several years for the trees to

reach fruiting size, but finally he had the largest

cherimoya grove in the state. During all this time

he'd been traveling up and down the state, talking

up the fruit with produce buyers, telling them of

the wonders that would soon be blossoming in his

groves.

"It must have been an uphill battle, for the palate

of the American public is quite unadventutous.

As a nation, we don't consume much fruit. The

ones we do eat have gained familiarity over centuries.

The tomato was once believed poisonous, the

eggplant thought to cause madness. Those are just

two examples. There are literally hundreds of tantalizing

food plants that would thrive in this climate

but are ignored.

"However, Garland was persistent and it paid

off. He received advance orders for most. of his

crop. Had the cherimoya caught on he would have

250 Jonathan Kellerman

cornered the market on a gourmet delicacy and

ended up a rich man. Of course, the corporate growers

would have moved in eventually and coopted

everything, but that would have taken years and

even then, his expertise would have been highly

marketable.

ment. In its native habitat the cherimoya is pollinated

by an indigenous wasp. Duplicating the

process requires painstaking hand pollination

pollen from the anthers of one flower is brushed on

the pistils of another. Time of day is important as

welt, for the plant undergoes fertility cycles. Garland

babied the trees almost as if they were human

infants."

Maimon took off his glasses and wiped them. His

eyes were dark and unblinking.

"Two weeks before harvest a killing frost borne

by frigid air currents crept up from Mexico. Thered

been a rash of tropical storms that had battered the

Caribbean and the frost was an aftershock. Most of

the trees died overnight and the ones that survived

dropped their fruit. There was a frantic attempt at

rescue, Several of the people I met in Florida had

been there to help. They described it to me: Garland

and Emma running through the groves with

smudgepots and blankets, trying to wrap the trees,

warm the soil, do anything to save them. The little

girl Watching them and crying. They struggled for

three days but it was hopeless. Garland was the

last to accept it."

He shook his head sadly.

"Years of work were lost in a span of seventy

BLOOD TEST 251

that he withdrew from horticulture

and became a virtual hermit."

It was a classic tragedy--dreams savaged by the

Fates. The agony of helplessness. Terminal despair.

I began to catch a glimpse of what Woody's diagnosis

must have meant to them:

Caneer in a child was never less than monstrous.

For any parent it meant confronting a sickening

sense of impotence. But for Garland and Emma

Swope the trauma would be compounded, the inability

to save their child evoking past failures.

Perhaps unbearably ...

"Is all of this well-known?" I asked.

"To anyone who's lived here for a while."

"What about Matthias and the Touch?"

"That I couldn't tell you. They moved here a few

years ago. May or may not have found out. It's not a

topic of public conversation."

He smiled the waitress over and ordered a pot. of

herb tea. She brought it, along with two cups, which

she filled.

He sipped, put his cup down, and looked at me

through the steam.

"You still harbor suspicions about the Touch,"

he said.

"I don't know," I admitted. "There's no real rea-

son to. But something about them is spooky."

"Somewhat contrived ?"

"Exactly. It all looks too programmed. Like a

movie director's version of what a cult should be."

"I agree with you, Doctor. When I heard Norman

Matthews had become a spiritual leader I was rather

amused."

"You knew him?"

"By reputation only. Anyone in the legal profes-

sion had heard of him. rle was the quintessential

Beverly Hills attorney--bright, flamboyant, aggressive,

ruthless. None of which jibed with what he

presently claims to be. Still, I suppose odd, er trans-

ormations have taken place."

'gomeone took a pot shot at me yesterday. Can

you see them doing that kind of thing?"

He thought about it.

'Their public face has been anything but violent.

If you told me Matthews was a swindler I'd believe

it. But a.murderer..." He looked doubtful.

I' took a different tack.

"What kind 'of relationship was there between

the Touch and the Swopes?"

'None, I would imagine. Garland was a recluse.

Never came to town. Occasionally I'd see Emma or

the girl out shopping."

"Matthias told me Nona-worked for the Touch

one summer."

"That's true. I'd forgotten." He turned away and

fiddled with a container of unfiltered honey.

"Mr. Maimon, forgive me if this sounds rude, but

I don't see you forgetting anything When Matthias

talked about Nona, the sheriff got uncomfortable,

as you just did. Broke in with a comment about

what a wild kid she was, as if to end the discussion.

You've been very helpful until now. Please don't

hold hack."

He put his glasses back on, stroked his chin,

started to lift his teacup-but thought better of it.

"Doctor," he said evenly, 'you seem a sincere

young man and I want to help you. But let me

explain the position I'm in. I've lived here for a

decade but still consider myself an outsider, I'm a

Sephardic Jew, descended from the great scholar

BLOOD TEST 253

Maimonides. My ancestors were expelled from Spain

in 1492, along with all the Jews. They settled in

Holland, were expelled from there, went to England,

Palestine, Australia, America. Five hundred

years of wandering gets into the blood, makes one

reluctant to think in terms of permanence.

"Two years ago, a member of the Ku Klux Klan

was nominated for state assembly from this district.

Part of it was subterfuge--the man concealed

his membership--but too many people knew who

he was to make the nomination an accident. He lost

the election but shortly afterward there were cross-burnings,

anti-Semitic leafleting, an epidemic of

racist graffiti and harassment of Mexican-Americans

along the border.

"I'm not telling you this because I think La Vista

is a hotbed of racism. On the contrary, I've found it

an extremely tolerant town, as witnessed by the

smooth integration of the Touch. But attitudes can

change rather quickly--my forebears were court

physicians to the Spanish royal family one week,

refugees the next." He warmed both hands on his

cup. S'Being an outsider means exercising discretion."

"I know how to keep a secret," I said. "Anything

you tell me will be kept confidential unless lives

are at stake."

He engaged in another bout of silent contemplation,

the delicate features solemn and still. We locked

eyes for a moment.

"There was some kind of trouble," he said. "Exactly

what kind was never publicized. Knowing the

girl, it had to be of a sexual nature."

"Why's that?"

"She had a reputation for plomiscuity. I don't

seek out gossip, but in a small town one overhears

254 jonathan. Keilcnnan

things. There!s always been something libiglinous

about the girl. Even at twelve or thirteen when she

walked through town every male head would turn.

She exuded--physicality. I'd always thought it

strange that she sprang from such a withdrawn,

isolated familymas if somehow she'd sucked the

sexual energy from the others and ended up with

more than she could handle."

"Do you have any idea what happened at the

Retreat?" I asked, though from Doug Carmichael's

story, I had a strong hypothesis.

"Only that her job was terminated abruptly and

snickers and whispers circulated around town for

the next few days."

"And the Touch never hired town kids again."

"Correct."

The waitress brought the check. I put down my

credit card. Maimon thanked me and called for

another pot of tea.

"What was she like as a little girl?" I asked.

"I have only vague memoriesmshe was'a pretty

little thing--that red hair always stood out. Used to

pass by my place and say hello, always very friendly.

I don't think the problems started until she was

twelve or so."

"What kinds of problems ?"

"What I told you. Promiscuity. Wild behavior.

She started running with a bunch of older kids---the

ones with fast cars and moiorcycles. I suppose

things got out of hand because they sent her away

to boarding school, That I remember vividly because

on the morning she left Garland's car broke

down on the way to the train station. Just gave out

in the middle of the road, .a few yards from my

nursery. I offered to give them a lift but of course

.BLOOD TEST 255

he refused. Left 'her sitting there with-her suitcase

until he came back with a truck. She looked like a

sad little child, though I suppose she must have

been at least fourteen. As if all the mischief had

been knocked out of her."

"How long was she away?"

"A year. She was different when she returned

quieter, more subdued. But still sexually preco-

cious, in an angry kind of way."

"What do you .mean?"

He flushed and drank tepid tea.

'Predatory. One day she walked into my nursery

wearing shorts and a halter top. Out of the blue.

Said she'd heard I had a new kind of banana and

she wanted to see it. It was true--I'd brought in

several fifteen-gallon Dwarf Cavendish plants from

Florida and had taken a lovely bunch of fruit to the

town market for. display. I wondered why she'd be

interested in something like that, but showed her

the plants anyway. She looked them over in a cursory

manner and smiledmlasciviously. Then r she

leaned over and gave me a frank view' of her chest,

picked a banana and began eating it in a rather

crude manner--" He stopped, stammered--"you'll

have to excuse me, Doctor, I'm sixty-three, from

another generation, and it's hard for me to be as

uninhibited about this kind of thing as is fashion-

able."

I nodded, trying to seem empathetic. "You look

much younger."

"Good genes." He smiled. "Anyway, that's the

story. She made a production out of eating the

banana, smiled at me again and told me it was

delicious. Licked her fingers and ran off down the

road. The encounter unnerved me because even as

she vamped there'd been hatred in her eyes,' A

strange mixture of sex and hostility. It's hard to

explain."

He sipped his tea, then asked, "Has any of this

been relevant ?"

Before I could answer the waitress returned with

the charge slip. Maimon insisted upon leaving the

tip. It was a generous one.

We walked out to the parking lot. The night was

cool and fragrant. He had the springy step of a man

a third his age.

His truck was a long-bed Chevy pickup. Conventional

tires. He took out his keys and asked, "Would

you like to stop by and visit my nursery? l'd like to

show you some of my most fascinating.specimens."

He seemed eager for companionship. He'd unloaded

a lot of alienation, 'probably for the first

time. Self-expression can become habit forming.

"It would be my pleasure. Could being seen with

me cause problems for you?"

He smfied and shook his head.

"Last Fheard, Doctor, this was still a free country.

I'm located several miles southeast of town. Up

in the foothills where most of the big groves are.

You'll follow me, but in case we disconnect I'll give

you directions. Weql cut under the freeway, ride

parallel with it, and turn right on an unmarked

road--I'll slow down so you don't miss it. At the

foot of the mountains there'll be a left turn onto an

old utility trail. Too narrow for commercial vehicles

and it floods when the rains come. But this

time of year it's a handy shortcut.;'

He went on for a while before I realized he was

directing me to the back roadI'd seen on the county

map in the sheriff's office. The one that bypassed

the town. When I'd asked Houten about it he'd said

it was sealed off by the oil company. Perhaps h

considered a utility trail too insignificant to be

thought of as a road. Or maybe he'd lied.

I wondered about it as I got into the Seville.

2O

THE TURNOFF was sudden. The road, apart from

being unmarked, was hardly a road at all. Just a

narrow dirt ribbon, at first glance one furrow of

many that cut through the vast table' of farmland.

Anyone unfamiliar with 'the area would have missed

it. But Maimon drove slovly and I followed his

taillights through moonlit fields of strawberries.

Soon the freeway sounds were behind us, the night

hushed and aglitter with moths spiraling up toward

the stars, pressing frantically and hopelessly for

the heat of distant galaxies.

The mountains hovered above us, grim hulking

masses of shadow. Maimon's truck was old and it

lurched as he shifted into low gear and began the

climb into the foothills. I stayed several car-lengths

behind and trailed him into darkness so dense it

was palpable.

We climbed for miles, finally reaching a plateau.

The road veered sharply to the right. To the left

was a broad mesa surrounded by chain-link fence.

259

otl Jonaoum Kellerman

Pyramidal towers rose from the flatlands, skeletal

and still. The abandoned oilfields. Maimon turned

away from them and resumed the ascent.

The next few miles were groves, unbroken stretches

of trees recognizable as such by the serrated silhouette

of Star-kissed leaves, shiny satin against the

velvet of the sky. Citrus, from the perfume in the

air. Then came a series of homesteads, farmhouses

on one-acre plots shadowed by sycamore and oak.

The few lights that were on blurred as we drove

by.

Maimon's turn signal went on two hundred feet

before he swung left through an open gate. An

unobtrusive sign said RARE FRUIT AND SEED CO. He

pulled up in front of a.big two-story frame house

girdled by a wide porch. On the porch were two

chairs and a dog. The dog rose on its haunches and

nuzzled Maimon's hand as he climbed out of the

truck. A .Labrador, heavy and stolid, seemingly unimpressed

by my presence. Its master petted it and

it went back to sleep.

"Come around to the back," said Maimon. We

walked along the left side of the house. There was

an electrical junction box hanging from the rear

wall. He opened it, flicked a switch, and a series of

lights came on in sequence, as if choreographed.

What unfolded before my eyes was as textured

and verdant as a painting by Rousseau. A masterpiece

entitled Variations on the Theme of Green.

There were plants and trees everywhere, many

in bloom, all thick with foliage. The larger ones sat

in five and fifteen gallon containers, a few were

rooted in the rich dark soil. Smaller plants and

seedlings in peat pots rested on tables shielded by

canopies of mesh. Beyond the canopies were three

1EOOD-TEST 26

gtass greenhouses. The air was a cocktail of mulch

and nectar;

He gave me aguided tour. Initially I recognized

most of the species but found the varieties novel.

There were unusual strains of peach, nectarine,

apricot, plum, low-chill apples, and pears. Several

dozen fig trees in pots were lined up against a

fence. Maimon picked two figs from one of them,

handed one to me and popped the other in his

mouth. I'd never cared for raw figs but ate the fruit

to oblige him. I was glad I did.

-"What do you think?"

"Wonderful. Tastes like a dried fig."

He was pleased.

"Celeste. Best taster by my standards, though-some

prefer Pasquale."

It continued like that, Maimon pointing out choice

hybrids with unconcealed pride, sometimes stopping

to pick one and offer me a taste. His fruit was

unlike anything I'd found on the produce shelves,

larger, juicier, more vividly colored and intensely

flavored.

Finally we came to the exotic specimens. Many

were aflame with orchidlike blossoms in shades of

yellow, pink, scarlet, and mauve. Each group of

plants was accompanied by a wooden sign staked

into the ground. On the sign was. a color photograph

of fruit, flower, and leaf. Under the illustration

were botanical and common names in neatly

lettered text, along with geographic, horticultural,

and culinary details.

There were species with which I was vaguely

familiarmlitchies, unusual varieties of mango and

papaya, loquats, guavas, ahd passion fruits--and

'many others I'd never known existedmsapotes, sap-

edillas, acerota cherries, jujubes, jaboticaba, tamarinds,

tree tomatoes.

One section was devoted to vines-,-grapes, kiwis,

raspberries hued from black to gold. In another,

stocked with rare citrus, I saw Chandler pommelos

three times the size of grapefruit and sugary sweet,

Mor°, Sanguinelli, and Tarocco blood oranges with

pulp and juice the color of burgundy wine, tangors,

limequats, sweet limes, and Buddha's Finger cit*

rons resembling eight-digited human hands.

The greenhouses protected seedlings of the most

fragile plants in the collection, those Maimon had

obtained from young adventurers who explored the

remote tropical regions of the world for new species

of flora. By manipulating light, heat, and moisture

he'd constructed microclimates that assured high

success in propagation. He became animated as he

described his work, tossing out esoterica followed

by patient explanations.

Half of-the last greenhouse was given over to

stacks of carefully labeled boxes. On the table were

a postage meter, scissors, tape, and padded envelopes.

"Seeds," he said. "The mainstay of my business.

I ship all over the world."

He held open the door and took me to a duster of

small trees.

"Family aanonaceae." He poked among the leaves

of the first tree and uncovered a large yellow-green

fruit covered with fleshy spines. "Annona mur/c,

the soursop. And this red one is Annona ret/cu/ata,

the custard apple, Lindstroms variety. There are

no frui on this one here, won't be until August--

Anno.na squamosa, sweetsop or custard apple, seedless

Brazilian variety. And these," he indicated half

BLOOD TEST

263-

a dozen trees with drooping, elliptical leaves, "are

the cherimoyas. Right now I've got several varieties.

Booth, Bonita, Pierce, White, Deliciosa."

I reached out and touched a leaf. The underside

was fuzzy. An orangelike scent issued forth.

"Lovely fragrance, isn't it?" More probing among

the branches. ':This is the fruit."

It didn't look like the stuff of which dreams were

made--a large, globose, heart-shaped mound, pale

green and dotted with protrusions, resembling a

leathery green pine cone. I touched it gingerly. Firm

and gently abrasive.

"Come inside. I'll open a ripe. one."

His kitchen was big and old and spotless. The

refrigerator, oven, and sink were white enamel, the

floor, linoleum waxed to a gleam. A table and chairs

fashioned from rock maple occupied the center. I

pulled up a chair and sat down. The bigLab had

moved indoors and lay snoring at the base of the

stove.

Maimon opened the refrigerator, pulled out a cher-imoya,

and brought it, two bowls, two spoons, and a

knife, to the table. The ripe fruit was mottled with

brown and soft to the touch. He sliced it in two,

put each half in a bowl, skin down. The pulp was a

creamy off-white, the color and consistency of fresh

custard.

"Dessert," said Maimon and spooned out a shimmering

mouthful. He held it aloft then ate.

I put my spoon to the fruit. It slid in and sank. I

pulled it out filled with custard and put it to my

Lips.

The taste was incredible, bringing to mind the

flavors of many other fruits yet different from each;

sweet, then tart, then sweet again, shifting elu-

siVely on the tonge as sulemut satisfyig as the

finest confection. The seeds were plentiful, beanlike

and hard as Wood. An annoyance, but toierable..

We ate in silence. I savored the eherimoya, know-lng

it had brought heartbreak to the Swopes, but

not permitting that to adulterate my pleasure until

all that was left was an empty green shell.

Maimon ate slowly and finished a few minutes

later.

"Delicious," I said when he put down his spoon.

"Where can you get them ?"

"Generally two places. At Hispanic markets

they'r.e comparatively cheap but the fruit is small.

and'irregular. If you go to a gourmet grocer you'll

pay fifteen dollars for two good-sized ones wrapped

in fancy tissue paper."

"So they're being grown commercially?"

"In Latin America and Spain. On a more limited

basis here in the U.S., mostly up near Carpenteria.

The climate there's toocool for true tropieals but

it's even more temperate than what we get down

herE."

"No frosts ?"

"Not yet."

"Fifteen dollars," I thought out loud.

"Yes. It never caught on as a popular fruit--too

many seeds, too gelatinous, people don't like to

carry spoons with them. No one's found a way to

machine-pollinate so it's highly labor-intensive. Nevertheless,

it's a delicacy With a loyal following and

demand exceeds supply. But for the Fates, Garland

would have been wealthy."

My hands were sticky from handling fruit. 1

washed them in the kitchen sink. When I returned

to the table the dog was curled at Maimon's feet,

LOOD TEST 265

eyes closed, crooning low-pitchedcaninesatisfac-tion

as the grower stroked its fur.

A .peseeful scene but it made me restless. I'd

lingered too long in Maimon's Eden when there

were things that needed to be done.

"I want to take a look at the Swopes' place. Is it

one of those farms we passed on the way up?"

"No. They live--lived further up the road. Those

weren't really farms, just old 'home tracts too small

to be commercially viable. Some of the people who

work in town like to live up here. They get a little

more space and the chance to-earn spare change

growing seasonal cash crops pumpkins for Halloween,

winter melons for the Asian trade."

I remembered Houten's sudden anger when he

talked of farming and asked if the sheriff had ever

worked the land.

"Not recently," he said hesitantly. "Bay used to

have a plot nearby. Grew conifers that he sold to

Christmas tree brokers."

"Used to?"

"He sold the place to a young couple after he lost

his daughter. Moved into a rooming house a block

from city hall."

The possibility, that the sheriff had lied to discourage

me from snooping around hadn't left my

mind. I found myself wanting to know more about

the man who was the law in La Vista.

"He told me about his wife dying of cancer. What

happened to the daughter?"

Maimon raised, his eyebrows and stopped Strok-Lng

the Lab. The dog stirred and growled until .the

stimulation resumed.

"Suicide. Four or five years ago. She hung herself

from an old oak on the property."

266

Jonathan Kellerman

He recalled it matter of factly,-as if the girl's

death hadn't been surprising. I commented bn i.t.

"It was a tragedy," he said, "but not oneof those

cases where one's initial reaction is stunneddisbe-lief.

Marla'd always seemed a troubled child to me.

Plain, overweight, excessively timid, 'no friends.

Always had her nose buried in a book. Fairy tales,

the times I noticed. I never saw her smile."

"How old was she when she died ?"

"Around fifteen."

Had she lived she'd be the same age as Nona

Swope. The two girls had lived nearby. I asked

Maimon if there'd been any contact between them.

"I doubt it. As little girls they sometimes played

together. But not after they got older. Maria kept to

herself and Nona ran with the wild crowd. You

couldn't find two girls more dissimilar."

Maimon stopped stroking the dog. He rose, cleared

the table, and began washing dishes.

"Losing M ....

aria canged Ray, he sad turning off

the water and picling up a dish towel. "And the

town along with him. Before her death he'd been a

hell-raiser. Liked to drink, arm-wrestle, tell off-color

jokes. When they cut her body down from

that tree he turned inward. Wouldn't accept solace

from anyone. At first people thought it was grief,

that he'd come out of it. But he never did." He

wiped a bowl past the gleaming point. "Seems to

me La Vista's been a little more somber since then.

Almost as if everyone's waiting for Ray to give

them permission to smile."

He'd just described mass anhedoniamthe rejection

of pleasure. I wondered if therein lay the key

to Houten's tolerance of the ostensibly self-denying

Touch.

BLOOD TEST 267

Maimon finished drying and wiped his hands,

I got up.

"Thank you," I said, "for your time, the tour, and

the fruit. You've created great beauty here." I held

out my hand. '

He took it and smiled.

"Someone else created it. I've simply displayed

it. It's been a pleasure talking to you, Doctor. You're

a good listener. Will you be going to Garland's place

now?"

"Yes. Just to look around. Can you direct me?"

"Proceed along the road the way we came. You'll

pass half a mile of avocado. Owned by a consortium

of La Jolla doctors as a tax shelter. Then a covered

bridge over a dry bed. Once off the bridge drive

another quarter mile. The Swope place is to the

left."

I thanked him .again. He walked me to the door.

"I passed by the place a couple of days ago;," he

said. "There was a padlock on the gate."

'Tm a pretty good climber."

"I don't doubt it. But remember what I told you

about Garland's being antisocial. There are coils of

barbed wire on top of the fence."

"Any suggestions?"

He pretended to look at the dog, and said with

forced nonchalance: "There!s a toolshed next to my

back porch. Odds and ends. Rummage around, see

if you find anything helpful."

He walked away from me and I exited the house.

The "odds and ends" were a collection of high

quality hand tools, oiled and wrapped. 'I selected a

heavy-duty bolt cutter and a crowbar and carried

them to the Seville. I put them on the floor of the

car along with a flashlight retrieved from 'the glove

268 Jonathan Kellerman

compartment, started up the engine, and rolled

forward.

I looked back at the brightly lit nursery. The

taste of the cherimoya lingered on my tongue. As I

drove off the property the lights ,went out.

21

I'D RECEIVED impressions of the Swopes from multiple

sources but had yet to form a coherent image

of the shattered family.

Everyone had thbught Garland Unusual--emotion-ally

inappropriate, secretive, hostile to outsiders.

But for a hermit he'd been surprisingly outgoing--Beverly

and Raoul had both described him as opinionated

and talkative to the point of boorishness,

anything but socially reticent.

Emma had emerged as her husband's cringing

subordinate, almost a nonentity, except in Augie

Valcroix's view. The Canadian doctor had described

her as a strong woman and hadn't rejected the

possibility that she'd'instigated the disappearance.

On the subject of Nona there seemed to be the

most agreement. She was wild, hypersexual, and

angry. And had been 'that way for a'long time.

And then there was Woody, a sweet little boy.

Any way you looked at it, an innocent victim. Was I

deluding myself into believing he might still be

269

270

alive? Engaging in the same kind of denial that had

turned a brilliant physician into a public nuisance?

I had an intuitive distrust of Matthias and the

Touch but no evidence to back it up. Valcroix had

visited them and I wondered if it had been only a

single visit as,claimed. Several times I'd watched

him space out in a manner reminiscent of the meditation

practiced by the Touch. Now he was dead.

What was the connection, if any ?

Something else stuck in my mind. Matthias had

said the cult purchased seeds from Garland Swope

once or twice. But according to Ezra Maimon, Garland

had nothing to sell. All there was behind his

gates was an old house and acres of dust. A minor

point? Perhaps. But why the need to fabricate?

Lots of questions, none of them leading anywhere.

It was like a jigsaw puzzle whose Pieces had been

improperly tooled. No matter how hard I worked,

the end product was maddeningly off-kilter.

I passed through the covered bridge and slowed

down. The entrance to the Swope property was

fronted by a sunken dirt driveway leading to rusty

iron gates. The gates weren't high--seven feet at

most--but they wore a coiffure of barbed wire that

stretched another yard,and were bound, as Maimon

had said, by padlock and chain.

I drove a hundred feet before finding space to

pull over. Nosing the Seville as close as possible to

a stand of eucalyptus, I parked, took the tools and

flashlight, and backtracked on foot.

The lock was brand new. Probably affixed by

Houten. The chain was plastic-coated steel. It resisted

the bolt cutters for a moment then split like

overcooked sausage. I opened the gate, slipped

.BLOQD

TEST 271

through, closed it, and rearranged the severed finks

to conceal the surgery.

The driveway was gravel and responded to my

footsteps with breakfast cereal sounds. The flashlight

revealed a tvi, ostory frame house, at first glance

not unlike Maimon's. But this structure seemed to

sag on its foundation, the wood splintered and peeling,

The roof was tar paper and bald in several

piaces, the windows framed by warped casements.

I placed my foot on the first porch step and felt the

wood give under my weight. Dry rot.

An owl hooted. I heard the rasping friction of

wings, raised my beam to catch the big bird in

flight. Then a broad swoop, the scurrying panic of

prey, a thin squeak, and silence once again.

The front door was locked. I considered various

means of snapping the lock and stopped midthought,

feeling furtive and vaguely criminal. Looking up at

the ravaged mass of 'the decrepit house, I remembered

the fate of its inhabitants. Inflicting further

damage seemed a heedless act of vandalism. I decided

to' try the back door,

I stumbled on a loose board, cauglt my balance,

and walked around the side of the house. I hadn't

taken a dozen steps when I heard the sound. An

incessant dripping, rhythmic and oddly melodic.

.There was a junction box in the same place as

the one at Maimon's. It was rusted shut and I had

to use the crowbar to pry it open. I tried several

switches and got no response. The fourth brought

on the lights.

There was a single greenhouse. I entered it.

- Long heavy wooden tables ran the length of the

glass building. The bulbs I'd .switched on were dim

and bluish, casting a milky glaze over the creations

272

that rested on the heavy planks. At the peak of the

ceiling were winches and pulleys designed to open

the roof.

The source of the dripping sound' became evident:

a reptilian system of overhead irrigation operated

by old-fashioned dialed timers and suspended

from the crossbeam.

Maimon had been wrong about there being noth--ing

but dust behind the Swopes' gates. The greenhouse

contained a plethora of growing th'rags. Not

flowers. Not trees. Things.

I'd thought of the Sephardic grower's nursery as

an Eden. What I' saw now was a vision from Hell.

Exquisite care had been taken to create a jungle

of botanic monstrosities.

There were hundreds of roses that would never

fill a bouquet. Their blossoms were shriveled,

stunted, colored a deathly gray. Each flower was

ragged-edged, irregulai', and covered with a layer of

what looked like moist fur. Others boasted three

inch thorns that turned stem and stalk into deadly

weapons. I didn't stoop to smell the flowers but the

stench reached me anyway, pungently warm, aggressively

rancid.

Next to the roses was a collection of carnivorous

plants. Venus's-flytraps, pitcher plants, others I

couldn't identify. All were larger and more robust

than any I'd seen. Green maws hung open. Sap

oozed from tendrils. On the table was a rusty kitchen

knife and a slab of beef cut into tiny pieces. Each

cube teemed with maggots, many of them dead.

One of the flesh-craving plants had managed to

lower its mouth to the table and snare some of the

white worms with i ts deadly-sweet exudate. Nearby

were more goodies for the carnivores--a coffee can

BLOOD TEST 273

heaped to the brim with dried beetles and flies.

The heap shuddered. Out crawled a live insect, a

wasp-like creature with a pincer mouth and swollen

abdomen. It stared at me and buzzed off. l followed

its trajectory. When it had flown out the door, I ran

over and slammed it shut..The glass panes vibrated.

And al/ the while the steady drip-drip from

the pipes overhead, keeping everything nice and

healthy ...

Weak-kneed with nausea I walked on, There was

a collection of bonsa/oleanders, leaves gound to

powder and stored in canisters. The granulate had

apparently been tested on field mice for poison

content. All that remained of the rodents, were teeth

and bones enshrouded in flesh tanned bi rigor mot-tis.

They'd been left to their terminal agonies, paws

begging stiffly. The droppings, had been used to

fertilize trays of toadstools. Each tray was labeled:

Amanita muscaria. Boletus miniato-olivaceus. Helvetla

esculenta.

The plants in the next section were fresh and

pretty but equally deadly: hemlock. Foxglove, Black

henbane. Deadly nightshade. An ivylike beauty identified

quaintly as poisonwood.

There were fruit trees as welL. Acrid smelling

oranges and lemons, pruned and twisted to nothingness.

An apple tree laden with grotesquely mis,

shapen tumors masquerading as fruit. A pomegranate

bush slimy with mucoid jelly. Flesh-colored plums

harboring colonies of gyrating worms. Mounds of

fruit rotted on the ground.

On and on it went, a stinking, repulsive nightmare

factory, Then suddenly, something different:

Against the far wall of the greenhouse was a

single tree in a hand-painted clay pot. Well-shaped,

healthy, and obtrusively normal. A hill had been

formed from the dirt that 'flooredhe greenhouse

and the potted tree rested on it, elevated; as if an

object of worship.

A lovely looking tree, with drooping elliptical

leaves and fruit resembling leathery green pine

cones.

Once outside I gulped fresh air greedily. Behind

the greenhouse was a stretch of barren land ending

at a black wall of forest. A good place for hiding.

Using the .flashlight beam for guidance I made my

way between the massive trunks of redwood and

fir. The forest floor was a spongy mattress of humus.

Small animals scampered in the wake of my

intrusion. Twenty minutes of searching and prodding

revealed no trace of human habitation.

I walked back to the house and switched off the

greenhouse lights. The padlock on the back door

was fastened to a cheap hasp that yielded to a

single twist of the crowbar.

I entered the dark house through a service porch

that connected to a'large cold kitchen.. Electricity

and water had been shut off. The greenhouse must

have run off a separate generator. I tsed the flashlight

to guide me,

The rooms downstairs were musty and stingily

furnished, the walls devoid of paintings or photographs.'

An oval hooked rug covored the living room

floor. Bordering it were a thrift shop sofa and two

aluminum folding chairs. The dining room was storage

space for cardboard cartons full of old newspapers

and bound cords of firewood. Bedsheets had

been used for curtains.

.Upstairs were three bedrooms, each containing

BLOOD TF. T 275

crude, rickety furniture and

one that had been Woodv's bore a semblance of

· cheer--a toybox nex.t to tte bed, superhero posters

on the walls, a Padres banner over the headboard.

Nona's dresser was blanketed with cut-glass perfume

atomizers and bottles of lotion. The clothes in

her closet were mostly jeans and skimpy tops. The

exceptions were a short rabbit jacket of the type

Hollywood streetwalkers used to favor and two frilly

party dresses, one red, one white. Her drawers were

crammed with nylons and lingerie and scented with

a homemade sachet. But like the rooms below, her

private space was emotionally blank, unmarked by

personal touches. No yearbooks, diaries, love letters,

or souvenirs. I found a crumpled scrap of

lined notebook paper in the bottom drawer of the

dresser, It was brown with age and covered, like

some classroom punishment, with hundreds of repetitions.of

the same single sentence: FUCI MADRONAS.

Garland and Emma's bedroom had a view of the

greenhouse. I wondered ff they'd woken in the morn-lng,

peered down at the chamber of mutations and

been warmed by a self-congratulatory glow. There

were two single beds with a nightstand between

them. All available fioorspaee was given over to

cardboard boxes. Some were filled with shoes, others

with .towels and linens. Still others held no.thing

but other cardboard boxes. I opened the' closet.

The parents' wardrobes were meager, shapeless,

decades out of style and biased toward grays and

browns.

There wasa small hinged trapdoor cut into the

ceiling of the closet. I found a stepstool hidden

behind a mildewed winter coat, pulled it out,. and

stretched high enough to give the door a strong

276

Jonathan Kelleniian

push. It opened with a slow pneumatic hiss, and a

ship's ladder slid down automatically through the

aperture. I tested it, found it steady, and ascended.

The attic covered the full area of the house, easily

two thousand square feet. It had been transformed

into a library, though not an elegant one.

Plywood bookcases were propped against all four

walls. A desk had been constructed of the same

cheap wood. A metal folding chair sat before .it.

The floor was speckled with sawdust. I looked for

another entry to the room and found none. The

windows were small and slatted. Only one mode. of

construction was possible: planks had been slipped

through the trapdoor and nailed together up here.

I ran the flashlight over the volumes that lined

the shelves. With the exception of thirty years'

worth of Reader's Digest condensed books, and a

case full of National Geographics, all were on biology,

horticulture, and related topics. There were

hundreds of pamphlets from the U.C. Riverside

Agricultural Station and the Federal Government

Printing Office. Stacks of mail-order seed catalogues.

A sat of oversized leather-bound Encyclopaedia of

Fruit printed in England, dated 1879/ and illustrated

with hand-tipped color lithographs. Scores

of college texts on plant pathology, soil biology,

forestry management, genetic engineering. A hiker's

guide to the trees of California. Complete collections

of Horticulture and Audtcbon. Copies of

patents awarded to inventors of farm equipment.

Four shelves of the case closest to the desk were

crowded with blue-Cloth looseleaf binders hbeled

with Roman numerals. I pulled out Volume I.

The cover was dated' 1965. Inside were eighty-three

pages of handwritten text. The writer's pen-

BLOOD TEST- 277

p was hard to decipher--cramped, back-and

of uneven darkness. I held the flashlight

with one hand, turned pages with the other,

ad finally got a perceptual fix on it.

Chapter One was a summary of Garland Swope's

plan to be the Cherimoya King He actually used

that term, even doodling miniature crowns in the

margins of the book. There was an outline of the

fruit's attributes and a reminder to check out its

nutritional value. The section ended with a list of

adjectives to be used when describing it to prospective

buyers. Succulent. Juicy. Mouthwatering. Refreshing.

HeaVenly. Other-worldly.

The rest of the first volume and the nine that

followed continued in this vein. Swope had authored

eight hundred and twenty-seven pages of text laud-.

ing the cherimoya over a ten-year-period, recording

the progress of each tree in his young grove and

plotting his control of the market. ("Riches? Fame?

Which is paramount? No matter, there will be

both.")

Stapled in ne of the books was an invoice from a

printer and a sample brochure brimming with gushing

prose and illustrated with-color photographs.

One picture showed Swope holding a bushel of the

exotic fruit. As a young man he'd resembled Clark

Gable, tall, husky, with dark wavy hair and a pencil

mustache. The caption identified him as a world-renowed

hortculturist and botanical researcher

specializing in the propagation of rare food crops

and dedicated to ending world hunger.

I read on. There were detailed descriptions of

crossbreeding experiments between the cherimoya

and other members of annonaceae. Swope was a

compulsive reporter, painstakingly listing every pos-

sible climactic and biochemical variable, tn the end

that line of research had been abandoned With the

notation that "No hybrid approaches the perfection

that is a. cherimoya."

The optimism came to an abrupt halt in Volume

X: I opened to newspaper clippings reporting the

freak frost that had decimated the cherimoya grove.

There were descriptions of the agricultural damage

wrought by the cold winds and projections of rises

in food prices clipped from San Diego papers. A

mournful featur6 on the Swopes specifically had

been printed in the La Vista C/a/on. The next

twenty pages were filled with jagged, obscene scribbles,

the paper deeply indented often to the point

of tearing; the pen had 'been used to stab and slash.

Then new experimental data.

As I turned the pages, Garland Swope's fascina-ti.on

with the grotesque, the stillborn, and the deadly

evolved before my eyes. It started as theoretical

notations about mutations, and rambling hypotheses

about their ecological value. Midway through the

eleventh volume was the chilling answer Swope

found to those questions: "The sublimely repugnant

mutations of otherwise mundane species must

be evidence of the Creator's essential hatefulness."

The notes grew progressively less coherent even

as they increased in complexity. At times Swope's

handwriting was so cramped as to be illegible, but I

was able to make out most of it--tests of poison

content on mice, pigeons, and sparrows; careful

selection of deformed fruit for genetic culture; culling

of the normal, nurturance of the defective, All

part of a patient, methodical search for the ultimate

· horticultural horror.

Then there was yet another turn in the convo-

BLOOD TEST 279

luted j.ourney through Swope's mind: in the first

XII it appeared he'd dropped

his morbid obsessions and gone back to working

with annonaceae, concentrating on-a species Maimon

hadn',t mentioned: a. zingiber. He'd conducted a

series of pollinization experiments, carefully listing

the date and time of each. Soon, however, the new

studies were interrupted by accounts of work with

deadly toadstools, foxglove, and dieffenachia. There

was a gleeful emphasis upon the neurotoxic qualities

of the last exemplified by a footnote attributing

the plant's common name, dumb cane, to its ability

paralyze the vocal chords.

This pattern of shifting between his pet mutations

and the new annona became established by the

middle of the thirteenth volume and continued

through the fifteenth.

In Volume XVI, the notes took on an optimistic

tone as Swope exulted in the creation of "a new

cultivar." Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, a.

zingiber was discarded and dismissed as "showing

robust breeder potential but lacking any further

ry." I put my strained eyes through another

hundred pages of madness and set the binders aside.

The library contained several bookson rare 'fruit,

many of them exquisite editions published in Asia.

I looked through all of them but could find no

reference to annona zingiber, Puzzled, I searched

the shelves for suitable reference material and

pulled out a thick dog-eared volume titled Botanical

Taxonomy.

The answer was at the end of the book. It took a

while to comprehend the full meaning of what I'd

just read. An unspeakable conclusion but agonizingly

logical.

280 Jonathan KeIterman

As the insights hit I was seized with acute claustrophobia

and grew rigid with tension. Sweat ran

down my back. My heart pounded and my breathing

quickened. The room was an evil place and I

had to get out.

Frantically I gathered up several of the blue cloth

binders-and placed them in a cardboard box. I carried

it and my tools down the ladder, bolted the

bedroom, and rushed to the landing. Teetering with

vertigo, I ran recklessly down the stairs and crossed

the frigid living room with four long strides.

After fumbling with the latch I managed to throw

open the front door. I stood on the rotting porch

until I caught my breath.

Silence greeted me. I'd never felt so alone.

Without looking back I made my escape.

22

ALONG WITH everyone else, I'd dismissed Raoul's

conviction that Woody Swope had been abducted

by the Touch. Now I wasn't so sure.

I'd seen no aberrant crops growing in the gardens

of the Retreat, which meant Matthias had lied about

buying seeds from the Swopes. On the surface it

seemed a petty falsehood, serving no purpose. But

habitual liars often lace their stories with demitruths

for the sake .of realism. Had the guru fabricated a

casual connection between his group and the Swopes

in order to obscure a deeper relationship?

The lie stuck in my craw. Along with the memory

of my first visit to the Retreat, which, in

retrospect, seemed suspiciously well orchestrated.

Matthias had been too gracious about my intrusion,

too pliant and cooperative. For a group that had

been described as reclusive, the Touch had been

strangely willing to endure scrutiny bya total

stranger.

Had the generous welcome meant they had noth-

281

282 Jonathan Kellerman

ing to hide? Or that theyhad hidden their secret so

well that discovery was out of the question.

I thought of Woody and allowed myself the luxury

of hope: the boy might still be alive. But for

how long? His body was a biochemical minefield

ready to explode at any moment.

If Matthias and his cultists had stashed the boy

somewhere on their grounds, a more spontaneous

inspection was in order.

Houten had gotten to the Retreat by'driving

through La Vista and turning right at a fork just

outside the town limits. I wanted to avoid being

seen and if my recollection of the county map was

correct, the. road I now traveled intersected the one

from town, forming the right prong of the fork. I

sped along, headlights off, and soon found myself

nearing the gates of the former monastery.

Once again I hid the Seville under tall trees and

walked to the entrance on foot. The bolt cutter was

in my waistband, the flashlight in my jacket pocket,

and the crowbar up one sleeve. I wouldn't stand a

chance in an electrical storm.

My hopes for surreptitious entry were dashed by

the sight of a male cultist patrolling inside the

gates. His white uniform stood out in the darkness,

the loose-fitting garments billowing, as he walked

/back and forth. A leather stash bag swung from the

sash around his waist.

I'd come too far to turn back. A plan presented

itself. I moved forward cautiously. Closer inspection

revealed the guard to be Brother Baron, nee

Barry Graffius. This cheered me greatly. I'm not a

violent person by inclination and had begun to feel

more than a little guilty about what I was about to

BLOOD TEST 283

do. But if anyone deserved it, Graffius did. The

rationalization didn't remove the guilt,-but it did

serve to lower it to a tolerable level.

I timed my footsteps to coincide with bis and

drew closer. Unloading my tools, I waited, concealed

behind high shrubbery, but able to see him

through the branches. He continued his walk for a

few minutes, then obliged me by stopping to scratch

his rear. I gave a low hiss and he snapped to attention,

straining to locate the source of the sound.

Edging Closer to the gate he peered out, sniffing

like a rabbit.

I held my breath until he resumed pacing. Another

pause, this one deliberate, inquisitive. Hiss.

He reached under his blouse and drew out a little

pistol. Stepped forward, pointing the gun in the

direction of the sound.

I waited until he'd stopped and listened three

more times before hissing again. This time he let

out a curse and pressed his belly up against the

iron bars of the gate, eyes wide with suspicion and

anxiety. He raised the weapon, moved it in an arc

like a turret gunner.

When the barrel was pointing away from me I

rushed him, grabbed the gun arm and yanked it

forward through the bars. A sharp perpendicular

twist against the metal made him cry out in pain

and drop the weapon. I put my fist in his solar

plexus and as he gasped, employed a little trick I'd

learned rom Jaroslav, Grabbing his neck, I felt for

the right places, found them, squeezed and shut

down his carotid arteries.

The choke-hold worked quickly. He went limp.

and passed out. As consciousness departed, his body

grew heavy in my grasp. I struggled to keep my

284 Jonathan KellZn'man

hold on him and lowered him carefully to theground.

It was tricky working through the bars but } managed

to roll him over and loosen the drawstrings of

the stash bag. The yield: a roll of breath mints, a

small sack of sunflower seeds, and a ring of keys.

I left him 'the snacks, took the keys and unlocked

the gates. After retrieving the tools and the pistol, I

walked trough, closed and relocked the gates.

Stripping Graffius was harder than it looked. I

used his clothes tohind his arms and legs. By the

time I'd finished t',as breathing hard, After ensuring

that his nasal ,passages were clear I gagged him

with one of h'lss,

H '

'

e d be c i:axound soon and I didn't want

him discov :0.5t lifted him over my shoulder

and carried 'ihimof-f.the path, stepping into the bed

of succglents. The Phats sqUished underfoot, moist

and cold nst my ttaserlegs. I took him through

to where-e/iooded.ea began, continued several

Yard, and.-do. ! between two redwoods.

Gather'mgmy tools I.began-the walk to the Retreat.

A pale amber light shone above the door of the

cathedral. The crucifix seemed to float above the

.belfry. A pair of male cultists patrolled the entrance

at- ten minute intervals.

I took my time crossing the viaduct, crouching to

avoid detection, concealing myself behi.qd the col-urnns

of the arbor. An arched gate was set into the

wall to the right of the main building. When the

time was right I made a run for it, found it unlocked,

and walked through.

I was in one of the many courtyards I'd noticed

during my first vi a grassy rectangle rimmed on

three sides by a h :edge of eugenia. The church wall

BLOOD TEST 285

formed the fourth. At the far . of the lawn. was a

brass-topped sundial.

Draperies had been .drawh ow

windows, but a crescent of

and whitened the grass. I bounded-

the windows were too high to see through, the

stucco walls free of toeholds.

I searched for somethi'ng to stand on, saw only

the sundial. It was solid stone, far too heavy to

carry. Boots had wrapped themselves around the

base. By rocking it back and forth I vOas able to 'free

it from its earthly mooring. Laboriously I rolled it

to-the window, hoisted myself up, and peeked in

through folds of brocade.

The huge domed room was brightly lit, the biblical

murals vivid to the point of vulgarity. Matthias

sat in-its center, cross-legged and naked, on a padded

mat. His long body was as thin as a fakir's, s6 pounds

and pale. Other mats ringed the periphery of the

cathedral. Cultists squatted on them, fully garbed,

men to the left, women to the right.

The pine table that had been at the center of the

roo. m during my first visit was pushed back behind

the guru. One of the men--the black-bearded giant

from the vineyardJstood by it. Several red porcelain

bowls sat on the table. I wondered what was in

them.

Matthias meditated.

The flock waited silently and patiently as their

shepherd retreated into an internal world, eyes

closed, palms pressed together. He swayed and

hummed and his penis began to harden, tilting upward.

The others gazed at the tumescing organ as if

it were sacred. When he was fully erect he opened

his eyes and stood.

286 j-onathan Kellerman

Stroking himself, he regarded 'his followers with :

authoritarian smugness.

"Let the Touch begin!" he thundered in a deep

metallic voice.

A woman rose, fortyish, pudgy, and fair. She

walked daintily to the table. Blackbeard inserted a

golden straw into one of the bowls. The woman

.ped and put her nose to it, sniffed hard and

aled the powder up into her sinuses.

The cocaine must have been high-quality. It took

effect quickly. She swooned and grinned, broke into

a giggle and did a little dancelike shuffle.

"Magdalene," called M atthias.

She walked to him, undid her clothes and stood

naked before her master. Her body was pink and

plump, the buttocks marbled and stippled. She knelt

and took him in her mouth, licking, nibbling, breasts

bbbling with each movement. Matthias rocked on

his heels, gritting his teeth with pleasure She serviced

him as the others watched until he pushed

her head away and gestured for her to go.

She rose, walked to the left side of the cathedral

and stood in front of the men, arms at her sides,

completely at ease.

Matthias spoke the name "Luther."

A short man, bald and stooped, with a full gray

beard, stood and disrobed. Upon command he went

to the table, received a giant snootful of coke from

the giant. Another' stage direction from Matthias

led him and the chubby woman to the center of the

room. She dropped to her knees, teased him hard

and lay down on her back. The bald man mounted

her and they copulated frantically.

The next woman to dip into the snow and kneel

before the guru was tall, bony, and Spanish-looking.

BLOOD TEST

287

. She was paired with a heavdy built, bespectacled,

.florid man who looked like he'd been an accountant

in a former life. He had an unusually small penis

and the angular woman seemed to swallow it whole

as she worked energetically to arouse him. Soon the

two of them joined the first couple in the horizontal

dance on the cathedral floor.

The third woman was Delilah. Her body was

freakishly youthful, lithe, and firm. Matthias kept

her with him longer than the first two and 'had four

other women join in. They ministered to him like

drones servicing a queen bee. Finally he released

them and assigned them partners.

In the course of twenty minutes a fortune in coke

had been consumed, with no letup in sight. [ saw

people go back for seconds and thirds, all in response

to commands from Matthias. When one bowl

was depleted the giant simply shoved his straw

into another.

The padded mats held a writhing mass of wriggling

bodies. The scene was sexual without being

sensual, depressingly lacking in spontaneity, a mindless

ritual, codified, choreographed, and based on

the whims of one megalomaniac. A nod from Mat-thias

and the cultists tumbled and thrust. JThe crook

of-an eyebrow and they heaved and moaned. I

couldn't help being reminded of the maggots blindly

burrowing through the meat in Garland Swope's

greenhouse.

A roar rose from the cultists. Matthias had

spurted. Women scurried 'to lick him clean. He lay

back, sated, but their attentions made him hard

again and the action resumed.

I'd seen ehough. Climbing down from the sundial,

I walked quietly to the gate. The two sentries

were-approaching from the right, brown-bearded,

grim-faced, and goose-gteppingin rhythm. I stepped -back

into the shadows until they had passed. When

they'd turned the corner I sprinted out of the courtyard

and raced to the iron-banded front door. Pulling

it open a crack I peeked through and found the

entrance unguarded. From behind the-doors of the

sanctuary came sounds of muffled bleating and the

rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh.

To the left was the dead end punctuated by Mat-thias's

office. I ran to the right, nearly tripping

over a potted palm in my haste. The corridor was

empty and white. 1 felt as conspicuous as a roach on

a refrigerator. If discovered, Iwas a dead man: I'd

seen the coke cache, I had no idea how long the

orgy down the hall would last, or if the sentries'

circuit took them indoors. Speed was of the essence.

I searched the laundry room, the kitchen, the

members' library, looked for hidden tunnels, false

walls, secret stairways. Found nothing.

Using a master key I discovered on the ring l'd

taken from Graffius, I conducted a fruitless search

of each room. Halfway through there was one false

alarm: sudden movement under the bedcovers of

one of the beds. For one heart-stopping moment I

thought my search was' over. But the bodv tunder

the blanket was adult, male, hirsute, and tlick, the

face above it red-nosed,, openmouthed, and mot-tied:

a cultist sleeping off a cold. The man stirred

under the beam of my flashlight, passed wind, and

rolled over, dead to the world. I left quietly.

The next room was Delilah's. She'd kept some of

her old reviews and press clippings in the bottom

of a drawer filled with plain cotton underwear.

289

Other than that her sleeping quarters were as barren

as those of the others.

I went from room to room, checking another dozen

cells bet:ore coming to the one I remembered was

Matthias's. The door wouldn't respond tQ any o£

the keys on the ring.

I used the crowbar. The bolt was a long one and

wouldn't surrender until the door was nearly shattered.

Anyone passing by would notice the damage.

I slipped inside,,taut with pressure.

It was as before. Identical to the others except for

the small bookcase. Low ceilinged. Cool Walled

and floored with stone. Dominated by a hard narrow

bed covered with a coarse gray'blanket.

The humble domicile of a man who'd pounds rsaken

the pleasures o pounds the flesh for those of the spirit.

Ascetic. And' pounds lse to the core.

For the man was anything but spiritual. Minutes

ago I'd watched him defile a .church, drunk with

power, cold as Luci pounds r. Suddeuly the books on his

shelves seemed to stare out at me. Mockingly. Righteous

tomes on. religion, philosophy, ethics; morality.

Books had revealed secrets once already, this eve'rang,.

Perhaps they would again.

Furiously, I emptied the shelves, examining each

volume, opening, shaking, searching pounds r pounds lse spines,

hollowed out pages, dues scrawled in margins.

Nothing. The books were pristine, bindings stiff,

pages crisp and unfoxed.

Not a single one had been read.

The empty bookcase teetered, shi pounds ed on its base.

I caught it before it fell. And noticed something.

-The portion o pounds the floor that had been under the

bookcase was a clearly demarcated rectangle, a shade

lighter than the rest. I knelt, pointed the flashlight,

ran my fingers over the edges, seams. Cut into the

stone. I pushed. Faint movement.

It rook some experimenting to find the proper

fulcrum. Stepping on one corner of the rectangle

Idf-ted the block sufficiendy to lodge the crowbar in

the opening. I exerted pressure. The slab rose and I

pushed it aside.

The hole was about eighteen inches by a foot,

four. reef deep and lined with concrete. Too small

for a boiy. But more than ample for other booty:

I found double plastic bags tightly packed with

powder in shades of choco/ate and vanilla: snowy

cocaine and a brownish substance that I recognized

as Mexican heroin. A metal strongbox full of sticky

dark resin.raw opium. Several pounds of hashish

in foilwrapped chunks the size of soap bars.

'

And at the bottom of the hole, a single manila

folder.

I opened it, read it, .and slipped it into my shirt.

By now I was carrying more cargo than the Southern

Pacific. I turned off the flashlight, looked both

ways down the hall. Heard the sounds of human

voices. At the end of the corridor was a door leading

outside. I sprinted, as fast as I could and hurled

myself through it, lungs aching.

Cultists were streaming out of the sanctuary, most

of them still naked. I made it to the base of the

fountain without being seen and hid under the oak

trees. Matthias came out surrounded by women.

One wiped his brow. Another--Maria, the bland-faced,

grandmotherly woman who'd sat at the entrance

the day of my first visit---gave him a neck

rub and fondled his penis. Apparently oblivious to

these ministrations, he led the group to the lawn

and bade them sit. Five dozen people obeyed, the

BLOOD TEST 291

crowd collapsing like deflated bellows. They were

no more than thirty feet away.

Matthias looked up at the stars. Mumbled something.

Closed his eyes and began chanting wordlessly.

The others joined in. The sound was raw and atonal,

a primal wail, passionately pagan. When they

reached a crescendo, I sprinted to the viaduct and

ran straight for the front gates.

Graffius was lying a few feet from where I'd

placed him, twisting like a worm on a griddle, struggling

to get free. He seemed to be breathing well. I

left him there.

2311

I HADN'T found what I was looking for. But between

Swope's journals and the file I'd taken from Mat-thias's

room I had plenty for show and tel1. No

doubt my pilferage violated all the rules of evidence,

but what I'd found would be enough to get

things going.

.It was just past two A.M. I got behind the wheel of

the Seville, adrenalized and hyperalert. Starting up

the engine, I organized my thoughts: I'd drive to

Oceansile,'Fmd a phone and call Milo or, if he was

still in Washington, Del Hardy. It shouldn't take

long to notify the proper authorities; and with luck

the investigation could commence before dawn.

It was more important than ever to avoid La

Vista. I turned the car around in the direction of

the utility road and rolled into the dark. I passed

the Swope place, Maimon's nursery, the homesteads

and the citrus groves, and had reached the plateau

of the foothills when the other car materialized

from the west.

I heard it before seeing it--its headlights, like

mine, were off. There was just enough moonlight to

identify the make as it sped past. A late model

Corvette, dark, possibly black, its snout nosing the

asphalt. The rumble of an oversized engine. A rear

spoiler. Shiny mag wheels.

But it wasn't until I saw the big fat tires that I

changed my plans.

The Corvette turned left. I shot the intersection,

turned right and followed, lagging 'far enough he-

,

nd to stay out of earshot and struggling to keep

e low dark chassis in view from that distance.

Whoever was behind the wheel knew th road well

and drove like a teenage joyrider, popping the clutch,

downshifting around curves without breaking, accelerating

with a roar that signaled impending

redline.

The r6ad turned to dirt. The Corvette chewed it

up like a fourwheeler. The Seville's suspension shimmied

but I held on. The other car Slowed at the

sealed entrance to the oilfields, turned sharply 'and

drove along the perimeter of the mesa. It accelerated

and sped on, hugging the fence, casting an

incision-thin shadow against the chain link.

The abandoned fields stretched for miles, as desolate

as a moonscape. Moist craters pocked the tar-rain.

The fossils of tractors and trucks rose from

the sump. Row after row of dormant wells encased

in grid-sided towers erupted from the tortured earth,

creating the illusion of a skyline.

The Corvette was there one moment, gone the

next. I braked quickly but quietly, and coasted forward.

There Was a car-sized gap in the fence. The

chain link was ragged and curly-edged around the

BLOOD TEST 295

opening, as if it had umaveled under the force of

giant shears. Tire tracks etched the dirt.

I drove through, parked behind a rusted de, rick,

got out, and inspected the ground.

The Corvette's tires had created dual caterpillars

that wove a corridor through convex metal walls:

oil drums were stacked three,high, forming a hundred

yards of barricade. The night air stank of tar

and burnt rubber. -

The corridor terminated in a clearing. In the

open space sat an old mobile home on blocks. A

smudge of light filtered through a single curtained

window. The door was unadorned plywood. A few

feet away was the sleek black car.

The driver's door opened. I pressed back, flat

against the oil drums. A man got out, arms full,

keys dangling from his fingertips. He carried four

shopping bags as if they were weightless. Walking

.to the door of the mobile home, he knocked once,

.three 'times, then once again, and let himself in.

He stayed in there for half an hour, emerged

caytng an axe, laid it on the Corvette's passenger

seat, and got behind the Wheel.

I waited ten minutes after he'd driven away before

walking to thedoor and imitating his knock.

When there was no response, I repeated it. The

door opened. I looked into wide-set eyes the color of

midnight.

"Back so soo--" The straight wide mouth froze

in surprise. She tried to slam the door shut. I put

my foot in and pressed. She pushed back. I got in

and. she edged away from me.

"You!" The girl was wild-eyed and beautiful.

Her flaming hair had been tied up and pinn. ed. A

few fine strands had come loose, haloing the long

supple neck. Two thin hoops pierced each ear. She

wore cut-offs and a white midriff Mouse. Her belly

was tan and flat, her legs smooth and miles-10ng,

tapering to bare feet, She'd painted her fingernails

and toenails hunter green.

-The trailer was partitioned into rooms. We were

in a cramped yellow kitchen that smelled of-mil-dew.

One of the shopping bags had already been

emptied. The other three sat ont.the counter. She

fumbled, in the dish drainer, came up with a plastic-handled

bread knife. ,

. f'Get out of here or I'll cut you. I swear it!"

"Put it down, Nona," I said softly. "I'm not here

to hurt you."

"Bullshit! Just like the others-." She held the

knife with beth hands. The serrated blade made a

wobbly arc. "Get out!"

"I know what was done to you. Hear me out."

She went slack and looked puzzled. For a moment

I-thought I'd calmed her. I took a step closer.

Her young' face contorted with hurt and rage.

She took a deep breath and lunged at me, knife

held high.

I stepped away from the thrust. She plunged the

blade where my thorax had been, sbbed air, and

pitched forward awkwardly, I caught her wrist,

squeezed and shook.

The knife fell, clicking oinst grubby linoleum.

She went for my eyes with long green nails, but I

got hold of both of her arms. She was delicately

built, the bones fragile under smooth soft skin, but

strengthened by anger. She kicked and coiled and

spat, managed to gouge my Cheek. On my bad side.

I felt a warm trail flow ticklishly down the Side of

BLOOD TEST 297

-my face, then a 'sharp sting.:Burgundy

dotted the floor.

I pinioned her arms to her sides. She went stiff,

Staring at me with the terror of a wounded animal.

Suddenly she darted her face forward. I jerked

back to avoid being bitten. Her tongue snaked out

and caught a droplet of blood on its tip. She ran it

over her lips, rouging them wetly. Forced a smile.

"I'll drink you," she said huskily, "Do anything

you want. If you leave afterwards."

"That's not what I'm after."

"It would be if you knew. I can' make you feel

things you've never imagined." It was a line from a

low:budget skinflick, but she took it seriously, grinding

her pelvis against mine. She licked me once

more ad made a show of swallowing the blood.

"Stop' it," I said, arching away.

"Aw, c'mon." She wriggled. "You're a hunk. Those

nice blue eyes and all of those thick dark curls. I

bet your cock is just as pretty, huh?"

"Enough, Nona."

She pouted and kept rubbing against me. Her

skin was saturated with musky dimestore cologne.

"Don't be angry, Blue Eyes. There's nothing wrong

with being a big healthy guy with a big gnarly cock.

I can feel it now. Bight there. Oh yeah, it's big. I'd

love. to play with it. Put it in my mouth. Swallow

you. Drink you." She batted her lashes. "I'll take off

my clothes and let you play with me while I do

yOU."'

She tried to lick me again. I freed one hand and

slapped her hard across the face.

She reeled backward, stunned, and looked at me

with littlgirl surprise.

298 .lothan Kellenum

I s

ou re a human being," aid. Not a piece o£

meat."

"I'm a cunt!" she screamed and tore at her hair,

ripplingloose the long ginger tendrils.

"Nona--"

She shuddered with self-loathing, sculpted her

hands into quivering hooks. But this time they were

aimed at her own flesh, inches from ripping open

that exquisite face.

I grabbed her and held her tight. She fought me.,

cursing, then exploded into sobs. She seemed to

curl up and diminish in .size, .crying on my shoulder.

When the tears wouldn't come anymore, she

collapsed aainst my chest, mute and limp.

I carried her to a chair, sat her down, wiped her

face with a tissue and pressed another against my

cheek. Most of the bleeding had stopped. I retrieved

the knife and tossed it in the sink.

She was staring at the table. I cupped her chin in

my hand. The inky eyes were glazed and unfocused.

"Where's Woody?"

"Back there," she said dully. "Sleeping."

"Show me."

She rose unsteadily. A shredded plastic shower

curtain divided the trailer. I guided her through it.

The back room was sruff'y and dim and furnished

with thrift shop remnants. The walls were paneled

with fake birch, scarred white. A filling station

calendar hung lopsided from a roofing nail. Digital

time beamed forth from a plastic clock radio atop a

plastic Parsons table. On the floor was a pile of

teen magazines. A blue velveteen sleeper sofa had

been opened to a queen-size bed.

Woody slept under faded paisley covers, coppery

curls spreading on the pillow. On the adjacent ght-

BLOOD TEST 299

stand were comic books, a toy truck,.an uneaten

apple, a botde of pills. Vitamins.

His breathing was regular but labored, hi.s lips

swollen and dry. I touched his cheek.

"He's very hot," I told her,

"It'll break," she said defensively. "I've been giv-

ing him vitamin C for it."

"Has it helped yet?"

She-looked away and shook her head.

-"He needs to be in a hospital, Nona."

"Nol" She bent down, took his small head in her

arms. Pressed her cheek to his and kissed his eyelids.

He smiled in his sleep.

'Tm going to call an ambulance."

ne"

"There's no pno , she proclaimed with child-

ish triumph. "Go leave to find one. We'll be gone

when you get back."

"He's very sick," I said patiently. "Every hour

we delay puts him in greater danger. We'll go to-

ad"

gether, in my car. Get your things re y.

"They'll hurt him[" she screamed. "Just like before.

Sticking needles in his bones! Putting him in

that plastic jail!"

"Listen to me, Nona. He has cancer. He couldrdie

from it."

She turned away.

"I don't believe it."

I held her shoulders.

."You'd better. It's true."

"Why? Cause that beaner doctor said so? He's

just like all the others. Can't be trusted." She cocked

her hip the way she'd done 'm the hospital corridor.

"Why should it be cancer? He never smoked or

polluted himself! He's just a little kid."

"Kids get cancer, too. Thousands of them each

300 Jonathan Kel 'lerman

year. No one knows why but they do. Almost all of

them can be treated and some can be cured. Woody's

one of them. Give him a chance."

She frowned stubbornly.

"They were poisoning him in that p'laee."

"You need strong drugs to kill the disease. I'm

not saying it'll be painless but medical treatment's

the only thing that can save his life."

"S'that what the beaner told you to tell me?"

"No. It's what I'm telling you myself. You don't

have to go back to Dr. Melendez-Lynch. We'll find

another specialist. In San Diego."

The boy cried out in his sleep. She ran to him,

sang a low, wordless lullaby, and stroked his hair.

He quieted,

She rocked him in her arms. A child cradling a

child. The flawless features trembled on the brink

of collapse. The tears started again, in a torrent

that streamed down her face.

"If we go to a hospital they'll take him away from

me. I can take care of him best right here."

"Nona," I said, summoning all my compassion,

"there are things even a mother can't do."

The rocking ceased for'a moment, then resumed.

"I was at your parents' house tonight. I saw the

greenhouse and read your father's notebooks." She

gave a start. It was the first she!d heard of the

journals. But she suppressed the surprise and pretended

to ignore me.

I continued to talk softly. "I know what you've

been through. It star, ted after the death of the

cherimoyas. He was probably Unbalanced all along,

but-failure and helplessness drove him over the

edge. He tried to get back in control by playing

God. By creating his own world."

BLOOD TEST 301

She stiffened, withdrew from the bo, put his .

head down on the pillow tenderly, and walked out

of the room. I followed her into the kitchen, keeping

an eye on the knife in the sink. Stretching, she

took a bottle of Southern Comfort from a high cupboard

shelf, poured a coffee cup half 'full, and,

leaning rangily against the counter, swallowed. Unaccustomed

to hard drinking, she grimaced and went

into a paroxysm of oughing as it hit bottom.

I patted her back and eased her to a chair. She

took the bottle with her. I sat opposite her, waited

until she'd stopped hacking to continue.

"It started out as a series of Experiments. Weird

stuff using inbreeding and complex grafts. And that's

all it was for a while--weird. Nothing criminal

happened until he noticed you'd grown up."

She filled the cup again, threw her head back,

and tossed the liquor down her throat, a caricature

of toughness.

Once upon a time she'd been anything but tough.

A pretty little red-haired girl, Maimon had recalled,

smiling and friendly. The problems hadn't started

until she was twelve years old or so. He hadn't

known why.

But I did.

She'd completed puberty three months before her

twelfth birthday. Swope had recorded the day he'd

discovered it: ("Eureka! Annona has blossomed.

She lacks intellectual depth, but what physical perfection!

First rate stock...").

He'd been fascinated with. the transformation of

her body, describing it in botanic terms. And as he

observed her development, a hideous plan had taken

shape in the 'wreckage of his mind.

One part of him was still organized, disciplined.

302

Jonathan Kellerman

As analytical as Me. ngele. The seduction was Undertaken

with the precision of a scienfific experi-

ment.

The first step was dehumanization of the victim.

In order to justify the violation, he reclassified her:

the-girl was no longer his daughter, or even a per°

son. Merely a specimen of a new exotic Species.

Annona zingiber. The ginger annona. A pistil to be

pollinated.

Next came semantic distortion of the outrage itself:

the daily excursions into the forest behind the

greenhouse weren't incest, simply a new, intriguing

project. The ultimate investigation of inbreeding.

He'd wait eagerly each day for her return from

school to take her by the hand, and lead her into

darkness. Then the spreading of the blanket on

ground softed by. pine needles, casual dismissal

of her protests. There had been a full half yearof

rehearsal--an intensive seminar in fellatio--then

finally, entry into the young body, the spilling of

seed on the ground.

Evenings were devoted to the recording of 'data:

climbing into the attic, he'd log each union in his

notebook, sparing no details. Just like any other

research.

According to the journals, he'd kept his wife informed

about the progress of the experiments. Initially,

she'd offered faint protest, then stood by,

passively acquiescent. Follmeing orders.

Impregnating the girl hadn't been an accident.

On the con .txary, it had been Swope's ultimate goal,

calibrated and calculated. He'd been patient and

methodical, waiting until she was a bit older--fourteen--to

fertilize her so that the health of the

fetus Wou/d be optimized. Charting her menstrual

BLOOD TEST 30-3

cycle pinpoint ovulation. Refraining from intercourse

for several days to increase the sperm count

· It had taken on the first try. He'd rejoiced at the

cessation of her menses, the swe]llng of her belly. A

new cu/t/var had been created.

I told her what I knew, wording it gently and

hoping the empathy came through. She listened

with a blank look on her face, drank Southern Comfort

until her eyelids drooped.

"He victimized you, Nona. Used you and discarded

you when it was over,"

Her head gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"You must have been so frightened, carrying a

child at that age. And being sent away to have it in

secret."

"Bunch of dykes," she muttered, slurring her

words.

"At Madronas?"

She took another drink.

"Fuck yeah. Las Fucking Madronas Home for

Bad Little Fucking Girls. In Mexi-fucking-O.' Her

head lolled. She reached for the bottle. "Big fat

. fucking beaner dykes running the place. Screaming

in beaner. Pinching and peking, Telling us we were

trash. Sluts."

Maimon had remembered vividly the morning

she'd left town. Had described her waiting with

her suitcase in the middle of the road. A scared

little girl with all the mischief knocked out of her.

About to be banished for the sins of another.

She'd come back different, he'd noted. Quieter,

more subdued. 'Angry.

She was talking now, softly, drunkenly.

"It hurt so bad to push 'that baby boy out. I

,scmamed and they covered my mouth. I thoughtl

wa co .ming bpart. When it was over, they wouldn't

'{t me hold him. Took him away fromme. My baby,

they took him away! I forced myself to sit up to

get a look at him. It near killed me. He Had red

hair, just like me."

She shook her head., baffled.

"I thought I could keep him after I got home. But

he said no way. Told me I was nothing. Just a

vessel. Just a fucking vessel. Fancy word or cunt.

Good for nothing but fucking. Told me I wasn't

really the momma. She'd already started .being his

momma. I was the cunt. All used up and tossed in

the trash. Time to let the grownups take over."

She dropped her head on the table and whimpered.

I rubbed the back of her neck, said comforting

things, Even in th.at state she reacted reflexively to

the touch of a mai/e, lifting her face and flashing me

an intoxicated,'come-hither smile, leaning forward

to expose the tops of her breasts.

I shook my head and she turned away shame-faced.

I had so much sympathy for her it ached. There

were therapeutic things I could have said. Butnow

was the time to manipulate her. The boy in the

back room needed- help. I was prepared to take him

out of there against her will but preferred to avoid

another abduction. For.both their sakes.

"It wasn't you who took him out of the hospital,

was it? You loved him too much to endanger him

like that."

"It's true," she said, wet-eyed. "They did it. To

stop me from being his momma. All these years I'd

let them treat me like garbage.. Stayed. out of the

way while they raised him. Not saying anything to

him about it cause I was afraid it would freak him

her heart, reached down

her g las s.

"But when he got sick

Like a hook in .my guts

line. I had to reclaim my rights. I stewed about-it

sitting with him in that plastic room, watching him

sleep. My baby. Finally I decided to do it. Sat them

down in the .motel one night, told them the lies had

gone.°n too long. That my time had come. To take

care of my baby.

"They--he laughed at me. Put me down, told me

I was unfit, a piece of shit, A fucking vessel. I

should get the hell out and make it better for everyone.

But this time I didn't take it. The pain in my

guts was too. strong. Igave it all back to them, told

them they were evil. Sinners. That the ca--the

SickneSs was God's punishment for what they'd

done. They were the ones who were unfit. And I

was gonna tell everyone about it. The doctors, the

nurses. They'd kick them out and hand my baby

over to his rightful momma when they found out."

Her handstrembled violently around her glass. I

walled' behind her and steadied them with mine.

"It was my right!" she cried out, whipping her

head around and begging confirmation. I nodded

and she slumped against my chest.

During Baron and Delilah's hospital visit, Emma

Swope had complained the cancer treatment was

dividing the family. The cultists had construed it

as anxiety about the physical separation imposed

by the Laminar Airflow room. But the woman had

been worrying out loud about a far more serious

rupture, one' that threatened to rend the family as

irreparably as a guillotine on neck-flesh.:

Perhaps she'd known, then, that the wound was

too deep to heal. But she and her husband had

attempted to patch it anyway. To prevent the leakage

of the ugly secret by taking the child and running...

"They snuck him out behind my back," Nona was

saying, squeeziv4g my hand, digging in with the

green nails. The anger was percolating within her

once again. A thin film of sweat mustached the

rich, wide mouth. "Like fucking thieves. She 'dressed

up as an x-ray technician. In a mask and gown they

swiped from the laundry bin. Took him down to

the basement on a service elevator and out a side

exit. Th/eves.

'-'I came back to the .motel and all three 'of them

were there. My baly was lying on the bed, so small

and helpless. They were packing and jo king about

getting away with it so easy.. How nobody had recognized

her behind the mask because none of them

had ever looked her in the eye. Putting down the

hospital. Him going on about smog and shit. Trying

to justify what. they'd done."

She'd given me an opening. It was time to renew

my pitch. To convince her to come with me peaceably

as I carried her son out of there.

But before I could say anything the door burst

open.

24

Douc CARMICHAEL crouched in the doorway like a

commando in a martial arts movie. The arm.that ·

extended into the room held a rifle. The other hefted

a double-edged axe as if it were balsa. He wore a

black mesh tank top that exposed lots of hypertrophied

muscle. His legs were thick and corded, carpeted

with curly blond hair and encased in tight

white swim trunks. His knees were misshapen and

lumpy-surfer's knots. Rubber beach sand, s cushioned

large rough feel The reddish-blond beard was

neatly cropped, the thick layered hair precisely

blow-dried.

Only the eyes had changed from the day I'd met

him. That afternoon in Venice they'd been the. color

of a cloudless sky. Now I looked into a pair of

bottomless black holes: dilated pupils surrounded

by thin rings of ice. Mad eyes that scanned the

trailer, shifting from the Southern Comfort bottle to

the drowsy girl to me.

307

"I ought to kill you right now for giving hr that

poison."

"I didn't. She took it herself."

"Shut up!"

Nona tried to straighten up. She swayed groggily.

Garmichael pointed the rifle at me.

"Sit down on the floor. Up against the wall, with

- your hands under you. Good. Now stay put or I'll

have to hurt you."

To Nona: "C'mere, Sis."

She went to his sideand leaned against his bulk.

One massive arm went around her protectively.

The one with the axe.

"Did he hurt you, babe?"

She looked at me, knew she was my jury, considered

her answer, ands, hook her head woozily.

"Naw, he's been okay. Just talking. Wants to take..

'Woody to the hospital."

"I'll bet he does," sneered GarmichaeL "That's

the party line. Pour more poison in and rake in the

bucks."

She looked up at him.

"I dunno, Doug, the fever's no better."

"Did you give him the C ?"

"Yeah, just like you said."

"What about the apple?"

"He wouldn't eat it. Been too sleepy."

"Try again. If he doesn't like the apple there are

pears and plums, too. And oranges." He tilted his

head at the shopping bags on the counter. "That

stuff is super fresh. Just picked, totally organic.

Get some fruit and fluid down him along with more

C and he'll cool off."

"The boy's in danger," I said. "He needs more

than vitamins."

BLOOD TEST 309

"I said shut up! You want me to finish you off

right here ?"

"I don't think he means any harm," said the girl,

meell-y.

Carmichael smiled at her with genuine warmth

and just a touch of condescension.

"You go back in there with the little guy, Sis.

Work on nutrition?'

She'started to say something but Carmichael

lenced her with a flash of white teeth and a reassuring

nod. Obediently she disappeared behind the

shower curtain.-

When we were alone he kicked the trailer door

.. shut and moved opposite me, his back to the counter.

I stared up into the twin barrels of the rifle--a

deadly figure eight.

"I'm going to have to kill you," he said calmly,

then shrugged apologetically. "Nothing personal,

you know? But we're a amily and you're a threat."

The last thing I'd wanted to display was skepti-

· cism and I was sure I hadn't. But his psychic radar

was hot-wired to go off unpredictably, the scrambled

apparatus of the truly paranoiac. He squinted

angrily and lowered the rifle, aiming at the tender

concavity between my eyes. Hunching his massive

shoulders he stared down menacingly.

"We are a family And we don't need a blood test

to prove it."

"Of course not," I agreed with a mouth full of

cotton. "It's the emotional bond t-hat's important."

He looked at me hard to make sure I wasn't

patronizing him. I molded my face into a mask-of

sincerity. Froze it that way.

The axe swung loosely, whetted blade abrading

the floor.

310

l/ernum

"Exactly. It's feelings that count. Our pounds elings

have been forged in pain. We're three against the .

world. Our family is what it should bea sanctu-ar-y

against all the craziness out there. A safe one.

It's beautiful and precious. And I've got to protect

it.'"

I had no plan for escape. For the time being there

was no hope but to buy time by keeping him talking.

"I understand. You're the.head of the family."

The blue eyes heated like gas flames.

"The only one there ever was. The other two

were evil, parents in name only. They abused their

rights. Tried to destroy the. family rom within."

"I know, Dou I was over at the house this evening.

Saw that greenhouse. Read some diaries that

Swope kept."

A terrible look oozed onto his face. He lifted his

arm and swung the ,/axe in a blinding parabola,

letting it smash into the counter. The trailer shook

as the plastic shattered. The movement had been

effortless, not even budging his rifle aim. There

was stirring behind the curtain but no sign of the

girl.

"I was going to destroy that shithole tonight," he.

whispered, jerking the blade free. "With this. Shatter

every fucking pane. Take the house apart board

by board. Then burn it to the ground. But when I

got there the lock had been tampered with so I

came back. Lucky I did."

He sucked in his breath, let it out with a hiss.

Iron-pumper's breathing. He was sweating heavily,

sizzling with agitation. I fought back the fear, orc.ed

myself to think clearly: I had to steer his attention

to the crimes of the Swopes. And away from me,

"It'; an evil place," I said. "Hard to believe people

could be like that."

"Not hard for me, man. I lived it. Just like Sis

did.. My old man diddled me and beat me and told

me I was shit for years. And the bitch who called

herself mom just stood by and watched. Different

theaters but the same movie. When I said forged in

pain I meant'it."

As he talked about the abuse he'd suffered, lots

of things 'fell into place: the arrested development,

the exhibitionism, the hatred and panic when he'd

talked about his fther.

"It's destiny, Nona and me," he said, with a

satisfied smiIe. "Neither of us could have made it

alone. But some kind of miracle brought us together.

Made us a family."

"How long have you been a family?" I asked.

"Years. I used to come up summers, worked this

field, roughnecking, sinking wells. The old bastard

had big plans for this place. Carmichael Oil was

gonna rape the land, carve it up, and squeeze every

greasy drop out of it. Unfortunately, it was dry as a

dead woman's tit." He laughed, banged the axe

head against the floor.

"I hated the work, It was dirty and demeaning

and boring but he forced me to do it. Every summer,

like a jail sentence. I snuck away any chance I

got,. went hiking through the back roads, breathing

clean air. Thinking of ways to get back at him.

"One day I met her while I was walking through

the forest. She was sixteen and the most beautiful

thing I'd ever seen, sitting on a stump and crying.

She saw me and got scared but I told her it was

okay. Instead of. rmning, or talking she started

to--" The handsome face darkened and distorted

with anger. "put it out of your filthy mind, man. I

never touched her. And that story I . told you and

the cop about the freeway blow job was bullshit. I

was just trying to throw you off."

I n6dded. Another explanation for the fantasy

suggested itself: wishful thinking. But for now his

sexual impulses toward the girl he called his sister

were safely repressed and I hoped they'd stay that

way.

"It was because I treated her differently from the

other men that something special grew between us.

Instead of jumping her bones I listened to her. To

her pain. Shared my own. All .summer we met and

talked. And the summer after that. I started looking

forward to working the wells. We got to know

each other bit by bit, discovered we'd been through

the same thing, realized we were alike--two halves

of one person. Male and female components. Brother

and sister, but more.mow what I mean?"

I strained to look sympathetic, wanting him to

keep on talking. "You formed a common identity.

Like some twins do."

"Yeah. It was beautiful. But then the old bastard

closed down the wells. Locked everything up. I

drove up anyway. On weekends. During holidays

fora week at a time. Crashed right here--used to

be the night watchman's place. I cooked for hei.

Taught her how to cook. Helped her with her homework.

Showed her how to drive. Took long walks at

night. Always talking. About how we wanted to 'kill

our parents erase our roots. Start fresh, with a new

family. We had picnics in the forest. I wanted the

little guy to come along, so he could be part of the

family, too. But they wouldfft let him out of their

sight. She talked a lot about him, how she wanted

to laim ler r'xghtS.'- her she' sho'uld; taught

her about liberation. We made plans

met. The three of us were gonna runaway to some

island. Australia, maybe. I'd started collecting brochures

to find the best place, then he got ,sick.

"She called me as soon as she got to L.A. Wanted

me to help her get ajbb as a prizegirl on one of the

game shows, but I told her you nteded heavy connections

for that. Besides, I'd already lined-up the

gig with Adam and Eve. Got Rambo to let us work

as partners. The skits went smooth as silk. We

didn't need any rehearsal because each of us knew

what the other was thinking. It was-tike working

with yourself. We got big tips and I gave them to

her to keep.

"Then one night she phoned me in a panic. Said

she'd confronted them and they'd snatched the lit-fie

guy out. I'd never liked the idea of him being in

that hospital in the first place but I was afraid they.

were gonna disappear south of the border, take him

where she'd never see him again.

"I rushed over and got there just as they were

leaving. Swope was coming out the door when I

opened it. I'd never met him, but I knew damn wall

what kind of shit he was. He started mouthing off

and I hit him in the face. Knocked him out. The

woman came at me then, screaming, and I hit her,

too, along the side of the head.

"Both of them were lying there, grokked. The

little guy was kind of dazed, mumbling in his sleep.

Nona got pissed alt of a sudden and started to tear

up the room. I calmed her down, .told her to wait

right there, and managed to load both of them in

the 'Vette. Stuffed her in the back, put him in the

front seat. Drove 'em to the beach at Playa'Det ltey

and. when one of the planes passed overhead,

finished 'em off. Then I hauled- them a place I

knew in Benedict and dumped them. They deserved

to die."

He twirled the axe handle like a baton, chewed

on a strawlike mustache hair.

"The police found the remains of-another body'

up there," I said. "A woman." I let the question

hang in the air.

He grinned.

"I know what you're thinking, but no. I would

have liked to put mom there but she had the bad

manners to have a stroke and die in bed a couple of

years ago. It pissed me off, because I'd been planning

it for years--there's a plot reserved for the old

man that I'll fill one day. But she escaped. Then I

got lucky. I was doing a late gig at Lancelot's and

this old broad in the front row was really coming

n to me. Stuffing tflo dollar bills down my jock,

licking my ankles/Turns out she .was a doctor.

Radiologist. Divorced a couple of w, tmffis and out

for a wild night. She came to my' dressing room,

,sloshed to the gills, started pawing, me, sending out

real strong signals. It turned me off and I was

gonna kick her out. But when I turned on the lights

I saw it: she could have been the old bitch's twin

sister. Same dried-up face, upturned nose, rich bitch

manner.

"I smiled, said Come on in, hoaey. Let her do me,

right there in the dressing room. The door was

unlocked, anyone could have come in. She didn't

care, just hiked up her skirt and got on top. Later

we went to her place, condo penthouse 'm the Marina.

Made it again and then I strangled her in-her

BLOOD TEST 3t5

eyes widened nnoeently. The burial

plot had been chosen. Someone had to fill it." -

He leaned the axe against the oven, reached into

one of the shopping bags with his free hand and

brought outa large peach.

"Want one?"

"No thanks."

"They're good. Good for you, too. Calcium, potas-

sium. Lots of A and C. Make a great last meal."

I shook my head.

"Suit yourself." He took a large bite out of the

fruit, licked the juice from the ends of his mustache.

"I'm no threat to you," I said, choosing my words

carefully, "ijus( want to help your little brother."

"How? By pumping him full of poisons? I read

all about the stuff they wanted to use on him. That

shit causes cancer."

"I'm not going to lie and tell you the drugs they

use are harmless. They're strongmpoisons just like

you said. But that's what it takes to kill the tumors."

"Sounds like a load of shit to me/" His jaw tightened

and the beard b 'nstled. "She told me all about

the doctors there. Who's to say yoWre any different?"

He finished the peach and threw the pit in the

sink. Took out a plum and dispatched it, too.

"Come on," he Said, picking up the axe. "Stand

up. Let's get it over with. I wish for your sake that

I'd gotten you the first time, with the shotgun. You

wouldn't even have known what hit you. Now you're

· gonna have to suffer a bit, waiting for it to happen."

318

].nathan KelIerman

"Doug, I--" she began. I hoped she'd continue to

plead my case, providing diversion for a sudden

run. But she stopped midsentence. Padded footsteps

were followed by the whisper of the curtain

clbsing.

"Move," said Carmichael, angered by the hint of

rebellion and expressing it by jamming cold steel

into my kidney.

I pushed the door open and stepped into darkness.

The chemical stench in the air seemed stronger,

the bleakness of the mesa more pronounced. The

husks of the unused machines were giant, rusting

carcasses, sprawled passive and silent across the

ravaged terrain. It was far too ugly a place in which

to die.

Carmichael prodded me through the corridor created

by the stacked oil drums: My eyes darted from

side to side, searching for escape, but the black

cylinders formed high metal barricades, mercilessly,

seamless. '

Several yards before the end 'of the passageway

he started talking, offering me option.

"I can do it while you're standing, kneeling, or

lying on the ground the way I did the SwOpes. Or,

if being still freaks you out, you.can make a run for

it, get a little exercise to take your mind off what's

coming. I won't teL1 you how many steps Ill give

you, so you can pretend it's like a regular run.

Make belieVe you're in some kind of marathon. When

I run I get high. Maybe you will, too. I'm using a

heavy load so you won't feel a thing. Kinda like one

big rush."

My knees buckled.

"Come on, man," he said, "don't fall part. Go out

with style."

BLOOD TEST 319

"Killing' me won't do you any good. The/pOlice

know I'm here. ff I don't' re rn they'll be swarming

over this place.'

"No sweat. As soon as you're ont of the way,

we're splitting."

"The boy can't travel in his condition. You'll kill

h

im?

The rifle jabbed -painfully.

"I don't need your advice. I can take care of my

own,

We walked in silence until we reached the mouth

of the metal hallway.

"So how do you want it," he demanded, "stand-

in still or running?"

A hundred yards of fiat, empty land lay before

me. The darkness would

run but I'd still be easy

void were hills of

among the detritus

"Take your .time,"

mously, savoring e starring role.

-He'd played this scene before, was working hard

at coming across cool and in control. But I knew he

was as unstable as nitro and just might start blowing

his lines if provoked. The trick was to get him

sufficiently distracted to lower his guard, then flee.

Or attack. It was a deadly gamble--a sudden burst

of rage could just as easily yank his trigger finger.

But- there wasn't much to lose at this pOint and the

idea of submitting passively to slaughter was damned

distasteful.

"Make up your mind."

"It's a bullshit choice, Doug, and you know it."

"What?".

"I said you're full of shit,"

Growling, he spun me around, ' tossed the rifle

. away, and grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling it

tight. He raised the axe and held it poised in the'

air;

"Move and I'll slice you like cheese." He panted

with anger, face glistening with sweat. A feral smell

emanated from the mass of his body.

I kneed him hard in the groin. He yelped in pain

and relinquished his grip reflexively, I pulled away,

landed on the ground, scurried backward like a

crab, scraping my knees and palms. While fighting

to push myself upright I pressed my foot. against

something round. A large metal spring. It .rolled, I

was upended, and fell flat on-my back.

Carmichael charged forward, hyperventilating like

a child coming out of a tantrum. The edge of the

axe caught'a glint of moonlijght. Shadowed agst

the blackness of the skyhe seemed immense,

fictional,

I yanked myself up and crawled awa from him.

"You've got a big mouth," he gasped. "No class,

no style. I gave you the 6pportunity to end it peace°

fully. I tried to be fair but you didn't aPPreciate it.

Now it's gonna hurt. I'm gonna use this on you."

He hefted the axe for emphasis, "Slowly..Turn you

into garbage piece by piece and make it last. In the,

end you'll beg for a bullet,"

A figure stepped out from !ehind the oil drums.

"Put it down, Doug."

Sheriff Houten stepped into the clearing, trim

and sure- pounds oted. The Colt .45 extended like a nickel-plated

handshake.

"Put it down,"

at Carmichael's chest.

"Leave, it alone, Ray," said the

to finish what we started,"

"Not this way."

"It's the only way," insisted Carmichael.

The lawman shook his head.

"I just got off the phone with a fellow named

Sturgis at L.A. Homicide. He was making inquiries

about the doctor here. Seems somebody took a shot

at-him last night and gunned down the wrong man.

Next day the doctor disappeared. They're looking

fo him in earnest. I figured he might have ended

up here."

"He's trying to break up my family, Ray. You

warned me about him yourself."

"You're confused, boy. I told you he'd asked about

the back roadso you'd find yourself, another hiding

place Not to put yon up to killing the man. Now

drop that axe and we'H talk about it calmly."

He held his gun steady and looked down at me.

"Damn stupid of you to go snooping.around,

Doctor."

"It seemed better than being a

And there's a little boy in that

medical attention.'

-

He shook his head fiercely.

"Boy's gonna die."

"Not true, $heriH. He .can be treated."

"That's what they told me about my wife. I let

thm cut her up and fill her with poisons and the

cancer ate her up just the same." He returned his

attention to Carmichaeh

"I backed you up to a point, Doug, but it's gone

too far. Lay down the axe."

22 Joaathan Kd

' ·

The two of them locked eyes. I seized the opportunity

to roll out of hac 'king range. - ·

Carmichael saw me and swung his weapon.

The .45 blazed. Carmichael jumped back,'scream-Lng

Ln.pain. He clamped one hand to his side, blood

seeping out around his fingers. Incredibly, the other

continued to grip the axe.

"You--you hurt me," he muttered, incredulous.

"Just a flesh crease," said Honten evenly. "You'll

survive. Nowlet go of the damned axe, boy." .

I stood and inched toward the discarded rifle,

staying out of the blond man's swinging range.

The door to the trailer opened, sp' cold 'white

light down the pathway. Nona ran out calling

Carmichael's name.

"Get the rifle, Sis!" he yelled. The command

emerged from between pain-clenched jaws. The hand

holding the axe was' shaking. The one at his side

was glossy red from wrist to fingertips. Blood rolled

viscously over his knucklesnd dripped to the

ground.

The girl came to a stop, Watching wide-eyed as

the dirt at Carmichael's feet sprouted a spreading

crimson flower.

"You killed him. she shrieked and ran toward

Houten, striking out blindly. He straight-armed her

while keeping a bead on the wounded man. She

flailed away at him without doing any damage.

Finally he shoved her aside-and she staggered-off-balance

before falling.

I edged closer to the rifle.

Nona picked herself up.

"You filthy old fuck!" she screamed at the Sheriff.

"You were supposed to help us and now you've

killed him!" Houten looked past her woodenly. Sudo

denly she flung herself at carmael's feet. "Don't

die, Doug. Please I need yofi so bad."

"Get the riflel" he screamed.

-She looked up at him blankly, nodded, and

marched toward the weapon. She was closer to it

than ! and it was time to move. As she stooped to

retrieve it I dove.

Carmichael saw me out of the corner of his eye,

pivoted and slashed down at my-.am with the axe,

I jerked back. He grunted in agony, his wound

leaking copiously, and slashed again, missing meby

inches,

Houten Crouched, two-handed the .45, and shot

Carmichael in the back of the head. The exit trajectory

t/re open his throat. He clutched at his neck,

sucked in air, gurgled, and dropped.

The girl snatched up the rifle and cradled it

knowingly. She stared at the body on the ground.

Cannichael's limbs twitched autonomically and she

watched, transfixed, until they were still. Her hair

was loose and blowing in the n',ht breeze, her eyes

frightened and moist,

ulence. The

up, pointed the weapon at me,

arced around, aiming at the sheriff, -.-.- .J i .

"You're just like the rest," she spat at him. . Before

he could reply she shifted her attention

back to the corpse, began talking to it in a singsong

voice.

"He's just like the rest, Doug. He didn't help us

because he was good, because he was on our side

like you thought. He did it because he was a fucking

coward. Afraid I'd tell his dirty secrets,"

"Quiet, girl.," warned the sheriff.

24 Jonaun'I6l

She ignored-him. '

"He fucked me, Doug, just like all the other filthy,

evil old men with their filthy cocks-and, their sagging

balls. When I was just a little girl. After the

monster broke me in. The righteOus arm. of the

law." She sneered. "I flashed him a sample and. he

lapped it up. Couldn't get enough. Had to have it

every day. In his house. In his truck. Picked me up

while I walked home from school and drove me up

to the hills to do it, What do you think of our old

friend, Ray, now, Doug?"

Houten shouted for her to shut up. But his voice

lacked conviction and he seemed to sag, looking

shriveled and helpless despite the big gun in his

hand.

She

continued to address the body, sobbing.

"You were so good and .trusting, Doug ... You

thought he was being our friend, helping us. hide

out because he didn't like tors any better than

we did... Because he understood. But that wasn't

it at all. He would have given us up in a minute but

I threatened to expose him if .he did ... To tell

everyone that he fucked me. And knocked me up."

Houten looked at the Colt. Harbored a terrible

thought and dismissed it. "Nona, you don't

"He thinks he's Woody's daddy, cause that's what

I've told him all these years." She stroked the rifle

and giggled.."Course now, maybe I was telling the

truth, maybe I wasn't. Maybe I don't even know.

We never did do any blood tests to find out, did we,

Ray?"

"You're crazy," he said. "You'll be locked up."

To me: "She's crazy. You can see that, can't you?"

"Is that so?" She put her finger around the trig-get

and smiled. "I guess you know all about crazy.

BLOOD TEST 325

All about crazy little girls. Like little old fat crazy

Marla, always sitting by herself, rocking and writing

dumb crazy poems. Talking to herself, wetting

her pants, and carrying on like a baby. She was

crazy, wasn't she, Ray? Fat and ugly and a real

head case."

."Shut your mouth--"

"You shut yours, you old bastard!" she screamed.

"Who the hell are you telling me what to do? You

fucked me every day, taking sloppy seconds without

complaining. Shot your scum into me and

knocked me up." She smiled eerily. "Maybe. Least

that's what I told Crazy Marla. You shoulda seen

the look in those piggy little eyes. I gave her all the

details. About how you lapped it ug

more. Sheriff. I must have upset the

cause the next day

Houten bellowed and came at her.. -.

She laughed and shot him in the face.

He collapsed like wet tissue paper. She stood

over him and pulled the trigger again. Braced herself

against the recoil and put yet .another slug into

him.

I peeled her fingers off the weapon and let it fall

between the two corpses. She offered no resisto.nce.

Put her head on my shoulder and gave me a lovely

smile.

I took her with me and went looking for the E1

Camino. It wasn't hard to find. Houten had parked

it just outside the gap in the fence. Watching her

closely, I used the radio to make my calls.

26

LATE ON a quiet Sunday afternoon, I stood on the

lawn across from the entrance to the Retreat and

waited for Matthias. Furnace-blast winds had strafed

the southern half of the state without letup for

thirty-six hours and though sunset was drawing

near the heat refused to dissipate. Sticky, itchy,

and overdressed in jeans,

calfskin jacket, I

circling the fountain.

He emerged from the main building encircledby

a cocoon of followers, glanced in my direction and

bade them disperse. They moved to a hilly spot, sat

and began to meditate. He approached slowly and

deliberately, staring downward, as if searching for

something in the grass.

We came face to face. Instead of greeting me, he

dropped to the ground, folded himself into a lotus

position, and stroked his beard.

"I don't see pockets in the outfit you're wearing,"

I said. "No place to hold a substantial wad of cash.

327

26

LATE ON a quiet Sunday afternoon

near the heat

and overdressed in jeans,

calfskin jacket, I sought

circling the fountain.

He emerged from the main buil

a cocoon of follOWers, glanced in

bade them disperse. They moved t

and egan to meditate. He appro

deliberately, staring downward, a

something in the grass.

We came face to face. Instead c

dropped to the ground, folded hil

position, and stroked his beard.

"I don't see pockets in the outfi

I said. "No place to hold a substa

327

any direction and

:o a hilly sp°t, sat

Ched ,slowly and

s if Searching :for

f greeting me, he

resell into a loreS

t you re wearing,

nt wad. Of cash.

I hope that doesn't mean you didn't take me

seriously."

He ignored me and stared off into space. I tolerated

it for a few minutes then made a show of

losing my patience.

"Cut the holy-man crap, Matthews. It's time to

talk business."

A fly settled on'his forehead, walked nimbly along .

the edge of the crater-scar. It didn't seem to'bother

him.

"State your business," he said softly.

"I thought I 'vas pretty clear over the phone."

He picked a stalk of clover and twirled it in his

long fingers.

"About certain things, yes. You confessed to trespassing,

assault on Brother Baron, and burglary

What remains unclear is why there shbuld be any--

business for you and me to conduct."

"And yet you're here. Listening."

He smiled.

"I pride myself on maintaining an open mind."

"iste "

'

'

"'

L n, I smd, turning to go. Ive had a rough

couple of days and my tolerance for bullshitis at an

all time low. What I've got will keep. You want to

think about it, go' ahead. Just add a thousand aday

in late fees."

"Sit down," he said.

I settled opposite him, crossing my legs and tuck-lng

them under me. The ground was as hot as a

waffle iron. The itch in my chest and belly had

intensified. Off in the distance the cultists bowed

and scraped.

His hand left his beard and stroked the grass

idly.

BL(D-TEST 329

You menuoned a substanta sum of money over

the phone," he said.

"A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Three

installments of fifty thousand each. The firgt to-

&y, the following two at six-month intervals."

He worked hard at looking amused.

"Why. in the world would I pay you that kind of

money ?"

"For you it's petty cash. if the party I Saw a

couple of nights ago is typical, you and your zombies

shovel that much up your noses in a week."

"Are you implying.that we use ilhcit drugs?" he

aSked, mockingly.

"Perish-the thought. No doubt you've removed

the stash, stowed it somewhere else, and would

Welcome a police search with open arms. Just like

you did the first time I was here. But I've got

Polaroids from the party that would make great

porno for the geriatric set. All thoseworn-out bodies

grinding away. Bowls of'snow and straws up

noses. Not to mention a couple of clear s hots of the

cache under your bookcase."

'-'Photographs of consenting adults having sex,"

he recited, sounding suddenly like an attorney

"bowls on a table containing an unknown substance.

Plastic bags. It doesn't add up to much. Certainly

not a hundred and fifty thousand." -

"How much is avoiding a murder rap worth?"

His eyes narrowed and his face changed into something

lupine and predatory. He tried to stare me

down but it was no contest. The itch had grown

nearly unbearable and gazing back at the brutal

mask was a welcome distraction.

"Go on," he said.

'q made three copies of the file, added a page of

'

" 0 ]onathan' Kellemn

interpretation to each one, and put them in-sepa-rate

safe places. Along with the pictures and instructions

.to several attorneys in the event of my

untimely demise., Before I copied I read through it

several times. Fascinating,"

He looked comPOSed but his right hand gave. him

away. The bony white fingers had clawed the ground

and ripped out a handful of grass.

"Generalities are worthless," he whispered harshly.

"If you have something to say, say it."

"All right," I said. "Let's flash back a little over

twenty years ago. Long before you discovered the

guru scare. You're sitting in your office on Camden-

Drive. A' mousy little woman named Emma is on

the other side'of the desk. She's traveled all the

way from a hick town called La Vista to BeVerly

Hills and has paid you a hundred dollars for a

confidential, legal consultation. A lot of money in

those days.

"Emma's story is a sad one, though no doubt you

think of it as third-rate melodrama. Finding herself

trapped in a loveless marriage she'd sought comfort

in the arms of another man. A man who made her

feel things she'd never imagined possible. The affair

had been heavenly, true refuge. ,Until .she became

pregnant by her lover. Panicked,, she hid the

fact for as long as possible and when she started

showing, told her husband the child was his. The

cuckold had been ecstatic, ready to celebrate, and

when he uncorked the champagne she nearly, died

of guilt.

"She'd considered an abortion but had been too

scared to go through with it, She prayed for a miscarriage

but none came. You ask her if she's told

her lover about the problem and she says no, horri-

BIX)OD TE- -331

fled at the thought, He's a pillar of the community,

a deputy sheriff charged with upholding the !aw. On

top of that, he's married, with a pregnant wife of

his own. Why-destroy two families? Besides he

hasn't called tn a long 'tune, confirming her suspicions

that for him the relationship had been primarily

carnal all along. Does she fel .abandoned?

No. She's sinned and now shers paying for it.

"As the ferns grows tn her womb so does the

burden of her secret. She lives the lie for eight and

a half months until she can't take it any longer. On

a day when her husband is out of town she gets on

the bus and heads' north, to Beverly Hills.

"Now she sits tn Your big glossy office, so out of

her 'element, just weeks from delivery, confused

and terrified. She's considered her options for plenty

of. Sleepless nights and has finally come to a decision.

She wants out. A divorce, quick and easy,

wi no explanation. She'll leave town, have the

baby in solitude, maxbe tn Mexico, .put it up for

adoption, and start a new life far aayfro. 'tim

site of her

the pages-of a

you're the man for the job. '

"As you listen to her

easy is out of the question. Thecase would'be a

messy one. That by itself wouldn't-have stopped

you from talcing it on, because the messy cases

bring 'm the pounds ttest. iees. But Emma Swope wasn't

your type of client. Drab and unglamorous and

strictly smafl town. Most important, she didn't smell

of money. -

"You took her hundred, and discouraged her from

engaging your services. Gave her a line about doing

better with a .local attorney. She left red-eyed and

heavy-bellied and you flied it away and forgot about

it.

"Years later you get shot in the head and decide

to make a career switch, yOU've built up lots of

connections with the big money people, which in

L.A. includes the dope trade. I don't 'know who

suggested it first, you or one of them, but you decide

to go for megabucks as a coke and smack middleman.

The fact that it's illegal adds to the appeal

because you see yourself as a victim, as having been

failed by the system you'd served faithfully. ,Dealing

dope is your way of saying fuck the system. The

money and poweraren't too shabby, either.

"For the enterprise to be successful you'll need a

place dose to the Mexican border and a good cover.

Your new partners suggest one of the small agricultural

towns south of San Diego. La Vista. iThey

know of anold monastery for sale just outsidethe

town limits. Secluded and quiet. They've been considering

it for a while but need a way of keeping

the locals from prying. You look at a map and something

flashes. The bullet-didn,t destroy the old

memory. Back into the files. How am I doing so

far?"

"Ke!talking." His palm was wet and greenfrom

compressing the torn grass into a ball.

"You do a little research and find out that Emma

Swope never did get another lawyer. Her visit to

you had been a single burst of initiative in an otherwise

timid existence. She reverted to type, swallowed

the secret and lived with it. Gave birth to a

beautiful little red-headed daughter who's now

grown up into a wild young teenager. Lover Boy's

still around, too, busy enforcing the .!aw. But he's

no longer a deputy. He's the. head honcho. The man

BLOOD TEST 333

"Sleazy little people with thetr stinking-little

intrigues, he snarled.:-Laboring .under the de uson

that there s some meamng to their h es.

"You sent him a copy-of the file, invited him-to

Beverly Hills for a chat, half-expecting him to ignore

you or tell you to go to hell. What's the worst

that would have happened? A minor scandal ? Early

pension? But he was there the next day, wasn't

he?"

Matthias laughed out loud. It wasn't a pleasant

sound.

"Bright and early," he shid, nodding, "in that

ridiculous cowboy costume. Trying to look macho

but quaking in his boots--the fool/'

-

He reveled cruelly in the memory.

"

'

"

' ue "tha

'

You knew, right away, Icontm d,.. t you d

touched on something 'f.:Of' course,-it, wasn't

until the following summer, when the girl worked

for you, that you figured it out, butyou didn't have

to understand the fear to capitalize on it."

"He was a yokel," said Matthias. "A sUCker for a

bluff."

"That summer," I said, "must have been an interesting

one. Your brand-new social structure

threatened by a sixteen-year-old girl."

"She was a litflenympho," he said contemptuously,

"Had a thing f6r older men. Went after them

like a vacuum-cleaner. I heard rumors from the

time she got here. One day I discovered her blow-

everyone lOOks up to. So powerful he sets' the emotional

tone of the town. With him. in your pocket

you'll have a free ride." - .

All traces of serenity had passed from the long

bearded face. He touched his beard and stained it

green, tasted grass and spat.

Jonathan-Kellerman

ing a sixty-year old in, the pantry Pulled her off

and c&lled Houten. The way they looked ateach

other tipped me off as to why the file had turned

him to jelly. He'd been screwing his own daughter

without knowingit. I knew then that his balls were

in my pocket. Forever. From that point on I presSe, d

him into service."

"Must have come in handy."

"Exceedingly," he grinned. "Before elections,

when the Border Patrol came down hard, he'd go

into Mexico and 4k up the cargo for us. Nothing

tike a personal police escort."

"It's a hell of a nice setup," I said. "Well worth

preserving. If I were you I'd view the hundred and

fifty as a bargain."

He shifted his weight. I took the opportunity to

recross my legs. One foot had fallen asleep and i.

shook it gently to restore circulation.

"All I've heard up to this point is pure supposition,''

he said coolly. "Nothing Worth trading for."

"There's more. Let's talk about Dr. August Val-croix.

A refugee from the sixties .anda devotee of

situational ethics. I'm not sure how the two of you

got together but he'd probably been dealing up in

Canada and knew some of your partners. He became

one of your salesmen, handling the hospital

trade. What better cover for it than a bona fide

M.D.?

"The way I see it, he could have gotten h01d of

the stuff in two ways. Sometimes he came down

here to collect, hnder the guise of attending a seminar-.

When that was inconvenient, you sent it up to

him. Which is what Graffius and Delilah were doing

in L.A. the day they visited the Swopes. A courtesy

call after a dope transfer. They had-nothing to do

BLOOD TEST 335

with the Swopes' reluctance to treat Woody or the-

alxluction

"Valcroix waSn't

knew how to listen to patients and

up. He

to heal. He developed

Swopehe's the

other than

knew something about her no one else

"The diagnosis of Cancer in a child can throw a

,,tfiy off-kilter, disrupt old patterns of behavior.

-i ye Seen it happen plenty of times. For the Swopes,

the' stress waS crushing; it turned Garland into a

pompous jester and caused Emma to sit and brood

about the paSt. No doubt Valcroix caught her at a

particUlarly vulnerable moment. She got in touch'

with her guilt and spilled out her confession because

he seemed like such a compaSsionate fellow.

"Anyone else would have considered it just another

sad story and kept it

He'd-probabl

he was so

knew. And he

nothing to him. When his future as a

to look shaky, he drove down

you with his knowledge, demanding a bigger piece

of the pie. You feigned Concession, doped hiTM Up

until he fell asleep, had one of your faithful drive

him halfway back to L.A., to the Wilmington docks.

Another ollowed in a second car. They set up a

fatal accident, watched it happen, and drove off.

The technique is simple enough--Wed,ge, a board

· between the seat and the accelerator.. ·

"Close." Matthias smiled. "We used a tree branch.

Apple tree, Organic. He hit the wail'at fifty

said he. looked like a tomato omelet afterward.

Licking his mustache, he gave me a hard .meaningful

look. "He was a grasping, greedy pig."

"If.that's supposed to scare me off, forgetit. A

hundred and fifty. Firm."

The guru, sighed.

"By itself the hundred and fifty is a nuisance," he

said. "And a palatable one. But who's to say it'll

stop there? I've looked you up, Delaware. You were

a top man in your fieJd but now work onl irregu

larly. Despite your aplarent indolence, you like .to

live ,well. That worries me. Nothing feeds greed

more quickly than a sizable gap between, want and

have. A new car, couple of fancy vacations, down

payment on a condo in Mammoth, and it's all,gone.

Next thing I know, you're back with an outstretc ihed

"I'm not greedy, Matthews; just resourceful If

your-research was thorough you'd know I made a

bunch of good investments that are still paying off.

I'm thirty-five and stable, have lived comfortably.

Without your money and could do so indefinitely.

But I like the idea of ripping off a master rip-off

artist. As a one-shot deal. When the one fifty's,

safely in my hands you'll never see or hear from ne

again."

He grew thoughtful.

"Would you consider two hundred in coke?"

"Not a chance. Never touch the stuff, Hard cash."

He pursed his lips and frowned.

"You're a tough bastard, Doctor, You've got the

killer instinct--which I admire in the abstract. Barry

was wrong about you He said you were a straight

arrow,.sickeningly sel pounds ighteous. In actuality you're

a jackal."

"He wasa lousy psychologist.. Never did-under-stand

people."

"Neither do you, apparently," Hestood suddenly

and gestured to the cultists on-the hilL-They rose

in unison and marched forward, abattalion in white.

I bounded up quickly.

"You're making a mistake, Matthews. Fve taken

precautions for exactly this contingency, tf I'm not

back in L.A. by eight the files get opened. One by

O1"

u re an ass," he snapped. "When I was an

attorney I chewed up people like you and spat

them out. Shrinks were the easiest to terrorize. I

made one wet his pants up on the stand. A full

professor, no less. Your bush-league attempt at arm

twisting is pathetic. In a-matter of minutes i'll

know the location of every gingle one of those files.

Barry wants to handle the interrogation personally.

I think it's an

is quite robust.

suited to the job. It Will !

And when the inf0rmatiofi is in

dispatched. Another unfortunate

The cultists marched closer, robotlike and grim.

"Call them off, Matthews. Don't dig yourself

deeper."

"Excruciating," he repeated' and beckoned them

closer.

They formed a circle around us. Blank, middle-aged

faces. Tight little mouths Empty eyes. Empty

minds ...

Matthias turned his back on me.

338 Jonat/uTM Kelle.nan

"What ff there are other copies?'Ones I dn't

tell you about?"

"Good-bye, Doctor," he said, scornfully, .aad

gan to exit the circle.

The others stepped aside to let him through and

closed ranks immediately after he'd passed. I spotted

Graffius. His puny frame quivered wi.th anticipation.

An ellipse of drool dotted his lower lip.

When our eyes met the lip drew back hatefully.

"Take-him," he order

The bLack-bearded giant stepped forward and

grabbed one of my arms. Another large.man, heavy

set and gap-toothed, grasped the other. Graffius

gave the signal and they dragged me toward.the

main building, followed by two dozen others chanting

a wordless dirge.

Graffius ran alongside and slapped my face teas--ingly.

Cackling with glee, he told me about the

party he'd planned in my honor.

"We've got a'new designer hallucinogen that makes

acid seem likebaby aspirin, Alex. I'1t shoot it right

into your veins vith a Methedrine chaser.' Itq] be '

like being dipped in and out of hell."

He had lots more to say but his oration was cut

short by a sudden, brief stutter of gunfire, punctuating

the silence like a symphofiy of giant bullfrogs.

The second burst was longer, the unmistakable belch

of heavy-duty firearms.

"What the fuck!" exclaimed Graffius, chin whisk-

ers trembling like charged filaments.

The procession stopped.

From that point on everything seemed to happen

in fast-forward.

The sky filled with thunder. Whirr blades

and blinking lights assaulted the gathering dusk. A

them boomed an amplSfied voice

"This is Agent Siegel .

forcement Agency. The shots were a

are surrounded. Belease

down on the ground."

The message was repeated. Over and over.

Graffius started screaming unintelligiblY. The rest

of the cultists stood rooted in place, lking up to

the heavens, as baffled as primitives discovering a

new god.

The helicopters swooped tow, rustng: the trees.

Agent Siegel cont!nued to reiterate command.

The cultists didn t comPly--out of shock, ii°t

defiance.

One of the helicopters aimed a high-intensity

beacon on the group. The light was blinding. As the

cultists shielded their eyes, the invasion began.

Scores of men, flak-jackted and wielding automatic

weapons, converged on the grounds with the

silent-efficiency of soldier ants.

One group oi

the viaduct. Seconds

behind the main building

herd of Shackled cultists. A

fields and stormed the cathedral.

I tried to break loose but Blackbeard and Snaggle-'

tooth held catatonically firm. Graffius pointed at

me and jibbered like a monkey on speed. He ran

over andraised his fist. I kicked out with my right

foot anffaught him hard in the center ofhis kneecap.

He yelped and did a one-legged rain dance. The big

men lOOked at each other idiotically, unsure of how

to .react. Within seconds the decision had been taken

out.of their.hands.

'34 Jothan Kelle;nan

We were surrounded. The raiders from the viaduct

had formed a concentric ring around the circle

of CUltists. They were a mixed group-.D.E.A.

agents, state police, county sheriffs, and 'at least

one L.A. detective whom I recognizedbut functioned

with the smoothness of a seasoned unit.

A Hispanic officer with a Zapata mustache barked

the order to lie down. TFritime compliance was

immediate, The big men released my arms as if

they were electrified. I stepped away and observed

the action.

The raiders made the cultists spread their'legs

and frisked them, two officers for every captive.

Once searched, they were handcuffed, removed from.

the group one by one like beads pulled off a string,

read their rights, and taken into custody at gunpoint.

With the exception of Graffius, Who was dragged

away kicking and screaming, the men and women-of

the Touch offered no resistance. Numb with fear

and disorientation, they submitted passively to

lice procedure and shambled off to captivity in a

forlorn procession periodically spotlit by the circling

helicopters.

The heavy door to the main building swung open

and disgorged another parade of captors and cap-tires.

The last to exit was Matthias, guarded by a

phalanx of agents. He walked woodenly and his

mouth worked frantically. From a distance it looked

like 'one hell of a closing statement but the din from

the copters blotted out the sound. Not that anyone

was listening.

I watched his departure and, when the grounds

were sl, became once more aware of the heat I

removed my jacket and tossed it to the sidei and

was unbuttoning my shir, when Milo came over in

BLOOD TEST 34t

the company of a hatchet-faced man wit

o'clock shadow. The man wore a gray Suit, white

shirt, and dark tie under his .flak jacket and Walked

with a military stride. This morning, I'd found him

humorless but reassuringly thorough. The boss

D.E.A. agent, Severin Fleming.

'"Great'performance, Alex." My friend patted my

back.

"Let me help you with that, Doctor,'" said Fleming,

untaping the Nagra body recorder from my

chest. "I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable."

"As a matter of fact it itched like crazy."

"Sorry about that. You must have ensitive skin."

"He's a very sensitive guy, Sev."

Fleming conceded a smile and concentrated on

*. checking the Nagra.

"Everything looks in order," he announced, returning

the machine to its case. "Reception in the

van was excellent--we got a. first-rate copy. An

attorney from Justice was sitting in {md she's of the

opinion there's plenty to WOrk with Once again;

Doctor, thanks. Be seeing you, Milo."

He shook our hands, gave 'a-small salute and

walked away, cradling the Nagra like a newborn,

"Well," said Milo, "You keep revealing neW-taL

ents. Hollywood's bound to be knocking on your

door."

-"Right," I said, rubbing my chest. "Call my agent.

We'll take a meeting at the Polo Lounge."

, He laughed and undid his flak jacket.

"Feel like the Michelin tire man in this thing."

"You should be so cute."

- 'We walked together toward the viaduct. The sky

had darkened and quieted. Beyond the gates engines

rumbled to a start. We stepped onto the bridge,

treading on cool stones Milo reached up,-plucked a

grape from the arbor, split it with his teeth, and

swallowed.

"You made a big difference, Alex," he said.

tually they'd have gotten him on the drug thing..

But it's the murder rap that'll put him away. Combine

that with lowering the boom on Stinky.Pants

and I'd say it's been a Frae weel for the good guys.'

"Great," I said wearily.

Several yards later:

"You okay, pal?"

'braking about the kid?"

I stopped and looked at him.

"Do you need to head back to L.A. fight away?" I

asked.

He put a heavy arm around my shoulder,, smiled

and shook his head.

"Getting back means diving into a mess o pounds paperwork.

It can wait."

]271

I STOOD at a distance and. looked through the wall

of plastic.

The boy lay on the bed, still but awake. His

mother sat by his side, rendered nearly anonymous

by spacesuit, gloves and mask. Her dark eyes wandered

around the room, settling momentarily on his

face, then upon the pages of the story book' in her

hands. He. struggled upright, said something to her

and she nodded and helda cup to his lips. Drinking

exhausted him quickly; he fell back against the

pilloTM.

"Cute kid," said Milo. "What did that doc say his

· chances ar6?"

"He's severely infected. But the I.V. is pumping

in high-dose antibiotics and they feel it 'Will eventually

dear up. The original tumor has enlarged--it's

begun to press against the diaphragm, which

· isn't good--but there's-no evidence of any new lesions.

Chemotherapy will start tomorrow. Overall,

the prognosis is still good."

343

He nodded and went into the nurses' office;- '-The

boy was .asleep, now. His mother kissed

his forehead, drew the blankets around him, and

looked at the book again. She flipped a few pages,

put it down and began straightening the room.

That done, she returned to sitting bedside, folded

her hands in her lap, and remained motionless.

Waiting.

The. two marshals emerged from the nurses' office.

The man was thick-waisted and middle-

aged, the woman petite and dyed-blond. He looked

at his watch and said "It's' ti.me" to his partner.

She walked over to the module and tapped on the,

phstic.

Nona looked up.

The woman said, "It's time."-

The girl hesitated, bent over the sleeping child

and kissed him with sudden intensity. He called

out and rolled over. The movement caused the I.V.

pole to vibrate, the bottle to sway. She steadied it,

stroked his hair.

'Come on, honey," said the female marshal.

The girl stiffened, stumbled out of the module.

She took off the mask and gloves and let the sterile

suit fall around her ankles, revealing a jumpsuit

underneath. On the back was stenciled PRO'ERT¥

SaN on,co COUNT j.rL md a serial number. Her

copper hair was drawn back in a ponytail. The

golden hoops had been removed from her ears.-Her

face looked thinner and older, the cheekbones more

-pronounced, the eyes buried deeper. Jailhouse pallor

had begun to dull the luster of her skin. She Was

beautiful, but damaged, ILke a day-old rose.

They handcuffed her--gently, it seemed--and led

-BLOOD TFST" 5

'her to the. door. She passed by me-and OUr eyes

locked. The ebony irises seemed to moisten and

· ' melt. Then she hardened them, held her head high,

and was gone.

28

I FOUND Raoul in his lab, staring at a computer

screen on which were displayed columns of polyno-

mials atop a multicolored bar graph. He'd mutter in

'Spanish, examine a page o pounds printout; then-turn to

the keyboard and rapidly type a new set ot: num-

- bets. With each additional bit o datum the height

the bars in the graph changed. The lab was

airless and fffied with acrid fmes. High-tech doodads

clicked and buzzed in the backgroul.

I pulled up a stool next to him, sat' and said

hello.

He acknowledged me with a downward twist of

his mustache and continued to work with the computer.

The bruises on his pounds ce had turned to

purplish-green smudges.

"You know," he said.

"Yes. She told me."

He tped,' hitting thc keyboard hard. The graph

convulsed.

"My ethics were no better than Valcroix's. She

347

28

FOVNO Baoul in his lab, staring

reen on which were displayed colt

ntals atop a multicolored bar graph.

;panish, examine a page of printou

he keyboard and rapidly type a ne'

mrs. With each additional bit of dat

:-the bars in the graph' changed.

/r/ess and fi//ed with acrid fiunes.

ads clicked and buzzed in the back

I pulled up a stool next to him,

e//o.

He acknowledged me with a dowm

s mustache and continued to work n

ter. The bruises on his face ha

rplish-green smudges.

"You know," he said.

"Yes. She told me."

He typed, hitting the keyboard har

nvulsed.

"My ethics were no better than V

47

tt a computer

mns of polyno-He'd

mutter in

:, then turn to

w set of nhm-um

the height

The lab was

.Iighotech doo-

'sat' and said

· ard twist of

th the eom.d

turned to

1. The graph

dcroix's. She

came wiggling in here in a skintight dress and proved

that."

I'd come to the lab with the intention of comforting

him. There were things I could have said. That

Nona had been turned into a weapon, an instrument

of vengeance, abused and twisted until sex

and rage were inexorably intertwined, then laUnChed

and aimed at a world of weak men like some kind

of heat-seeking missile. That he'd made an error

judgment but it didn't negate all the good he'd

done. That there was more good work to be done.

That time would heal.

-But the words would have rung hollow. He was a

proud man who'd shed his pride before my eyes.

I'd witn6ssed him ragged and half-crazed in a stink-lng

cell, obsessively intent on finding bas patient.

His quest had been ignited 'by guilt, by the mis:

taken belief that his sin--ten lust-blinded minutes

of Nona kneeling before him, ravenousmhad Caused

the removal of the boy from treatment.

Coming to see him had been a mistake. Whatever

friendship we'd had was gone, and with it, any

power I might havehad io reassure,

If salvation existed, he'd have m Find it for himself.

I plac. ed my hand on his shoulder and Wished

him well. He shrugged and stared/at the screen.

I left him with his nose buried in a pile of daB,

cursing out loud at some arcane.numerical discrep-ancyo

I drove east on Sunset slowly, and thought about

families. Milo had once told me that family.' disputes

were a cop's most dreaded calls, for they

were the most likely to erupt in violence that was

murderously sudden, stunningly intense. A good

BLOOD TEST 349

'chunk of-my life had Men spent sorting out the

scrambledcommUnications, festering hostilities, and

frozen affections that characterized families in

tUrmoil.

It was easy to believe that no thing worked. That

blood ties strangled the soul.

·

BUt I knew that a cop's reality was skewed bythe

d;a.y struggle against 'evil, that of the psychotherapist

distorted by too many encounters withmadneSs.

There were families that worked, that nurtured

and loved. Places in the heart where a soul cold

find refuge

Soon a beautiful woman WOUld meet me on a

tropical island. We'd talk about it.

JONATHAN KELL pounds MAN, who graduated from UCLA

and received a Ph.D. from the University 0 .SoUthern

California, is a clin!.'cal Psychologist speciah'zg hi

the care of children and adolescents. Currently a

c 'lmical associate professor of pediatrics at the USC

School of Medicine, he was for six years direCto of

the Psychos.al Program at Children's Hospitalof

Los Angeles and acquired a national reputation as

an authority on childhood stress.

In addition to Blood Test and When the Bough Breaks,

(avAilable hi a Signet edition), Dr. Kellerman is the

author of two nonfiction books in the field of

psychology. He has written well over one hundred'

scholarly articles, reviews, and abstracts, and his

short fiction and essays have appeared hi ACred

Hit o k's Mystery Magaz e, Los ng les

the Los Angeles Times, and Newsweek. '

He heads a psychological consulting firm near Los

Angeles, where he lives with his wife, novelist Faye

Kellerman, and their three children, and is cttrrently

at work on the next Alex Delaware novel.

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"GRIPPING...PEOPLED WITH VIVID CHARACTERS...

PULSING WITH SUSPENSE!' -SAN DIEGO UNION

A sick child was missing-in an even sicker world.

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