Not Guilty Part 25

"I know, I know," he said.

"Okay," said Keely, realizing that he was already retreating from her. Her words sounded empty, even to her own ears.I'm doing this wrong,she thought, and felt a flare of panic.I have to break the old patterns. But how?"I . . . I want you to know that I . . . will do better . . ." she promised, and then her voice faltered.

"You do all right, Mom." He yawned and rotated his head. "I am tired," he admitted.

Looking at him now, almost as tall as she was, Keely suddenly remembered how she'd felt when she brought him home as a brand-new baby. In those early days, she had had a fear, which threatened to overwhelm her, that she didn't know what she was doing and that she didn't dare make a big mistake. His new life depended on her not making a mistake. She wanted to tell him, but she could see that he would not want to hear it.

"All right," said Keely briskly. She could see, by the dark circles under his eyes and the waxiness of his complexion, that Dylan was exhausted. "I can tell you're tired, so let's just leave it for now. Let's get you up to your room. You can lie down for a while. Listen to your music. I'll bring you some . . . ginger ale."

"The miracle elixir," he teased her. "Mom's cure, no matter what ails you."

Keely smiled sheepishly. "It always seems to help," she said.

"Some ginger ale sounds good," he said.

Keely picked up his bag, but he wrested it away from her. "I'm okay, Mom. Really. I don't need you to carry my bag. Or to keep an eye on me. I'll be okay. Don't worry."

"Are you sure?" she said, and her voice cracked.

Dylan patted her arm awkwardly and nodded. "Just go get that ginger ale," he said. "I can see that the service hasn't improved any around here."

"Get moving, you," she said. Her heart seemed to be swelling up inside of her, like a shining bubble, and she thanked G.o.d for this moment of happiness.

28.

Try those breathing exercises the next time you feel the anxiety start to get to you," Evan Stover advised the patient who was getting up from the chair in front of his desk. "It's really a very good way to stop the escalation."

"I'll try it," the young man said glumly. He turned back to ask something else, but Dr. Stover pointedly looked at the clock. The young man sighed again and walked over to the door behind the desk, letting himself out. Dr. Stover began to make some notes on the patient's file while the session was fresh in his mind.

There was a timid tapping on the door to his office, and then the receptionist slid inside and closed the door behind her. "Dr. Stover," she said, "I'm sorry. Your next client is here, but the district attorney is outside and she says it's very important that she speak to you right now."

"Hmmmm . . ." said Dr. Stover. "When is my next free hour?"

"Six o'clock."

"All right, reschedule the patient for six and tell Miss Chase I'll see her now."

The receptionist looked surprised, but she retreated, closing the door softly. Dr. Stover swiveled around and opened a file drawer. He pulled out a worn, yellowed file and glanced into it. Then he placed it on his desk just as Maureen Chase opened the door to the office.

"Maureen," he said. "Come in."

Maureen sat down in the seat recently vacated in front of Dr. Stover's desk. She crossed her legs and pulled her narrow skirt down over her knees. Then she rested her forearms on the arms of the chair.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked.

"I received an unpleasant surprise last night," she said.

"Oh?" said Dr. Stover.

"A . . . colleague of mine called to tell me that you had approved the release of Dylan Bennett to his mother."

"That's true."

"I want to know why you let him go home. I specifically asked you to keep him here. Do you want to tell me why you did that?"

"This is not a prison," he said. "It's a hospital. I felt he was well enough and that his mother would be reliable about managing his care."

"It's my understanding that you had a very negative report from the social worker," Maureen said.

"Mrs. Erlich," he said.

"Yes."

"Is that who called to tell you about Dylan's release?"

Maureen hesitated, surprised by the accuracy of his guess. Mrs. Erlich had heard about Dylan's release from a friend who worked in the hospital pharmacy. She had called Maureen instantly to apprise her of this development and to a.s.sure her that she had made as negative a report as possible after her interview with Keely. Now, facing Evan's keen-eyed gaze, Maureen considered lying or refusing to answer. Then she reminded herself that she must not allow herself to be intimidated by Evan Stover. "As a matter of fact, it was Mrs. Erlich. She was extremely upset. She wanted me to know that she disagreed most emphatically with your decision."

Dr. Stover nodded. "I'm sure she did. And I can a.s.sure you that I took her report under advis.e.m.e.nt. But I also took into account her . . . bias in this case."

"What bias?"

"Her indebtedness to you. I know all about the Gaskill child and how you went to bat for Mrs. Erlich."

"She was being blamed unfairly."

"That may be true. Nevertheless, she owes you her job. And I understand that she could ill afford to lose that job because her husband has kidney disease and they rely heavily on her health-care plan."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Maureen . . ." Dr. Stover said, shaking his head.

"Are you insinuating that I am pressuring Mrs. Erlich in some way?" Maureen demanded.

"Maureen, you cannot pretend to be impartial when it comes to Dylan Bennett. You were once engaged to his stepfather."

Maureen gripped the armrests as if to keep herself seated. "That information was given to you in confidence."

"Several people have told me. It's hardly confidential."

"My relationship with Mark Weaver is not at issue here. We're talking about a kid who is dangerous to others and to himself."

"We're talking about a troubled boy who has had more than his share of tragedy in his life. And who is very vulnerable right now. Don't you feel any empathy toward him? You, of all people, should understand. Show the boy a little compa.s.sion."

"Don't say another word about me," she said. "I am doing my job as a prosecutor."

"Well, I've reviewed all the circ.u.mstances, and I don't see any convincing reason to think that Dylan was to blame for Mark Weaver's death."

"You'vereviewed the circ.u.mstances," she scoffed. "Now you're an expert on crime?"

"No. But I am an expert on the psychology of adolescents. And I don't see this patient as posing a danger to anyone but himself. And your very public badgering of him is making his situation much more difficult than it needs to be."

"Badgering!" she cried.

"Yes, badgering. What does Dylan Bennett represent to you? I think you need to ask yourself that question."

Maureen regarded him with an icy stare. "He's a menace to the community," she said. "The community I represent. And if there's another so-called accident, you will be held accountable, Dr. Stover."

Dr. Stover sat back in his chair. "Maureen, I try to be cooperative with your office. We're not adversaries. But I'm not here to help you carry out your personal vendetta. I draw the line there."

Maureen stood up. "Fine," she said. "You do whatever you have to do. And I'll do what I have to do. I don't need your help."

Dr. Stover returned her stare without blinking. "Are you sure about that, Maureen?"

ALL THE WAY HOME,Maureen fumed.I'll show you,she thought.You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I don't need you for this. You think that because you were once my doctor, now you can dictate my life to me?She didn't like to remember the way she had first met Evan Stover. The death of her twin at such a vulnerable age had caused her to lose her way temporarily. Things had gone from bad to worse until, when she was sixteen, she swallowed a handful of pills. It wasn't anything like Dylan Bennett. Evan Stover had been a help to her then. And she'd seen him from time to time over the years. Like when Mark left her. She hadn't known who else to talk to. There was no one she could trust, so she figured it was safest to go to someone who was legally bound to silence. But Dr. Stover never let her forget it. It seemed that he enjoyed throwing it up to her. He got a kick out of it.

Lost in her ruminations, Maureen turned the wrong way on a one-way street and nearly ran head-on into an oncoming car. The other driver shook a fist at her, and she pulled over to the side of the road to collect herself.Calm down,she thought.You've got to calm yourself.Taking a deep breath, she rummaged through the tapes in the plastic organizer beside the driver's seat. She popped a tape into her tape deck, and it began to play. She sighed as the voices began. It was one of her favorites of her collection of Mark tapes. She could hear the murmur of her own voice, and then the sound of Mark's voice, droning on about his day while she ma.s.saged his back on her bed. She could not help thinking ahead. After a few more minutes of tape, he would be turning over on the bed, beginning to caress her. As usual, she began to float, like a feather in a stream, carried along on the memories. She turned her car around in a driveway, then headed in the right direction down the street.

Long ago, she had playfully suggested videotapes, but Mark had immediately turned prudish and refused, so she had dropped the subject and let him think she had not meant it. Then she had made the audiotapes secretly, just for fun, so that she could keep him near herwhen he was not around. Those were the days when Mark was often flying out to Michigan, ostensibly to help sort out the legal affairs of the widow of an old friend. Little did Maureen know, at that time, that the lonely widow, Keely Bennett, was busily stealing him away from her. No, when she made those tapes, she still lived in ignorant bliss, never knowing that one day, these tapes, a few photos, some old clothes, would be all she had left of him to hold on to.

She reached her driveway, just as Mark was praising her for the way she could arouse him, pleading with her to continue, to do more. She started up the long drive to her house, antic.i.p.ating the moment when she could turn off the engine and sit there in the darkness of her car, her eyes closed, her pulse pounding, reliving it. But as she rounded the curve and her house came into view, she could see, to her intense irritation, that her reverie was about to be interrupted. There was a car parked at the end of the drive near her house, blocking her path to the garage. It was a car with a sign fastened to the roof. She parked her own car and squinted. Tarantino's Pizza.

What the h.e.l.l is this?she thought.Somebody's idea of a stupid, practical joke? Probably Phil Stratton,she thought with a shudder, remembering how she had almost let herself be seduced by him last night. She'd had a little wine with dinner, and it had gone to her head. To think she had almost gone to bed with a nosy, beer-swilling detective who liked to poke around in women's closets. G.o.d. Talk about pearls before swine. Maureen got out of her car and walked across the driveway toward the delivery car.

A man with a bad complexion and two-toned hair leaned against the side of his car smoking a cigarette. He tossed the b.u.t.t down and ground it into her driveway as she approached him. He looked vaguely familiar to her, she thought.

"I didn't order a pizza," she said bluntly.

The man had hooded, reptilian eyes. "I know. I'm not here about pizza, Miss Chase."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "I know you," she said. "I've prosecuted you, haven't I?" Automatically, she reached into her bag for her cell phone.

The man nodded. "Afraid so," he said.

Maureen refused to show that she was afraid. "I've got a cell phone here with the police on speed dial . . ."

"I don't think you want to call them," Wade said slyly. "'Cause if they hear my story, it's you they'll be taking away."

"What are you talking about?" Maureen demanded, still holding her finger poised over the b.u.t.tons of the cell phone.

"Mark Weaver," he said. "The night he died. I tried to deliver a pizza to his house, but it turned out he didn't order a pizza. He was getting a delivery from the district attorney that night. Is it coming back to you now?"

Maureen's stomach flipped over, and she stared, remembering now where she had seen this man's face most recently. Slowly, she put the cell phone back in her bag.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

29.

After Abby was asleep in her crib, Keely came into the living room where Dylan was slumped in front of the TV.

"Honey," she said. "I have to go out."

He looked up at her, surprised. "Why?"

She had been trying, for the last hour, to think of a way to justify this surprising sortie, so soon after his return, but she knew she had to start telling him the truth and showing him that she trusted him. She hesitated. Then she said, "Remember I told you about the pizza delivery guy?"

Dylan nodded.

She took a deep breath. "He was here. Night before last. It seems . . . that he does know something. But he wants money before he'll tell me anything more. At first, I refused because I was so . . . I just wasn't sure what to do. But now I've made up my mind. I'm going to talk to him."

"I don't think you should pay him, Mom. That sounds really bogus to me."

Keely sighed. "It might not prove to be anything. But I've got to try."

"No, you don't," Dylan protested. "It doesn't matter that much to me."

"I've told you already, Dylan-it matters to me."

"Well, I'm not going to let you go off and meet this guy all by yourself."

Touched by his concern, she smiled. "Don't worry. I'm just going to the pizza place. There will be lots of people there. I'll be fine, honey. You're tired. You just got out of the hospital. I want you to stay put. b.u.t.thank you. Besides, I can't leave Abby alone here. I need you to stay here with her."

"I don't like this, Mom," he said, frowning.

"Honey, I don't like it either. But I have got to find some way to get Maureen Chase off our backs and out of our lives."

Dylan shook his head. "This is my fault," he said. He trailed her to the door as she picked up her pocketbook and keys.

She turned and held him by the upper arms. "No, it's not. That's just the point," she said. "Now, you stay here. You keep yourself and Abby safe for me. I'll do the rest. Okay?"

"Be careful," he said.

"There's nothing to worry about," Keely said. "Just keep an ear out for the baby. I'll be home before long."