Read Online When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman - Free Book Online

sailor suit and sat beaming in his mother’s embrace. The mountains and lake in the distance looked real.
    “It’s a lovely picture, isn’t it?” said the voice I’d heard over the phone.
    He was tall, at least six-three, and lean, with the kind of features bad novels label as chiseled. He was one of the most handsome middle-aged men I had ever seen. His face was noble—a strong chin bisected by a perfect cleft, the nose of a Roman senator, and twinkling eyes the color of a clear sky. His thick, snow-white hair hung down over his forehead, Carl Sandburg style. His eyebrows were twin white clouds.
    He wore a short white coat over a blue oxford shirt, burgundy print tie, and dark gray trousers of a subtle check. His shoes were black calfskin loafers. Very proper, very tasteful. But clothes didn’t make the man. He would have looked patrician in doubleknits.
    “Dr. Delaware? Will Towle.”
    “Alex.”
    I stood and we shook hands. His grip was firm and dry. The fingers that clasped mine were enormous and I was conscious of abundant strength behind them.
    “Please, sit.”
    He took his place behind the desk, swiveled back and threw his feet up on top, resting on a year’s back issues of the Journal of Pediatrics .
    I responded to his question.
    “It is a beautiful shot. Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest?”
    “Washington state. Olympic National Forest. We were vacationing there in fifty-one. I was a resident. That was my wife and son. I lost them a month later. In a car crash.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Yes.” A distant, sleepy look came on his face; it was a moment before he shook himself out of it and came back into focus.
    “I know you by reputation, Alex, so it’s a pleasure to get to meet you.”
    “Same here.”
    “I’ve followed your work, because I have a strong interest in behavioral pediatrics. I was particularly interested in your work with those children who’d been victimized by Stuart Hickle. Several of them were in the practice. The parents spoke highly of your work.”
    “Thank you.” I felt as if I was expected to say more but that was one subject that was closed. “I do remember sending consent forms to you.”
    “Yes, yes. Delighted to cooperate.”
    Neither of us spoke, then we both spoke at the same time.
    “What I’d like to—” I said.
    “What can I do for—” he said.
    It came out a garbled mess. We laughed, good old boys at the University Club. I deferred to him. Despite the graciousness I sensed an enormous ego lurking behind that white forelock.
    “You’re here about the Quinn child. What can I do for you?”
    I filled him in on as few details as possible, stressing the importance of Melody Quinn as a witness and the benign nature of the hypnotic intervention. I ended by requesting that he allow her to go off Ritalin for one week.
    “You really think this child will be able to give you information of substance?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve asked the same question. But she’s all the police have got.”
    “And your role in all of this?”
    I thought up a quicky title.
    “I’m a special consultant. They call me in sometimes when there are children involved.”
    “I see.”
    He played with his hands, constructing ten-legged spiders and killing them.
    “I don’t know, Alex. When we start to remove a patient from what has been determined to be an optimal dosage we sometimes upset the entire pattern of biochemical response.”
    “You think she needs to be on medication constantly.”
    “Of course I do. Why else would I prescribe it for her?” He wasn’t angry or defensive. He smiled calmly and with great forbearance. The message was clear: Only an idiot would doubt him.
    “There’d be no way to reduce the dosage?”
    “Oh, that’s certainly possible, but it creates the same type of problem. I don’t like to tamper with a winning combination.”
    “I see.” I hesitated, then continued. “She must have posed quite a problem to merit sixty mgs.”
    Towle