Burying Ben (28 page)

He gives up. Too
m
any reports to write in too little ti
m
e appa
r
ently leaves him without the energy to fight a
bigger, more pernicious burea
u
cracy than the one he works for. Not to
m
ention that having someone on the Board of Psychology mad at you
m
i
ght not be career enhancing.

I r
ec
eive t
h
e ret
u
rn
f
ax within
m
inutes. The ap
p
lica
n
t, Benj
a
m
in Go
m
ez, had low yet acceptable ratings up to and including his chief’s interview. He was dropped from the hiring process after he
failed his pre-e
m
ploy
m
ent psychological screening, just as he had been for the Sierra S.O.

If two psychologists had found h
i
m unsuitable,
why
hadn’t
Mark?

I walk out into the garden and sit on my
b
ack step. My neighbor’s cat, Oedipus, is walking gingerly on the fence between our
two houses. He drops soundlessly into
m
y yard, rubs against
m
y legs and curls up next to
m
e in the sun, purring. After Mark and I separated, one of
m
y friends told
m
e
that
a
ll I needed was a cat and a vibrator. At the ti
m
e, I didn’t take kindly to her suggestion.

I stroke Oedipus’ soft
f
ur and consider that I have just added i
m
personating a professional conduct investigator to b
r
eaking and entering, stealing confidential infor
m
ation, kidnapping,
breach of confidenti
a
lity and inc
o
mpetence. I
’
ve been a law abiding citizen all
m
y life, except for a few acts of civil disobedience, a good girl who did what she was told, and now I have a rap sheet the equal of a career cri
m
inal.

W
hat I don’t have any longer is a career. Oedipus stretches languorously and cli
m
bs onto my lap sandpapering
m
y arm with his tongue. His na
m
esake is the tortured
icon of one of the world’s most infa
m
o
us dys
f
unctio
n
al
f
a
m
ilies. A tingling
s
ensation st
a
rts at the ba
c
k of
m
y neck, an ele
c
t
r
ic buzzing, that rolls through
m
e, raising the hair on
m
y ar
m
s
. Vinnie Patcher
m
ay not have murdered Ben, but he had
m
otive enough to
drive him
to suicide. Ben wasn’t good enough for April. No one has ever been good enough for April, except perhaps, Vinnie hi
m
self. Cl
a
ssic Oedipal f
a
m
ily dyna
m
i
cs run in reverse. Father forces son-in-law to kill hi
m
self so that he can claim
his daughter f
o
r his own.
W
ho knows what has been going on in th
a
t
f
a
m
ily? Or who the
f
ather of
April’s child
really i
s
?

My phone rings.

“Fuck you, Meyerhoff.”

“Eddie?
Had a bad shift last night?”

“Actually I had a great shift until the chi
e
f hauled
m
e into his office, fat, du
m
b and happy, and di
m
ed you out.”

“
W
hat do you
m
ean
?
”

“I never would have figured you for kidnapping.”

“Are you talking about April Gomez
?
”

“No, I’m
talking about Charles Lindbergh.”

“She was trying to get away from
h
e
r
father. I gave her a
ride, that’s all.”

“Bullshit. You let h
e
r stay in your house.”

“Did Baxter also tell you that Vinnie Patcher broke into
m
y house and trashed it? Savagely.
P
ut a knife t
h
rough one of
m
y
sweaters?
That
’
s why you thought
m
y place looked e
m
pty.”

“No. And neither did you. I chase
m
y tail around so
m
e God fo
r
saken
m
ountains trying to help you out and you don’t tell
m
e shit.”

“I didn’t want to g
e
t you in trouble.”

“I’m
already in trouble, thanks to you. Baxter’s taking
m
e out of FTO and putting
m
e on the f
r
ont desk. Per
m
anently. Fucker exp
e
cts
m
e to take co
m
plaints and
m
ake nice with Brownie troops for the rest of my
life. And then he gave
m
e the speech.”

“
W
hat speech?”

“
The you-don’t-have-
m
u
ch-of-a-future-he
r
e-think-about-retiring one. Fuck it. Maybe he’s right. Everything hu
r
ts, my knees, my back,
m
y
s
houlder. The only rush I get is putting bad guys in jail. And now that’s gone.”

“I’ll talk to hi
m
.”

“You coulda told
m
e what was going on. Then I could of thought of so
m
ething to say, instead of standing there with
m
y jaw hanging open.”

“I’m
really
s
orry. I thou
g
ht I was doing the right thing, not
ge
tting you in
v
olved. Now that you know, let
m
e tell you everything.”

Not that it
m
akes any difference, at this point, but I want to tell him
what April
s
aid ab
o
ut Ben’s parents being dope addicts.

“That spineless
m
otherfucker Baxter h
a
s known
m
e
forever, and he’s throwing
m
e under the bus to save his own ass.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to tell you
?
”

“No fucking way.
Hasta lu
m
bago
, Doc. You’re on your own.”

He hangs up. I push the call back button. No answer.

Chapter Thirty

I raise
m
y voice and three applicants look up from their clipboards, their pens frozen in
m
id-air. Mark is telling
m
e to co
m
e back l
a
ter.
T
he lovely Melinda, her fecundity hidden beneath a gauzy top, opens the door to her office, fo
r
m
erly
m
y
office, looks out, sees
m
e, and steps back inside without a word.

“Now, Mark. I need to talk to you now.”

“I have appoint
m
ents all afternoon.”

“I don’t thi
n
k you want
m
e to say what I
need to
say here in the waiting roo
m
.”

He points at
m
e and then at
his office door like he was dir
e
cting traffic. I can hear him behind
m
e, apologizing to the waiting applicant
s
, telling them that he has an e
m
ergency and will be with them
as soon as po
s
sible. He cl
o
ses the do
o
r.

“Those are law enforce
m
ent candidates. It only takes one to co
m
plain that he couldn’t concentrate because of a disruption,
a
nd I
’
ll have to redo everyone’s evaluation.”

He is weari
n
g a leather jacket and a black
t-shirt. His hair, wavy and curling over his collar, is silvering gently. The stress of our
divorce looks good on hi
m
.

I gained weight and
m
anufactured
m
ore wrinkles.

“
W
here is
B
en Go
m
ez’s file?
I want to see his
protocols.”

“Under lock and key. State law. Let
m
e r
e
m
i
nd you that
m
y lawyer told
m
e not to show it to anyone without a subpoena.”

“Stop lying. There are no protocols.
His
file
is
empty.”

Mark looks at
m
e over the top of his gl
a
sses. It is his signature
m
ove, therapeutic astonish
m
ent.

“How do you know that?”

“Don
’
t you want to check?”

“The only way you could know that is to
have snuck in here without per
m
ission. Tell
m
e you didn’t do that.”

“Maybe I did,
m
aybe I didn’t. Maybe I b
r
ibed your secretary.
Or
m
aybe I told Melinda, the innocent, how you are going to
leave her the way you left
m
e and she showed
m
e the
f
ile r
a
ther t
h
an stab you in the heart with
an ice pick.”

He flashes a lopsided s
m
ile.

“I need those protocols, Mark. My career is on the line.”

“I never
m
e
ant to hurt you. Things
happen. I thought we’d worked everything through, walked away from
each ot
h
er with no ani
m
us.” He reaches for
m
e. “I hate to see you suffering.”

I swat his arm away. “Pedal your psy
c
hobabble so
m
ewhere else. I’m
not leaving without that folder. And, by the way, I’m
really pissed that you gave away all the antiques I refinished.”

He walks behind his desk and sits down.
“
W
hy
i
s it so i
m
portant for you to see his te
s
t
r
esult
s
?
” The th
e
rapeutic
s
il
k
i
n
ess in his voice has dried to a crisp.

“
W
hy do you think?
To ease
m
y conscience. To help
m
e defend
m
yself
t
o the Board of Psychology.”

“And if I refuse to give them
to you
?
”

“I
’
ll go to the newspaper. You passed an applicant two other psychologists found unsuita
b
le. I bet so
m
e reporter o
u
t t
h
ere will find
that interesting. The press will be on you like white on rice.
S
o will his fa
m
ily.”

“They’ll be on you too.”

“They already are. Haven
’
t you noticed?
Give me his file.”

“
W
e
’
re going paperless. Everything
’
s
b
een converted to electronic trans
m
ission. Unfortunately,
m
y co
m
p
uter guy accidentally deleted a bunch of records, including Ben’s. I
m
i
ght be able to get him
to retrieve it, but that’s expensive and ti
m
e consu
m
i
ng.”

“I don
’
t believe you. You wouldn
’
t lose Ben’s file, not with a pending lawsuit. Melinda will know where it is.”

I open the door
and start down the hall toward Melinda’s office. Mark
catches up to
m
e and grabs
m
y a
r
m
.
The applicants raise their heads in alarm
like a f
a
m
ily of prairie dogs.

“Stop, he says, “I
’
ll talk to
m
y law
ye
r about letting you
see the file. Leave Me
li
n
d
a a
l
on
e.”

As soon as I get back to my car,
m
y cell phone goes off, jangling like a live thing in my hand. It’s April.

“The baby ca
m
e early. My blood pressure
was way high and there was a whole lot of other stuff wrong. So they induced. I was freaked.”

“
W
here are
you
?
”

“I hate it here. It’s like prison. Hang on a
m
i
nute.” I can hear conversation in the background, several people talking at once. “
S
o
m
eon
e
’
s here. I gotta get off the phone.”

She hangs up. I get the nu
m
ber from
my
cell phone and call ba
c
k.
It
rings
several ti
m
es before a wo
m
an answers. “Good Shepherd
Ho
m
e,
m
ay
I
help
you?”

I Google Good Shepherd ho
m
e. It’s in
East Kenilworth,
p
art of
C
hurches United, a place of cari
n
g and respite for un
m
arried mothers. I didn
’
t think such places e
x
isted any
m
ore. I
c
all B
e
lle Patc
h
er.
S
he answers on the first ring.

“I know where April is.”

“
W
he
r
e
?”

“Not on the phone.
Co
m
e to Kenilworth. You and your husband. Do you know where Fran’s café i
s
?
M
eet
m
e there at 7:00 p.m.”

I wasn
’
t going to let either one of them back in
m
y house.

“Meet with
m
e alone,” she says. “I don
’
t know
i
f
I can g
e
t in touch with Vinnie. He’ll just be angry. You know how he is. It’s better if I co
m
e alone.”

“No. I want to talk to y
o
ur husband face to face
.
”

I call Eddie. He
’
s right. I need to keep him
info
r
m
ed, not just for
m
y sake but for his too. The technology of voice
m
a
i
l can
’
t disgu
i
se the slurry thickness in his voice. “Not ho
m
e. Don’t leave a
m
essage. Got a proble
m
?
Call 911.”