When The Bough Breaks

5

I told Milo about the encounter with Towle as we drove back to my place.

"Power play." His forehead creased and cherry sized lumps appeared just above his jawline.

"That and something else that I can't quite figure. He's a strange guy. Comes across very courtly — almost obsequious — then you realize he's playing games."

"Why'd he have you come all the way out there for something like that?"

"I don't know." It was a puzzle, his taking time out from a frantic afternoon to deliver a leisurely lecture. Our entire conversation could have been handled in a five-minute phone call. "Maybe it's his idea of recreation. One-upping another professional."

"Hell of a hobby for a busy man."

"Yeah, but the ego comes first. I've met guys like Towle before, obsessed with being in control, with being the boss. Lots of them end up as department heads, deans and chairmen of committees."

"And captains and inspectors and police chiefs."

"Right…"

"You going to call him like he said?" He sounded defeated.

"Sure, for what it's worth."

"Yeah."

Milo reclaimed his Fiat and after a few moments of prayer and pumping it started up. He leaned out of the window and looked at me wearily.

"Thanks, Alex. I'm going to go home and crash. This no-sleep routine is catching up with me…"

"You want to take a nap here and then head out?"

"No thanks. I'll make it if this pile of junk will." He slapped the dented door. "Thanks anyway."

"I'll follow up with Melody."

"Great. I'll call you tomorrow." He drove a way until I stopped him with my shout. He backed up.

"What?"

"It's probably not important, but I thought I'd mention it. The nurse in Towle's office told me Melody's dad's in prison."

He nodded somnambulantly.

"So's half the county. It's that way when the economy goes bad. Thanks."

Then he was off.

It was six-fifteen and already dark. I lay down on my bed for a few minutes and when I awoke it was after nine. I got up, washed my face, and called Robin. No one answered.

I took a quick shave, threw on a windbreaker and drove down to Hakata, in Santa Monica. I drank sake and ate sushi for an hour, and bantered with the chef, who, as it turned out, had a master's degree in psychology from the University of Tokyo.

I got home, stripped naked, and took a hot bath, trying to erase all thoughts of Morton Handler, Melody Quinn and L.W. Towle, M.D." from my mind. I used self-hypnosis, imagining Robin and myself making love on top of a mountain in the middle of a rain forest. Flushed with passion I got out of the tub and called her again. After ten rings, she answered, mumbling and confused and half-asleep.

I apologized for waking her, told her I loved her and hung up.

Half a minute later she called back.

"Was that you, Alex?" She sounded as if she was dreaming.

"Yes, hon. I'm sorry to wake you."

"No, that's okay — what time is it?"

"Eleven-thirty."

"Oh, I must have conked out. How are you, sweetie?"

"Fine. I called you around nine."

"I was out all day buying wood. There's an old violin-maker out in Simi Valley who's retiring. I spent six hours choosing tools and picking out maple and ebony. I'm sorry I missed you."

She sounded exhausted.

"I'm sorry too, but go back to bed. Get some sleep and I'll call you tomorrow."

"If you want to come over, you can."

I thought about it. But I was too restless to be good company.

"No, doll. You rest. How about dinner tomorrow? You pick the place."

"Okay, darling." She yawned — a soft, sweet sound. "I love you."

"Love you too."

It took me a while to fall asleep and when I finally did, it was restless slumber, punctuated by black and white dreams with lots of frantic movement in them. I don't remember what they were about, but the dialogue was sluggish and labored, as if everyone were talking with paralyzed lips and mouths filled with wet sand.

In the middle of the night I got up to check that the doors and windows were locked.