The Murder Book

CHAPTER 35

I sped up Highway 33, sucking in the grass-sweet air of Ojai. Thinking about Bert Harrison living here for decades, light-years from L.A. For all that, the old man had been unable to avoid the worst the city had to offer.

As I approached the bank of shops that included O'Neill & Chapin, I eased up on the gas pedal. The stationery shop was still shuttered and a CLOSED sign was propped in the window of the Celestial Café. Midway through town, I turned onto the road that led up to Bert's property, drove a hundred feet from his driveway, and parked behind a copse of eucalyptus.

Bert's old station wagon was parked out in front, which told me nothing. Perhaps he'd left for his overseas trip and had been driven to the airport. Or his departure was imminent, and I'd enter to find him packing.

Third choice: He'd lied about the journey, wanting to discourage me from returning.

I admired Bert, wasn't eager to examine the possibilities. Returning to the Seville, I swung back onto the highway. Ready to tap the source, directly.

The entry to Mecca Ranch was latched but unlocked. I freed the arm, drove through, closed the gate behind me, and motored up under the gaze of circling hawks- maybe the same birds I'd seen the first time.

The corral floated into view, glazed by afternoon sun. Marge Schwinn stood in the center of the ring, wearing a faded denim shirt, tight jeans and riding boots, her back to me. Talking to a big stallion the color of bittersweet chocolate. Nuzzling the animal, stroking its mane. The sound of my tires crunching the gravel made her turn. By the time I was out of the Seville, she'd left the enclosure and was heading toward me.

"Well, hello there, Dr. Delaware."

I returned the greeting, smiling and keeping my voice light. The first time I'd met her, Milo hadn't introduced me by name or profession. Suddenly I felt good about the trip.

She pulled a blue bandana from her jeans pocket, wiped both hands, offered the right one for a firm, hard shake. "What brings you up here?"

"Follow-up."

She pocketed the bandana and grinned. "Someone think I'm crazy?"

"No, ma'am, just a few questions." I was looking into the sun and turned my head. Marge's face was well shaded, but she squinted, and her eyes receded into a mesh of wrinkles. The denim shirt was tailored tight. Her breasts were small and high. That same combination of girlish body and old woman's face.

"What kind of questions, Doctor?"

"For starts, have you thought of anything new since Detective Sturgis and I visited?"

"About…?"

"Anything your husband might've said about that unsolved murder we discussed."

"Nope," she said. "Nothing about that." Her eyes drifted to the corral. "I'd love to chat, but I'm kind of in the middle of things."

"Just a few more things. Including a sensitive topic, I'm afraid."

She clamped both hands on hard, lean hips. "What topic?"

"Your husband's drug addiction. Did he overcome his habit by himself?"

She dug a heel into the dirt and ground it hard. "Like I told you, by the time I met him, Pierce was past all that."

"Did he have any help getting there?"

A simple question, but she said, "What do you mean?" She'd maintained the squint, but her eyes weren't shut tight enough to conceal the movement behind the lids. Quick shift down to the ground, then a sidelong journey to the right.

Another bad liar. Thank God for honest people.

"Did Pierce have any drug treatment?" I said. "Was he ever under the care of a doctor?"

"He really didn't talk about those days."

"Not at all?"

"He was past it. I didn't want to rake things up."

"Didn't want to upset him," I said.

She glanced over at the corral again.

I said, "How did Pierce sleep?"

"Pardon?"

"Was Pierce a sound sleeper or did he have trouble settling down at night?"

"He was pretty much a-" She frowned. "These are strange questions, Dr. Delaware. Pierce is gone, what difference does it make how he slept?"

"Just general follow-up," I said. "What I'm interested in specifically is the week or so before the accident. Did he sleep well or was he restless?"

Her breath caught, and the hands on her hips whitened. "What happened, sir, is what I told you: Pierce fell off Akhbar. Now he's gone and I'm the one has to live with that and I don't appreciate your raking all this up."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"You keep apologizing, but you don't stop asking."

"Well," I said, "here's the thing. Maybe it was an accident, but you did ask for a drug scan on Akhbar. Paid the coroner quite a bit of money to do it."

She took a step away from me, then another. Shook her head, plucked a piece of straw out of her hair. "This is ridiculous."

"Another thing," I said. "Detective Sturgis never introduced me by name, but you know who I am and what I do. I find that kind of curious."

Her eyes widened and her chest heaved. "He said you might do this."

"Who did?"

No answer.

I said, "Dr. Harrison?"

She turned her back on me.

"Mrs. Schwinn, don't you think we need to get to the bottom of things? Isn't that what Pierce would've wanted? Something was keeping him up at night, wasn't it? Unfinished business. Wasn't that the whole point of the murder book?"

"I don't know about any book."

"Don't you?"

Her lips folded inward. She shook her head again, clenched her jaw, swiveled, and caught a faceful of sun. A tremor jogged through her upper body. Her legs were planted, and they absorbed the motion. She turned heel and half ran toward her house. But I followed her inside; she didn't try to stop me.

We sat in the exact same spots we'd occupied a few days ago: me on the living room couch, she in the facing chair. The last time, Milo had done all the talking, as he usually does when I tag along, but now it was my game and, God help me, despite the anguish of the woman sitting across from me, I felt cruelly elated.

Marge Schwinn said, "You guys are spooky. Mind readers."

"We guys?"

"Head doctors."

"Dr. Harrison and I," I said.

She didn't answer, and I went on: "Dr. Harrison warned you I might be back."

"Dr. Harrison does only good."

I didn't argue.

She showed me her profile. "Yes, he was the one who told me who you were- after I described you and that big detective, Sturgis. He said your being here might mean things would be different."

"Different?"

"He said you were persistent. A good guesser."

"You've known Dr. Harrison for a while."

"A while." The living room windows were open, and a whinny from out in the corral drifted in loud and clear. She muttered, "Easy, baby."

"Your relationship with Dr. Harrison was professional," I said.

"If you're asking was he my doctor, the answer is yes. He treated us both- Pierce and me. Separately, neither of us knew it at the time. With Pierce it was the drugs. With me it was… I was going through… a depression. A situational reaction, Dr. Harrison called it. After my mother passed. She was ninety-three, and I'd been taking care of her for so long that being alone was… all the responsibility started bearing down on me. I tried to go it alone, then it got to be too much. I knew what Dr. Harrison was, had always liked his smile. So one day I got up the courage to talk to him."

The admission- the confession of weakness- clenched her jaws. I said, "Was Dr. Harrison the one who introduced you to Pierce?"

"I met Pierce at the end of… by the time I was better, able to take care of things, again. I was still talking to Dr. Harrison from time to time but was off the antidepressants, just like he said I'd be."

She leaned forward, suddenly. "Do you really know Dr. H? Well enough to understand what kind of man he is? When we first started talking, he used to come over every day to see how I was doing. Every day. One time I came down with the flu and couldn't do my chores and he did them for me. Everything- vacuumed the house, washed and dried the dishes, fed the horses, cleaned up the stables. He did that for four days running, even made trips into town for supplies. If I'd paid him by the hour, I'd be dead broke."

I knew Bert was a good man and a master therapist, but her account astonished me. I pictured him tiny, aged, purple-clad, sweeping and hosing horse stalls and wondered what I'd have done in the same situation. Knew damn well I'd have fallen far short of that degree of caring.

What I was doing right now had nothing to do with caring. Not for the living.

How much was owed to the dead?

I said, "So you met Pierce when things had smoothed out." Sounding wooden, formulaic. Shrinky.

She nodded. "Dr. H. told me I should get back into my old routine- said my old habits had been good ones. Before Mama got terminal, I used to drive into Oxnard and shop at Randall's for feed. Old Lady Randall used to work the counter and she and Mama were old friends and I used to like going in there and talking to her, hearing the way things used to be. Then Mrs. Randall took sick and her boys started working the counter and I had nothing to say to them. That and my energies were flagging so I switched to a mail-order feed outfit that delivered. When Dr. Harrison said it would be good for me to get out, I started going to Randall's again. That's where I met Pierce."

She smiled. "Maybe it was all part of his plan- Dr. Harrison's. Knowing Pierce and me both. Figuring there'd be some kind of chemistry there. He always said no, but maybe he was being modest like he always is. Whatever the truth, there was a chemistry. Must've been, cause the first time I saw Pierce he looked like nothing but an over-the-hill hippie and I'm an old Republican ranch girl, shook Ronald Reagan's hand, wouldn't normally be attracted to that type. But something about Pierce… he had a nobility. I know your detective friend probably told you stories about the way Pierce used to be, but he became a different man."

I said, "People change."

"That's something I didn't learn till late in life. When Pierce finally got up the courage to ask me out for coffee, he was so shy about it, it was… almost cute." She shrugged. "Maybe we met at just the right time- the planets moving perfectly or something." Tiny smile. "Or maybe Dr. Harrison's a tricky one."

"When did you tell Dr. Harrison you were seeing Pierce?"

"Pretty soon after. He said, 'I know. Pierce told me. He feels the same way about you, Margie.' That's when he told me he'd known Pierce for some time. Had been doing volunteer psychiatry at Oxnard Doctor's Hospital- counseling sick and injured people, burnt people- after the Montecito Fire they put in a burn unit and he was their psychiatrist. Pierce wasn't any of those things, he came into the emergency room having terrible seizures from his addiction. Dr. Harrison detoxified him, then took him on as a patient. He told me all this because Pierce asked him to. Pierce had strong feelings about me but was deeply ashamed of his past, depended on Dr. Harrison to clear the air. I still remember the way Dr. H. phrased it. 'He's a good man, Margie, but he'll understand if this is too much baggage for you to carry.' I said, 'These hands have been hauling hay for forty years, I can carry plenty.' After that, Pierce's shyness mostly left him, and we got close." Her eyes misted. "I never thought I'd find anyone, and now he's gone."

She fumbled for the bandana and spit out laughter. "Look at me, what a sissy. And look at you: I thought you guys were supposed to make people feel better."

I sat there as she cried silently and wiped her eyes and cried some more. A sudden shadow streaked the facing wall, then vanished. I turned in time to see a hawk shoot up into the blue and vanish. Foot stomping and snorting sounded from the corral.

"Red-tails," she said. "They're good for the vermin, but the horses never get used to them."

I said, "Mrs. Schwinn, what did Pierce tell you about the unsolved case?"

"That it was an unsolved case."

"What else?"

"Nothing else. He didn't even tell me the girl's name. Just that she was a girl who got torn up and it was his case and he'd failed to solve it. I tried to get him to open up, but he wouldn't. Like I said, Pierce always wanted to shelter me from his old life."

"But he talked to Dr. Harrison about the case."

"You'd have to ask Dr. Harrison about that."

"Dr. Harrison never spoke to you about it?"

"He just said…" She trailed off and twisted so that all I could see was the outline of her jaw.

"Mrs. Schwinn?"

"The only reason it came up in the first place was because of Pierce's sleep. He'd started having dreams. Nightmares." She turned suddenly and faced me. "How'd you know about that? What was it, a real good guess?"

"Pierce was a good man, and good men don't take well to corruption."

"I don't know about any corruption." Her voice lacked conviction.

"When did the nightmares start?" I said.

"A few months before he died. Two, three months."

"Anything happen to bring them on?"

"Not that I saw. I thought we were happy. Dr. Harrison told me he'd thought so, too, but turns out Pierce had never stopped being plagued- that's the word he used. Plagued."

"By the case."

"By failure. Dr. Harrison said Pierce had been forced to walk away from the case when they railroaded him off the department. He said Pierce had fixed it in his mind that giving up had been some kind of mortal sin. He'd been punishing himself for years- the drugs, abusing his body, living like a bum. Dr. H. thought he'd helped Pierce get past it, but he'd been wrong, the nightmares came back. Pierce just couldn't let go."

She gave me a long, hard stare. "Pierce broke rules for years, always wondered if he'd have to pay one day. He loved being a detective but hated the police department. Didn't trust anyone. Including your friend, Sturgis. When he got railroaded, he was sure Sturgis had something to do with it."

"When I was here with Detective Sturgis, you said Pierce had spoken kindly of him. Was that true?"

"Not strictly," she said. "Pierce never breathed a word to me about Sturgis or anyone else from his old life. These are all things he told Dr. Harrison, and I was trying to keep Dr. Harrison out of all this. But yes, Pierce had changed his opinion about Sturgis. Followed Sturgis's career and saw he was a good detective. Found out Sturgis was homosexual and figured he had to have a lot of courage to stay in the department."

"What else did Dr. Harrison tell you about the case?"

"Just that walking away had stuck in Pierce's brain like a cancer. That's what the nightmares were all about."

"Chronic nightmares?" I said.

"Chronic enough. Sometimes they'd hit Pierce three, four times a week, other times he'd be okay for a stretch. Then, boom, all over again. You couldn't predict, and that made it worse, because I never knew what to expect when my head hit the pillow. Things got to a point where I was scared to go to bed, started waking up at night, myself." Her smile was crooked. "Kind of funny, I'd be lying there all wound up, unable to sleep and Pierce'd be snoring away and I'd tell myself it was finally over. Then the next night…"

"Did Pierce say anything during the nightmares?"

"Not a word, he just moved- thrashed. That's how I'd know a fit was coming on: The bed would start moving- thumping, like an earthquake, Pierce's feet kicking the mattress. Lying on his back, kicking with his heels- like he was marching somewhere. Then his hands would shoot up." She stretched her arms toward the ceiling. "Like he was being arrested. Then his hands would slam down fast, start slapping the bed and waving around wild, and soon he'd be grunting and punching the mattress and kicking- his feet never stopped. Then he'd arch his back and freeze- like he was paralyzed, like he was building up steam to explode and you could see his teeth gnashing and his eyes would pop real wide. But they weren't looking at anything, he was somewhere else- some hell only he could see. He'd hold that frozen pose for maybe ten seconds, then let go and start punching himself- in the chest, on the stomach, on the face. Sometimes, the next morning, he'd be bruised. I tried to stop him from hurting himself, but it was impossible, his arms were like iron rods, it was all I could do to jump out of the bed to avoid getting hit myself. So I'd just stand there and wait for him to finish. Just before he was finished, he'd let out a howl- this loud howl that would wake up the horses. They'd start mewling, and sometimes the coyotes would chime in. That was something to hear- coyotes screaming from miles away. Ever hear that? When a pack of them goes at it? It's not like a dog barking, it's a thousand creatures gone crazy. Ululation's the name for it. They're supposed to do it only when they're killing or mating, but Pierce's howling would get them going."

She'd squeezed the bandana into a blue ball. Now she studied her fingers as they uncurled. "Those coyotes were scared witless by the sound of Pierce's fear."

She offered me a drink that I declined, got up and filled herself a glass of water from the kitchen tap. When she sat back down, I said, "Did Pierce have any memory of the nightmares?"

"Nope. When the fit was over he'd just go back to sleep, and there'd be no mention of it. The first time that happened, I let it pass. The second time, I was shook up but still said nothing. The third time, I went to see Dr. Harrison. He listened and didn't say much and that evening he came by, paid a visit to Pierce- alone, in Pierce's darkroom. After that, Pierce started seeing him for regular sessions, again. About a week in, Dr. H. had me over to his house, and that's when he told me about Pierce struggling to live with failure."

"So you and Pierce never talked about the case directly?"

"That's right."

I said nothing.

She said, "I know it's hard for you to understand, but that's what we were like. Close as two people can be, but there were sides to each of us that we didn't get into. I realize it's not fashionable to hold on to privacy, anymore. Everyone talks about everything to everyone else. But that's phony, isn't it? Everyone's got secret parts of their mind, Pierce and I were just honest about admitting it. And Dr. Harrison said if that's the way we really wanted it, that was our choice."

So Bert had tried to edge husband and wife toward more openness, and they'd resisted.

Marge Schwinn said, "It was the same with Pierce's drug problem. He was too proud to expose himself to me, so he used Dr. Harrison as a go-between. We were content with that. It kept things pleasant and positive between us."

"Did you ever ask Dr. Harrison about the unsolved murder?"

Strong headshake. "I didn't want to know. I figured for it to plague Pierce it had to be really bad."

"Did the nightmares ever clear up?"

"After Pierce started seeing Dr. Harrison regularly again, they faded to maybe two, three times a month. Also, Pierce's photography hobby seemed to help, got him out of the house, got him some fresh air."

"Was that Dr. Harrison's idea?"

She smiled. "Yes, he bought Pierce the camera, insisted on paying for it. He does that. Gives people things. There was a gal used to live in town, Marian Purveyance, ran the Celestial Café before Aimee Baker took charge of it. Marian came down with a muscle disease that wasted her away, and Dr. Harrison was her main comfort. I used to visit Marian during her final days, and she told me Dr. Harrison decided she needed a dog for companionship. But Marian was in no physical state to take care of a dog, so Dr. Harrison found one for her- an old, half-lame retriever from the shelter that he kept at his house, fed, and bathed. He brought it over to Marian's for a few hours each day. That sweet old dog used to stretch out on Marian's bed, and Marian would lie there stroking it. Toward the end, Marian's fingers wouldn't work, and the dog must've known, because it rolled over right next to Marian and put its paw on Marian's hand so she'd have something to touch. Marian died with that old dog next to her, and a few weeks later, the dog passed on."

Her eyes were fierce. "Do you get what I'm saying, young man? Dr. Harrison gives people things. He gave Pierce that camera and gave me a bit of peace by letting me know the nightmares had nothing to do with me. Because I was wondering if they did, maybe Pierce's being cooped up here with an old spinster after all those years on his own was having a bad effect on him. And- Lord forgive me- when I watched Pierce thrash around, I couldn't help wonder if he'd somehow backslid."

"Into drug use."

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes, that's exactly what I wondered. Because it was drug seizures that brought him into the hospital in the first place and to my ignorant eye, these looked like seizures. But Dr. Harrison assured me they weren't. Said they were just bad nightmares. That it was Pierce's old life rearing its ugly old head. That I was nothing but good for Pierce and shouldn't ever think otherwise. That was a great relief."

"So the nightmares thinned to two or three times a month."

"That I could live with. When the thumping started, I'd just roll out of bed, go to the kitchen for a glass of water, walk outside to calm the horses, and when I'd return, Pierce'd be snoozing away. I'd hold his hand and warm it up- the nightmares always turned his hands icy. We'd lie there together and I'd listen to his breathing slow down and he'd let me hold him and warm him up and the night would pass."

Another hawk's swoop striated the wall. She said, "Those birds. They must smell something."

"The nightmares thinned," I said, "but they returned the last few days before Pierce's death."

"Yes," she said, nearly choking on the word. "And this time I started getting worried because Pierce didn't look so good in the morning. He was worn-out, kind of clumsy, slurring his words. That's why I blame myself for letting him take Akhbar. He was in no shape to ride, I shouldn't have allowed him to go off by himself. Maybe that time he did have some kind of seizure."

"Why'd you test Akhbar for drugs?"

"That was just me being stupid. What I really wanted to do was have Pierce tested. Because despite what Dr. Harrison had said when the nightmares came back, I let myself lose faith in Pierce, again. But after he died, I couldn't bring myself to come out and admit my suspicions. Not to Dr. H. or the coroner or anyone else, so instead I laid them on poor Akhbar. Figuring maybe once the subject of drugs came up, someone would catch on and test Pierce, too, and I'd know, once and for all."

"They did test Pierce," I said. "It's standard procedure. The drug screen came back negative."

"I know that, now. Dr. Harrison told me. It was an accident, plain and simple. Though sometimes I still can't help thinking Pierce shouldn't have been riding alone. Because he wasn't looking good."

"Any idea why that last week was rough for him?"

"No- and I don't want to know. I need to put all this behind me, and this isn't helping, so could we please stop?"

I thanked her and stood. "How far from here did the accident occur?"

"Just a ways up the road."

"I'd like to see the spot."

"What for?"

"To get a feel for what happened."

Her gaze was level. "Do you know something you haven't told me?"

"No," I said. "Thanks for your time."

"Don't thank me, it wasn't a favor." She leaped up, walked past me to the door.

I said, "The spot-"

"Get back on 33 heading east and take the second turnoff to the left. It's a dirt path that leads up a hill, then starts swooping down toward the arroyo. That's where it happened. Pierce and Akhbar tumbled from the rocks that look down into the arroyo and ended up at the bottom. It's a place Pierce and I rode together from time to time. When we did, I used to lead."

"About Pierce's photography."

"No," she said. "Please. No more questions. I showed you Pierce's darkroom and his pictures and everything else the first time you were here."

"I was going to say he was talented, but one thing struck me. There were no people or animals in his shots."

"Is that supposed to be some big psychological thing?"

"No, I just found it curious."

"Did you? Well, I didn't. Didn't bother me one bit. Those pictures were beautiful." She reached around me and shoved the door open. "And when I asked Pierce about it, he had a very good answer. Said, 'Margie, I'm trying to picture a perfect world.' "