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