The Forgotten (16 page)

“We deal with lots of anxious parents,” Maryam stated. “A lot of the time, they’re the problems. They want perfection from the kids, while they were anything but perfect in their own youth. Things are much more rushed these days. You have to get a jump start if you want the results. It’s the digital generation, Detective. Gen-D. The computer waits for no man.”

“In the old days, we called this kind of behavior being a pushy parent.” Oliver smiled. “It was considered a big no-no among the shrinks.”

“Pushy is one thing. Motivation is quite another,” she preached. “Most of the Baldwin clientele are highly motivated. They want to do the right thing.”

“The right thing?”

“What will help out the odds.”

“Like what?”

Maryam gave them a half-smile, and it was condescending. “That’s what the therapy is all about. Even if I told you trade secrets, you couldn’t do anything with them anyway. You have to be in the hands of the right therapist. Anyway, I do believe we have digressed. In answer to your original question, I don’t know of any disappointed child who would have come back to wreak havoc because he or she hasn’t gotten into their first-choice university.”

“You never know,” Oliver said. “Look at that mother in Texas—the one who tried to murder her daughter’s classmate because she was competition for the cheerleading squad. People have been murdered for very trivial reasons.”

Her face turned ashen. “You don’t have to be so brutal.”

“Dr. Baldwin’s murder was brutal.”

“It has nothing to do with his patients—” Maryam’s pager went off. “Oh boy! Another one on the emergency line. They’ve been calling almost nonstop since the dreadful news came over the media. They must be in a state of shock. I must take the call.”

“That’s fine,” Oliver said.

“But I can’t talk while you’re here.”

“I thought you said there are other offices.”

Maryam frowned. “It may take a while.”

“We can wait.” Oliver tried to look earnest.

Slowly, she got up. “I’ll be back. And I trust you won’t touch anything?”

“Of course not,” Marge said.

“That would bode very badly for you…if I found you rifling through things.”

“It’s a felony,” Oliver stated. “You know what they say about cops who go to jail.”

She still was dubious. A final look over her shoulder, then she left without closing the door. Oliver waited for a few moments, until one of the phone lines had been illuminated. Then he jumped up and shut the door softly. “Keep your eyes glued to the line.” He headed for the file cabinets that lined the back of the room. “Tell me when the light goes off.”

“Oliver, what are you doing?”

He yanked on a drawer. “Locked. Well, I’ve done harder things.” He took out a lock pick.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Instead of scolding me, why don’t you help me out?” Oliver inserted the pick into the cabinet’s weak standard lock. Moments later, it popped. “I’m not bothering with all the files, just one file—Ernesto Golding. C’mon, Margie! We’re under the gun here!”

“You do your B-and-Es by yourself. Besides, I gotta watch the phone for you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He dismissed her. Frantically, he rifled through the files. “God, this man generated paperwork. Gold, Gold, Golden, Goldenberg, Goldenstein, Goldin, Golding. Yes, Ernesto Golding! Voilà! Jeez, it’s not all that big for someone so screwed up.”

“You’re crossing the line.”

“Actually, I’ve crossed it. The kid is dead, Dunn. What difference does it make?”

“Don’t expect me to lie for you.” Absently, Marge yanked on the top desk drawer. To her surprise it opened. The line on the phone machine still glowed red. “However, maybe I’ll take a quick look at his schedule planner since it’s not in a locked drawer—”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Shut up before my sense gets hold of me.” Marge scanned the book. “Isn’t it going to look suspicious, Scott? That Golding’s file is missing?”

“You’re right!” Oliver stuffed a few papers back into the file folder. “I’ll come back for the rest.”

“There are lots of two-hour bookings.” Marge read the pages. “Isn’t the standard therapy time one hour?”

“So the guy had a racket going.”

“I don’t know about that…but there are lots of funny notations after lots of the names.”

“Funny notations? What do you mean?”

“Letters: S, S, S, PS, PS, S, I, S, S, E, I, E, S2, E, G, L, S, S, S2, L, M…What do you think it all means?”

“How should I know?”

“There are more S’s than anything else.”

“So maybe S stands for ‘psycho.’”

“‘Psycho’ is spelled with a P.”

“Yeah, you’re right. So maybe ‘psycho’ is PS,” Oliver stated.

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” Marge’s eyes searched the room. “I wish there was a copier somewhere.”

Oliver said, “It’s a binder notebook, Marge. Just take out a few pages and put it through the fax machine.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She took out a page and ran it through the fax machine. “What happens when the machine prints a report?”

“That’s only a phone report. Keep going.”

She ran another sheet through the machine. It was coming out when the red phone light went off. “Uh-oh. The doctor hung up the phone.” She quickly placed the original pages back in the binder.

“Shit.” He slammed the file cabinet shut, sat down, and plastered casual across his face. “I wonder if we could stall her for a few more minutes.”

“Just shut up and act like you were cooling your heels.”

“I’m sorry,” Maryam announced as she came back into the office. “I was on so long because of call waiting—one phone call after the other. Everyone is panicked about Dr. Baldwin’s death. Such a terrible, senseless tragedy!” Her eyes became moist. “And the worst part is Dee. We still don’t know about her.”

“No, we don’t,” Marge said.

“Truly frightening.” Maryam shuddered. “It gives me goose bumps to be here…alone. But someone has to hold down the fort.”

“Are you the only psychologist associate?”

“There are four assistants in addition to me. But I’m the only one that’s licensed in clinical psychology. I’m the only one qualified enough to take over if something happened to Dee…I don’t even want to think about that. But I guess I have to. Their patients are going to need support and help. I have to be there for them!”

An instant practice of rich people! Not a bad rise in income
. Then Marge wondered why she was thinking so cynically.

“I have work to do,” Maryam said. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave.”

“Thank you anyway,” Oliver stated. “Can we come back if we have a few more questions?”

“Maybe when things aren’t so hectic.” She started to choke up. “When things aren’t so
emotional
.”

“Thank you,” Marge said. “I know you tried.”

“I just wish I had something to tell you.”

Oliver smiled patiently. “We all do the best we can.”

She escorted them out the door, even walked them to the elevator. When they were safely underground, Marge said, “So what do you think?”

“Nice ass and she’s probably clean. What do you think?”

“Narcissistic as hell, but I didn’t detect any duplicity.” She unlocked the car door and went inside. Once Oliver had settled himself in the passenger’s seat, she started the motor. “You ever want to hang up the shield, you could have a dazzling career as a felon.”

“Cops and felons.” Oliver grinned. “The line is very thin, Detective Dunn.”

They literally had
lined Decker’s office because there wasn’t enough initial seating, prompting Oliver to bring in four brown folding chairs. Though the act of altruism got them off their feet, it did little to improve the mood. It was almost three in the afternoon, and the air conditioner wasn’t doing much in the way of circulation. Every once in a while, Decker felt a waft of tepid air across his sweaty neck, but that was as good as it got. At least his chair was his own and had a nice padded seat. Both Webster and Oliver had taken off their jackets, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dunn and Bontemps had on short-sleeved blouses. Decker’s coat hung over the back of his chair, but he still wore a tie and had his cuffs buttoned at the wrists. It set a neat example for his detectives, and besides, he never knew when the captain might appear. Not that Strapp would say anything, but Decker knew how things worked. One of the reasons he was where he was.

Webster said, “Where’s Bert? Still checking out beach property? Must be twenty degrees cooler out there. Why don’t I get those assignments?”

Ordinarily, Decker would have let it go. But today he wasn’t feeling charitable. “Are you done bitchin’ or is there more?”

“I don’t know, Loo,” Webster drawled. “It’s awfully hot
and it’s only the end of June. I’d say you have a summer of bitchin’ ahead of you.”

“Thanks for the warning. Let’s move on.”

Wanda was geared up. Her cheeks had taken on a deeper hue, and her brown eyes glinted with excitement. “Okay, remember we told you about two minor kids that wouldn’t talk or have their backpacks gone through?”

“Brandon Chesapeake and Riley Barns,” Decker said. “What do you have?”

“First a little background.” Webster dabbed sweat off his forehead. “It seems that Brandon’s big problem was repeatedly violating his parents’ curfew, sneaking out at all hours of the night.”

“Typical kid stuff,” Oliver said.

“Not my kid,” Marge said.

“Your kid’s from Mars,” Oliver answered.

Marge sneered at him, but deep down she agreed.

“You’re just jealous ’cause Vega’s so darn smart!” Wanda snapped.

“Who let this woman in here?” Oliver grumped. “Last I heard this was a murder investigation, not a truancy case.”

“Can we all cut the snide remarks?” Everyone was hot and tired, and nerves were frayed. Decker turned to Wanda. “That’s your cue to keep going.”

Wanda had hit a sore spot in Oliver. Being as he
was
a D2 in Homicide, and she
was
a D1 in Juvenile, she needed to make amends, and fast. “Oliver’s right. That kind of thing is typical teenager garbage, no big deal except that Brandon was caught for city curfew violation in Westwood. The kid was issued a citation and his parents found out and hit the ceiling. They forced him into therapy with the Baldwins. Mervin suggested the camp, and that’s how Brandon came to be where he was.”

Webster said, “The second kid, Riley Barns, was also caught for truancy along with Brandon. Except his parents didn’t care much about how late Riley stayed out because they were never home themselves. The deal was this: Riley and Brandon are best friends. Where one went, the other
went. So that’s how they both ended up with the Baldwin camp. Now you’re up to date.”

“We’re not talking hard cases,” Oliver said.

“Exactly,” Webster answered. “So Wanda and I are thinking, why would those two do the tough bit at a time when their psychiatrist and fellow camper were reduced to hamburger? So we both do the old bore-into-the-eye trick, and see more fear than anything else. Y’all combine it with the fact that their sleeping bags were closest to Merv Baldwin’s tent. I think we got a clear deduction.”

“They saw something.” Decker wasn’t surprised. Someone should have witnessed
something
. “What?”

Wanda said, “We managed to pull out of Riley Barns the fact that he
was
awakened by a popping sound. He didn’t get up, he didn’t even move—just opened his eyes from his sleeping bag, not too sure about what he heard. Then he thought he saw a tiny beam of light, like a penlight. He said he might have seen a couple of shadows come out of the tent area and disappear into the brush.”

“A couple of shadows?” Decker said. “As in two people?”

“Maybe.”

“Go on.”

“That’s it,” Wanda concluded. “No details beyond that.”

Webster stated, “He was half-asleep. And since everything was quiet after that, he went back to sleep.”

“Any idea what time it was?” Decker asked.

“No…nothing.”

Marge said, “You think the boy was scared into losing his memory?”

Wanda said, “Nights are pitch black out there. Plus, the kid was awakened from a deep sleep.
I
don’t think he’s holding back.”

“So why didn’t he say anything when he was first questioned?” Marge asked.

“I think he was freaked when he found out what had happened,” Webster said. “He told Brandon Chesapeake about his experience right after Tarpin made the announcement.”

“What announcement?” Decker asked.

“He told the boys what had happened,” Webster said. “Not the details, just that there had been a crime in Dr. Baldwin’s tent and everyone should stay where they were and not do anything until the police got up to the mountain. It was at that point that the boys decided the best plan of action was to keep their mouths shut. I can certainly understand their reticence.”

“It’s generic shit,” Oliver said. “We know that someone came in the tent and out of the tent. I say either the kid’s lying to get attention and he didn’t see or hear a damn thing.
Or
he saw more than he’s letting on. He should be interviewed again.”

“Agreed,” Webster said. “The problem is he’s a minor and his parents are scared and aren’t going to let us talk to him anymore. But maybe if the loo came down…”

“No problem.” Decker looked at the framed picture of his family on his desk. “I’ve got to figure out how to approach the parents. How many shadows did Riley see?”

“He said a couple,” Wanda said.

“And he has no time recollection.”

“He claims no,” Webster said. “Just opened his eyes and saw these shadows coming out from the tent area and crawling back out into the woods. His first thought was that they were doing some kind of nighttime survival maneuvers.”

“Have they done that before?” Marge asked. “Nighttime maneuvers?”

Webster shrugged. “Beats me. I’ll ask Tarpin.”

Wanda said, “The main thing is that after a full day of being pushed through Marine-type survival drills, Riley was very tired and it didn’t take much for him to fall back asleep.”

“Did you tape the interview?” Decker asked.

“No, sir, we did not.” Wanda wiped her face with a tissue. “We caught the kid and the parents at a weak moment—when they were too shocked to protest—took whatever we could get. We knew they were going to bolt any second, so once we got Riley to admit that he heard something, we just
started flinging questions until Mr. Barns put up the legal fence. We tried to keep it friendly because we figured you’d want to come back.”

Decker nodded. “And you’re sure the other kid—Brandon—he didn’t see or hear anything?”

“He says he didn’t,” Webster answered. “We interviewed them all as best we could. Most of them were minors.”

“A stunned population of teenage boys who were scared witless, but still trying to keep up the macho front. Then you add hysterical parents into the mix…” Wanda shook her head. “It wasn’t a beach party. We didn’t see or find anything suspicious.”

“Where are Ernesto’s belongings?”

“They’ve been bagged,” Webster said. “We didn’t find any letters from Ruby Ranger if that’s what you’re asking. They do exist, right?”

“His brother claims they do. No reason to doubt it.” Decker took out his notepad and wrote down,
Riley Barns
. “So none of the other kids look hot on the perp list?”

“Not from what we could see,” Webster said. “It’s the same story, Loo. The boys in the camps are what I might call overly rambunctious, but not carved-in-stone psychos.”

“So why were they there?” Marge asked.

“Different reasons.” Webster took out his notepad. “Most were brought in to the Baldwins for drug problems. The parents found a stash or the pills and freaked out.”

Decker knew that feeling. “A normal reaction.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Wanda was flipping through her notes. “One got in trouble for getting drunk, taking the family car and totaling it. Another got arrested for malicious mischief at a shopping center.”

“That’s pretty serious,” Marge said.

“Yeah, but it ain’t shooting your teacher because she wore the wrong type of athletic shoes,” Wanda stated. “The boys had been brought to the Baldwins by the parents without the kids getting in official trouble with the law. Some were
school recommendations. Ernesto Golding was an exception, because he was charged and convicted of something.”

“I’ll tell you one thing that they all had in common,” Webster broke in. “The parents could afford the Baldwins’ hefty fee—twenty grand a kid for three weeks.”

Oliver and Decker broke into whistles. Marge’s eyes widened in diameter. She said, “The Baldwins have carved out a nice niche in rich, bad boys.”

“Psychiatry is the province of the rich,” Webster said. “That’s nothing new.”

“Not always,” Decker said. “I’ll tell you this much. Twenty grand buys a lot of shrink time—like a hundred hours. Which would be seeing a shrink an hour a day, two times a week for almost a
year
. How many camps a summer does he run?”

Webster said, “Three.”

“How many kids per session?”

“Twelve,” Webster said. “We did the math: seven hundred and twenty thousand a summer. And that doesn’t include the sessions they run during winter and spring break—that’s only ten grand a pop.”

“A bargain,” Marge said.

“Nor does it include the follow-up sessions—”

“And they say a diploma is just a scrap of paper!” Decker shook his head. “I definitely went into the wrong field.”

“What do they do with all the money?” Oliver asked. “Surely that kind of income brings about some kind of vice.”

“Tarpin told me they might be renting a Malibu condo while they were remodeling their Beverly Hills home,” Decker said. “That’ll chew up a hell of a lot of income.” Decker added
money and debts
to the list. “Here’s another tidbit for your consideration. Darrell Holt—the kid from the Preservers of Ethnic Whatshisface—he attended one of Baldwin’s camp sessions about seven years ago. He must come from money. We should find out about him.”

“What?” Oliver said. “Why didn’t you tell me this two hours ago? I would have stolen his file—”

“I didn’t hear that,” Decker said.

Oliver smiled. “I’m talking theoretically.”

Before Decker could delve, Marge broke in. “What did Holt do to get shunted into the Baldwins’ camp?”

“I don’t know,” Decker said. “Tarpin wasn’t forthcoming with details. He did say that Darrell was radical in his younger days and that he went to Berkeley. It would be interesting to know what brought about Darrell’s shift to the right.”

“The day’s still young even if we aren’t,” Webster said. “I’ll go back to the PEI and see if I can’t catch up with Holt.”

Decker looked at his notes. He had to investigate Holt, Ranger, Riley Barns, and money and debt with regard to the Baldwins’ finances. And of course, there was Bert out looking for Dee Baldwin’s supposed beach getaway.

Webster said, “You want me to interview Holt or surf through racist Web sites?”

Decker said, “Let’s do this, Tom. Before you get to Holt, let’s do some homework. Go to the Tolerance Center in the city. I’m sure it has details on all the hate groups. I didn’t bother with it after the vandalism because Ernesto confessed. But a double murder justifies the man-hours. I want to know everything there is to know about Holt and Tarpin—and that Moke character while you’re at it.”

“I can make an appointment to go down there tomorrow,” Webster said.

“I’ll go you one better. I’m going to hook you up with Rina. She knows the lingo because she’s done research on white supremacist groups, as part of her outreach program in the community. You set it up, and when you have an appointment time, I’ll make sure that Rina meets you down there. She’ll love it and it’ll be beneficial to you.”

“Sounds good.” Webster certainly didn’t mind working with Decker’s wife. She was smart and competent, and a comely lass at that. “I’ll let you know when I get something set up.”

Oliver consulted his notes. “How long has Darrell Holt been with PEI?”

“Tarpin claims four years.”

“And what’s Tarpin’s role in the camp?” Marge asked. “Besides being a fascist Marine.”

Decker gave her a smile and a wistful one at that. There were times—when Marge asked a certain question in a certain way—that made him sorely miss working with his former partner. “He’s a Baldwin henchman. Discipline guy for the day-to-day activities. I didn’t grill him on his activities with PEI.”

“Regarding this Holt guy,” Oliver said. “It’s totally possible for me to…theoretically get into Baldwin’s files. I know where they’re kept…theoretically.”

Decker said, “It’s totally possible that if you were to do that, you would find yourself in jail with a bunch of eager felons waiting to ram a hard rod up your butt.”

“Loo, you have a vivid way of describing things. So I won’t bother telling you the details that theoretically might be in Ernesto Golding’s file—a file that we could have gotten into anyway because Ernesto is dead and there’s no confidentiality with dead people.”

“Anything we can use?” Decker asked.

“Lots of jargon and abbreviations. Still, what came out was that he had a kinky sexual thing going on with this girl, Ruby Ranger.”

“Nazi shit?” Decker asked.

“Exactly. Except I think some of it might be fantasy because it was pretty wild. I think that was Baldwin’s conclusion, too.”

“We need to fix on this Ranger girl. Last we heard, she went up north. Earlier this morning, I called six police stations in the greater Bay Area. They’re looking for her and her car, but they’re going to forget unless we follow up. Wanda, I’ll leave the job of pestering to you.”