Blood Test by Kellerman, Jonathan

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.”

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