Johnithan Kellerman – Bad Love

.. I tried calling her twice, but she’s not in.”

“Probably went out to do some shopping, but I’ll stop by.”

“Thanks. What do I do now? I haven’t even called the local police yet.”

“Where are you?”

“Pay phone, a few minutes from the house.”

“Okay, go back there. Stay away from the actual crime scene and just wait.

I’ll call Santa Barbara PD, tell em you’re kosher, then I’ll head up there myself–what time is it?–three-thirty. .. I should be there by six, the latest.”

I waited near the cliff, as far from the garage as I could be. Staring at the ocean, inhaling brine, and trying to make sense of things.

Two young uniforms showed up first. One stayed with the body and the other took a superficial report from me–name, rank, serial number, time and place-listening courteously and just a bit suspiciously.

Twenty minutes later, a pair of detectives arrived. One was a woman named Sarah Grayson, tall, slim, attractive, in her forties. Her eyes were slightly slanted, colored an even brown. They moved slowly but frequently. Taking things in. Reserving judgment.

Her partner was a big, heavy man named Steen, with a bushy dark mustache and not much hair on top. He went straight into the garage and left me to Grayson.

Somehow we’d ended up back near the cliff edge. I told her tape recorder everything I knew, and she listened without interruption.

Then she pointed at the water and said, “There’s a seal flipping around out there.”

I followed her arm and made out a small black dot, ten breaststrokes from the tideline, cutting a perpendicular line through the breakwaters.

“Or a sea lion,” she said. “Those are the ones with the ears, right?”

I shrugged.

“Let’s go over it again, doctor.”

When I finished, she said, “So you were looking for Dr. de Bosch to warn her about this revenge nut?”

“That, and I wanted to find out if she could tell me anything about why he’s out for revenge.”

“And you think it has something to do with this school?”

“She and her father ran it. It’s the only thing I can come up with.”

“What was the exact name of the school?” she said.

“The de Bosch Institute and Corrective School. It closed in eighty-one.”

“And you thought she’d know what happened because she was the owner’s daughter.”

I nodded and looked at the rear of the house. “There could be records in there. Therapy notes, something about an incident that traumatized one of the students enough to set him off years later.”

“What kind of students went to this school?”

“Emotionally disturbed. Mr. Bancroft, the owner of the school across the street, described them as antisocial–fire setters, truants, and other miscreants.”

She smiled. “I know Mr. Bancroft. So when do you think this traumatic episode might have occurred?”

“Some time before nineteen seventy-nine.”

“Because of that conference?”

“That’s right.”

She thought for a while. “And how long was the school around?”

“From nineteen sixty-two to eighty-one.”

“Well, that’s verifiable,” she said, more to herself than to me.

“Maybe if there was a trauma we’ll have a record of it. Assuming something happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“You just told me you think this guy’s crazy, doctor–this supposed avenger.”

She kept her eyes on me and turned one of her earrings. “So maybe he cooked it all up in his head.”

“Maybe, but being psychotic doesn’t mean being totally delusional–most psychotics have periods of lucidity. And psychotics can be traumatized, too.

Plus, he might not even be psychotic. Just extremely disturbed.”

She smiled again. “You sound like an expert witness. Cautious.”

“I’ve been to court.”

“I know–Detective Sturgis told me. And I discussed you with Judge Stephen Huff, too, just to play it safe.”

“You know Steve?”

“Know him well. I used to work juvenile down in L.A. Steve was handling that kind of thing, back then. I know Milo, too. You keep good company, doctor.”

She looked at the house. “This victim down in L.A.–Ms. Paprock. You think she taught at the school?”

“Yes. Under the name of Evans. Myra Evans. Her day job was with the public school system in Goleta. There might still be records of that.

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