“What if he confesses, Oster tells me to put nothing in writing and never puts me on the stand?”
“Then we lose nothing, you make some expert-witness money, we go with the bike and the gun and see how far we can take it. But I think you can get him to use you. Examine Muscadine and tell Oster the truth: His client’s been through hell. But don’t call Oster right away to say yes, that would look too cute. Wait a day or two, then be reluctantly willing.”
“So I’m a pawn.”
She laughed. “For justice.”
CHAPTER
39
Dr. Albert Emerson got back to me that evening, just after nine.
“Tessa tried to commit suicide,” he said in that same youthful voice, now sobered. “I’ve got her on a seventy-two-hour hold at Flint Hills Cottages, know where it is?”
“La Canada.”
“That’s the one. Their adolescent in-patient unit’s one of the better ones.”
“How’d she do it?” I said.
“Cut her wrist.”
“Serious or cry for help?”
“She really sawed, so serious. Her father stopped the bleeding.”
“Damn. I called you because I was worried about her.”
“I called you back because I appreciate that and so do the parents. They like you. What’d you want to tell me?”
“That I believe Tessa about the rape. I thought she needed to hear that from someone.”
“Why now?”
“I can’t say. Legal complications.”
“Oh,” he said. “The guy got caught for another one?”
“Let’s just say she’s been validated.”
“Okay. I’ll find out from my D.A. wife.”
“She may not know. It’s really a ticklish situation. As soon as I can be open I promise I will.”
“Fair enough—hold on, the father wants to speak with you.”
A moment later: “Doctor? Walt Bowlby, here.”
“Sorry to hear about Tessa.”
“Thank you, sir.” His words dragged. “Dr. Emerson says she’ll pull through. What can I do for you?”
“I was just checking in to see how Tessa was doing.”
His voice broke. “She’s—I guess I should’ve believed her about the rape.”
“No reason to blame your—”
“The funny thing is she seemed to be getting better, spending more time with Robbie, having some fun. Then she just stopped, didn’t want to play with him anymore, even be with him. Started to stay in her room all day, with the door shut. Yesterday, I went in to talk to her, found her in the bathroom. Thank God . . . anyway, the reason I didn’t call you is she didn’t say anything more about the professor til today. I was gonna call you about that, but we’ve been pretty busy.”
“What’d she say today?”
“That the professor was her true friend because she was the only one who believed her. That the bastard tied her up and forced her and no one understood what she’d been through but the professor.”
“He tied her up?”
“Yeah. If I find him, I’ll cut his balls off.”
“Mr. Bowlby—”
“I know, I know, my wife tells me I’m stupid to even talk that way and I know she’s right. But the thought of his doing that to my little girl . . . maybe there’s a hell . . . the main thing is Tessa’s alive. I’ll deal with the other stuff later. Anyway, thanks for calling, Doc.”
“Would it upset you if I came to talk to Tessa?”
“For what?”
“Just to tell her that I believe her, too.”
“Wouldn’t upset me but you’d have to check with Dr. Emerson.”
“Is he still there?”
“He went just down the hall, want me to get him?”
“Please, if it’s no bother.”
“No bother at all. I’m not doing much, just hanging around.”
I made it to Glendale by ten-thirty that night and La Canada a few minutes later.
Flint Hills Cottages was up Verdugo Road, well into the foothills, on the outskirts of a comfortable residential neighborhood, marked only by a small white sign on an adobe gatepost. The gate was open and the man in the guardhouse wore a blazer and tie and a practiced smile.
No central building, just small hacienda-style bungalows at the end of a curving gravel drive, tucked under hundred-year-old sycamores and cedars. Soft outdoor lighting and bougainvillea trained to the walls gave the place the look of a stylish spa.