Barbara Holloway: Desperate Measures Part 3

"Apparently for them, for Alex, it would be a big deal. Anyway, Dr. Minick left me a stack of stuff, political cartoons, a comic strip, and a medical record that's three inches thick. I'll pretend to believe I'm in, and start on it all tonight." She motioned toward the folders.

Sh.e.l.ley opened the one closest to her, then opened a sc.r.a.pbook it contained, and gasped. "It's Xander! He draws Xander?"

Barbara knew that she had not mentioned Alex's secret name.

"What about Xander?" she asked.

"The comic strip. It's a great strip! Don't you read it?"

Barbara moved to sit on the sofa next to Sh.e.l.ley, where she could look over the strip. She had seen it before, she realized, but had not followed it. "A teenage boy full of angst," she commented.

"No! Well, yes. See, his name's Timothy, and his mother calls him Timmy Dear; his father calls him My Boy. Look, let me find his mother." She leafed through the pages, then stopped to point at the mother, tall, stick-thin, with pale hair flipped up at the end. And hanging from her forehead on a rod was a rectangular object. A mirror! "When she turns sideways," Sh.e.l.ley said, riffling through the pages again, "she sort of disappears altogether. Here." The mother had become a simple stick with a head, feet in stilt shoes, hands, and the mirror. "Sometimes you get to see what she sees-a gorgeous woman. And the father. Here." He was a corpulent figure with a great mop of curly hair; he was dressed in a suit and tie.

"Look closely," Sh.e.l.ley said.

Barbara peered at the drawing, then drew back. The mop of curls was made up of dollar signs, and the suit, which had appeared to be tweed or herringbone, was patterned with dollar signs.

"His underwear, neckties, everything-it's all dollar signs," Sh.e.l.ley said. "At first the strip seems to be simply about a boy coping with hypocrisy, but then you begin to get the real story. Timothy is a secret superhero. He can fly away and do good deeds, save damsels in distress, thwart bank robbers, outsmart terrorists, make things right. The catch is that his powers are unreliable. He's trying all the time to find the secret that turns on his powers. One strip had him eating spinach, nothing else for a month or longer, thinking it worked for Popeye. He just turned green. When his powers are working, he's Xander."

Sh.e.l.ley's eyes were s.h.i.+ning with excitement over having Xander's creator as a client. Now Barbara could understand the barely concealed excitement in Will Thaxton's voice when he called.

She reached across the table and pulled the thick medical file closer. "I'll save this for later," she said. Almost idly she opened the folder, then drew in a sharp breath. She was looking at a glossy eight-by-ten photograph of Alexander Feldman.

Beside her, Sh.e.l.ley gasped, then said in a choked voice, "My G.o.d! It's not fair!"

Barbara had changed her clothes, finally, and had made notes about her talk with Dr. Minick. She was sitting at her desk reading Alex's medical history when she heard the outer door open. She stiffened in alarm, certain that she had locked it when Sh.e.l.ley left.

"It's just me-Maria." She came into the office carrying a box, flat like a pizza box. "We had tamales tonight, and you know Mama, how she overdoes everything. So she said, Why don't you go see if the lights are on, carry her some of the extra tamales and stuff. And the lights were on, so here I am."

She said all this with an innocent expression. Maria lived with her mother and her own two daughters; her mother was the matriarch who bossed and babied everyone, and Maria did the same here in the office.

"Oh, Maria," Barbara said, rising, "tell me the truth, do I look like I'm starving?"

Maria studied her through narrowed eyes, then grinned and nodded. "I can hear your stomach making like an express train from over here." She put her box down on the coffee table and opened ita crack. "They're still hot."

The aroma of tamales and salsa, refried beans, and garlic filled the office. Barbara could hear her stomach making incredible jungle sounds, and suddenly she felt famished.

"Tell Mama thanks for me," she said. "And thanks for bringing it. I guess I am starving."

After Maria laughed and walked out jauntily, Barbara washed her hands and sat at the coffee table to eat. Tamales, a sweet-and-sour carrot salad, refried beans, crisp fried plantain slices-not a meal for a cholesterol watcher or a dieter; there appeared to be enough for two lumberjacks. Barbara ate it all.

And she thought about Alexander Feldman. She had not read his surgery reports, and for now she was skimming through the psychological evaluations. Violent as a child, as a teenager, as a young man. Suicidal as a youth. Frustrated s.e.xually. Self-conscious and reclusive. No doubt bitter and full of hatred for his fate, his parents, himself, the world. Still, he could draw wickedly funny cartoons and a comic strip that probably every adolescent adored. Not just adolescents, she thought then, recalling the excitement in Sh.e.l.ley's eyes.

She didn't linger in the office that night. After locking the material in the safe, she had a disturbing thought: Had Alex sicced Xander on his nemesis, Gus Marchand? Had Xander made things right?

The next morning she was surprised to see Sh.e.l.ley in her going-to-court mode, her hair neatly gathered in a swirl at the nape of her neck, skirt and jacket, even hose and low-heeled shoes. Sh.e.l.ley tried hard to look mature when she had to appear in court. Barbara was wearing blue jeans, a T-s.h.i.+rt, and sneakers.

"So you do have a trial," she said. "What time? If I can swing it, I'll sit in." She often did that, and afterward discussed Sh.e.l.ley's technique with her, as a good mentor should, she thought. She pulled no punches at those critique sessions.

"No trial. I want to go with you," Sh.e.l.ley said, almost defiantly.

Taken aback, Barbara shrugged. "Okay."

Sh.e.l.ley drove. Her car was a fiery red Porsche with Winnie the Pooh dangling from the rearview mirror. Sh.e.l.ley's father made yachts; her mother was an heiress to an immense fortune, and Sh.e.l.ley was a very rich young woman.

Barbara filled in details as Sh.e.l.ley drove through Eugene, through Springfield, and into the countryside. The valley floor was still flat here, but in the distance the Cascade Mountains rose, and closer, behind the farmland, hills were beginning to appear. They had entered filbert country. The world might call them hazelnuts, but here they were and would always be filberts. The trees were not very big, twenty feet or less for the most part, and they were meticulously s.p.a.ced. Now fully leaved, their twisted limbs were concealed; the canopy cast deep shade beneath them. Occasionally a green groundcover, something that thrived in shade, protected the ground from the relentless winter rains. They pa.s.sed several impressive bonfires, with small huddles of men around them; the orchardists were torching the blight.

Opal Creek was off to the right, a racing silver stream cutting its own little channel in its run to the big Willamette River. They came to a stop sign and a bridge to the new road on the other side of the creek.

"Gus Marchand's property," Barbara said, pointing. On the other side of the creek was another orchard, where Mike Bakken and the inspector had been the day of the murder. They pa.s.sed the Marchand house, set back a couple of hundred feet from the road, with shrubbery and shade trees all around. It appeared almost obsessively neat: the gra.s.s mowed, circles of mulch around bushes and trees, no weeds anywhere. Then came the land that he said he would put houses on; this ground was heavily forested, with a hill that rose to the state forest land behind it. She saw the track that led into the woods; the place where Minick said the girl Rachel and her boyfriend went to park. It was impossible to tell where the Minick property started; it looked exactly like the forest until they came to a gravel driveway. Trees concealed the house.

Rhododendrons in bloom lined the driveway and crowded the house. There were no other signs of gardening, but anyone who couldn't grow rhodies in Oregon simply had never stuck a bush in the ground and walked away from it.

The house was a low, rambling building, clad in cedar siding stained a natural color, with white trim. The front door opened as they drew near, and Dr. Minick stepped out to meet them.

On the porch Barbara introduced Sh.e.l.ley. "My colleague," she said. "If Mr. Feldman hires us, if a case actually develops, Sh.e.l.ley will a.s.sist me."

"Well, come on in. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?"

"Thanks, but no," Barbara said, surveying the room they entered. Comfortable and very male. Fireplace, leather furniture, no knickknacks of any kind, no plants, just lots of books and magazines and an enormous pile of newspapers. Of course, she thought, Alex was right on top of the news. She noted with interest that there was a wood-burning stove and a fireplace. One for efficiency, one for comfort.

Then a door on the far side of the room opened and Alex came in. He was wearing a baseball cap. She had steeled herself, Barbara thought distantly; she had thought she was prepared, but no one could be prepared for this. Worse than the pictures, far worse than she had imagined.

"Ms. Holloway and-" Minick started, only to be interrupted by a strange sound that Sh.e.l.ley was making.

Barbara turned to look at her. Sh.e.l.ley was choking and gasping, and trying to hide her face with her hands. "I'm sorry," she managed to say, and turned as if to flee.

"Nonsense," Dr. Minick said firmly. "Let me show you our bathroom. Come along." He took her elbow and steered her toward a hallway. She was sobbing like a child as he led her away.

Barbara turned back to Alex. "I'm terribly sorry," she said.

"What for? That's the first normal human reaction I've ever seen."

Watching his face when he talked was worse than ever. One side fixed forever in an eerie grimace, the other side animated; one side like a demented midget's face that had undergone unholy twisting and distorting, the other side almost handsome.

"It's easier if you don't look at me when we talk," Alex said. His voice was low-key, deep, the words well modulated, rhythmic. He went to a chair and sat down partly turned away from her. "What do you want from me?"

Barbara sat down then and shook her head. "Nothing. It's what you might want from me. Dr. Minick is afraid you'll be charged with murder, and if you are, you will need counsel."

He shrugged. "Ms. Holloway," he said, "all my life people have wanted to put me away, remove me. I removed myself with Graham's help. If Marchand had built his tract of houses, I would have removed myself farther. It's that simple."

"Look at it from a different perspective," Barbara said. "If they don't have another suspect and they settle on you, they will make a big deal of Marchand's accusation that you were stalking his daughter. They'll go through your medical records and they will find that you were labeled violent in the past, that you were suicidal. Violence can be directed both ways, to the self and to the other. They know that."

Alex had not moved as she spoke. The good side of his face was visible, impossible to read, the other side hidden.

"Mr. Feldman," Barbara said, "they will also investigate your economic situation. They'll want to know where and how you get money, what you do for a living, and once they learn, there will be no more secret about Xander or X."

After a moment Alex faced her squarely, and very slowly he reached up and took off his baseball cap. Part of his head was covered with very short brown hair, shaved, growing back. The rest was smooth and too pink, like the skin of a pink grapefruit. There were visible scars.

"See," he said. "That's where they cut off the horns. Ask anyone around here, they'll tell you." He tapped the pink covering. "Artificial turf. A metal plate under it. I wouldn't be able to wear a cap in court, would I? This is what a jury would stare at day after day while their stomachs turn. If I go to court, I go to prison, Ms. Holloway, probably get the death penalty. Can you prevent that? Can anyone?" His voice became harsh and raspy as he spoke.

"I don't know," she said. "Will you cooperate with me? Help me? We can't have an antagonistic relations.h.i.+p, Mr. Feldman."

He put his cap back on and turned away again. "Sure," he said. "I'll do whatever you tell me. Call me Alex. No one's ever called me Mr. Feldman before. I keep thinking my father's lurking around somewhere." Then in a more urgent voice he said, "Ms. Holloway, I don't want my ident.i.ty discovered. I've been unkind, maybe cruel about my parents, and they don't know. But if they find out about Xander, they will know. There's no point in kicking them. They can't help who they are any more than I can."

Before Barbara could respond to this, Dr. Minick came into the room, trailed by Sh.e.l.ley, who stopped in the middle. She looked like a schoolgirl called before the princ.i.p.al for atrocious behavior.

"Mr. Feldman," Sh.e.l.ley said in a low voice, "please accept my apology. I am so sorry for my outburst. I'll go away now if you want me to."

"Why?" Alex asked, not facing her directly. "And we're way past the 'mister' business. I'm Alex. Who are you?"

"Sh.e.l.ley McGinnis," she said in an even lower voice, her eyes downcast.

"Sh.e.l.ley," he repeated. "That's nice. Sit down, Sh.e.l.ley. Ms. Holloway is about to start grilling me."

"And I'm going to put on some coffee," Dr. Minick said.

Barbara grilled them both for the next two hours, and she got more information from Minick than from Alex, who knew little about the neighbors, only what Minick had told him and what little he could observe from their property. Minick, however, walked to The Station nearly every day and chatted with everyone who dropped in, and most residents of the area dropped in sooner or later. The Station was the combination gas station, deli, picnic area, and grocery store a short distance from the school, on Opal Creek Road.

Alex had been at his computer, at his website, xandersrealm.com, from four until about six the day of the murder. Friday afternoon was chat day. After logging off, he had gone up the hill behind the house to stretch his legs, get some air, relax. He had heard a siren and come down a little after seven to see what was happening.

Alone. Out of sight. No way to verify it. Barbara didn't press him. If the story was short and simple, that was it. No way could she make it long and complex. She turned her attention to Dr. Minick.

"It was my day to cook," he said. "I was thinking about starting when Hilde Franz arrived with some library books. We talked for a few minutes. Actually, I told her that if Gus intended to follow up with the ridiculous story his daughter had told about Alex, I would be a witness. I'd seen the girl painted like a movie star driving by with the boy. I didn't want to tell on her, and so far I hadn't, but if necessary, I was willing to do it. I was a children's advocate for many years and rarely revealed their secrets, but there comes a time when parents have to face the reality of their kids. I knew Gus was making things hard on Hilde, and she's a good woman, a fine princ.i.p.al; I thought it might comfort her to know she had an ally. Anyway, we talked for ten minutes or so, and she left. About six-thirty, I'd guess. I wasn't paying much attention to the time. I was starting to make dinner when Mike Bakken called and I went over to Gus's house."

"Tell me about Hilde Franz," Barbara said, seeing a glimmer of hope for Alex. "Why was she bringing library books here?"

He explained the arrangement with the librarian, Cloris Buchanan. "Hilde knows about the arrangement, and they are friends. She brought the books herself." He paused and then said, "You understand that what I have to tell about Hilde's problem with Gus is gossip. I wasn't present. But what I've heard," Dr. Minick said, choosing his words carefully, "goes like this." He told her the story of the s.e.x education book and Gus's reaction and his threat at the PTA meeting. "She was very upset both times. So I've been told."

Barbara studied him for a moment. She suspected that he heard a lot; people would like and trust him, and as a doctor he, no doubt, had heard even more than the gossips at The Station knew.

"What are they saying about the day of the murder?" she asked.

"Too much," he said with a frown. "But what I can piece together is something like this. Leona had been back and forth to the school all day. Preparing for the graduation kept her hopping. She left school at about five-thirty to make Gus some supper and take a bath and change her clothes. It looked like she had started to cook, a ca.s.serole in the oven, and pork chops on the stove. She had bathed and changed her clothes.

"Daniel, their son, was at a track party at the high school, and friends brought him home close to six-thirty. They stopped down by the orchard, and he took off on foot. He says he went around the house and in the front door. Gus was on the back porch nailing a loose rail or something, and he didn't want to run into him. Gus didn't allow him to ride around with kids his own age. Anyway, he saw his mother and carried a box out to her car. She called to Gus that the chops were done, just needed heating up, and they left at about the same time, six-thirty or a few minutes later. His friends say he was gone less than five minutes; he just had to pick up some money. He and his pals were on their way to The Station, and then to the graduation at the middle school."

"What about the daughter, Rachel? Where was she during all that?"

"She went home with a girlfriend. They were going to do each other's hair and go on to the ceremony."

"Where are the kids now?"

"At the house. Leona's sister Ruth Dufault was at the graduation, and she just took over things for now."

Slowly Barbara said, "You realize you've provided at least three other suspects? There's Hilde Franz, who was in the area at the right time. Leona was in the house, and so was Daniel."

"It's the pork chops," he said. "How long does it take to burn them to a crisp, enough to set off a smoke alarm and fill a house with smoke? See, they figure that Gus finished the repair job he was doing, went inside, put the hammer down, and turned on the stove, and then someone came in, picked up the hammer, and hit him."

Dr. Minick talked about other neighbors then, other people who had had trouble with Gus during the fourteen years Minick had been around.

And then she thought: No, not three suspects, four. How far would Graham Minick go to protect his ward, his friend, his student and near son?

It was after one when Dr. Minick said, "I think it's lunchtime. Barbara, Sh.e.l.ley, join us?"

Barbara shook her head. "Too much to do, I'm afraid. Thanks. Just a couple of things to cover, and then we'll be off." She thought a moment, then said, "This is for both of you. A worst-case scenario. I'm the lead detective investigating Gus Marchand's murder. I narrow the field of suspects to one, Alex. I've heard that Alex is a psychopath, a mental case who can be dangerous. Alex may have a stack of kiddie p.o.r.n stashed away, weapons, bombs, a manifesto, who knows what all? I get a search warrant and come with a bunch of guys and demand entrance. What will I find?"

Dr. Minick rubbed his eyes, then leaned back in his chair. "They'd take the computers away, wouldn't they?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Alex, perhaps it's time to buy a new computer."

Alex nodded, slouched in his chair, his face turned away, a posture that seemed to cry out his desperation, his defeat. "They'd find Xander," he said dully.

His real fear, Barbara realized, was of being revealed, being exposed. People sneaking around to get a glimpse of the freak, photographers with telephoto lenses, pictures on tabloid covers... She said, "What would you put on a new computer? You have to give this serious thought. You can't present them with a blank hard drive."

"Most of my data is perfectly harmless," Minick said after a moment. "Let them browse through it, I don't care. Some material I will print out and add to the briefcase I gave you. Then overwrite it."

She nodded, but her attention was really focused on Alex. He had drawn himself upright again; one hand on the arm of his chair was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Still facing away, he said, "I can't just erase the material on my computer. There are hundreds of files that I can't afford to lose. Story ideas, cartoon ideas, sketches... xandersrealm.com material, games kids play in my website... Correspondence with people all over the world. I can't just erase it all. Take my computer away with you, Barbara. I'll come to your office and work there, if there's s.p.a.ce for me."

After a moment she nodded. That would do for now. "It would be too suspicious if you bought a new computer at this time," she said then to Dr. Minick. "Do you have a laptop?" He said no.

"Have you considered getting one? You could copy files to it, then hand your old computer over to Alex. What would you put on it for them to find, Alex?"

He shrugged. "Not much, I guess. I can install the drawing programs and play around with them. Nothing too suspicious in that."

"Do you have any games on your computer?" Sh.e.l.ley asked. It was the first time she had uttered a sound during the past two hours. She had made notes of everything and kept her head lowered, her gaze fastened on her notebook.

"No games," Alex said.

"I could give you some," Sh.e.l.ley said. "I have quite a few, and they are real memory hogs. You could pick up a game where I left off and save it under your own name, and it will look as if you've been playing off and on for months and months." She said this swiftly, glanced at him, then back at her notebook. She was blus.h.i.+ng; the tip of her nose glowed pink.

Dr. Minick chuckled. "That's good," he said. "Let them think we use the same computer. That's why I want a new one. His blasted games are crowding me out. Good."

Barbara stood up. "That's enough for now. Keep in touch. Let me know about the computer."

"I'll get my computer," Alex said. Then he asked, "Sh.e.l.ley, you want to see my studio?"

She followed him into his studio; her blush had drained away, leaving her very pale.

Barbara realized that Dr. Minick was watching them as closely as she was. Briskly she said, "It's not unheard of for phones to be tapped during an investigation. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded absently, then said, "Yes, I thought of that. We'll be careful."

Alex came out carrying his computer, blue as a blueberry, and they all went out to the Porsche, where he stashed the computer; they shook hands all around, and Sh.e.l.ley started to drive.

"Barbara," she said, "I'm so embarra.s.sed. I'm sorry-"