Read Online Rage by Jonathan Kellerman - Free Book Online Page A

him.
    “Hi,
Tom.”
    “Could
we meet, Alex?”
    “About
what?”
    “I’d
rather talk in person. I’ll come to your office.”
    “Sure,
when?”
    “I’ll
be finished in an hour. Where are you located?”
    * * *
    He
arrived at my house, wearing a camel jacket, brown slacks, a white shirt, and a
red tie. The tie was limp and pulled down from an open collar.
    We’d
talked over the phone but had never met. I’d seen his picture in newspaper
accounts of the Malley case— mid-fifties, gray hair trimmed in an executive
cut, square face, steel-rimmed eyeglasses, a prosecutor’s wary eyes— and had
formed the image of a big, imposing man.
    He
turned out to be short— five-six or -seven— heavier and softer and older than
pictured, the hair white, the jowls giving way to gravity. His jacket was
well-cut but tired. His shoes needed a polish and the bags under his eyes were
bluish.
    “Pretty
place,” he said, sitting on the edge of the living room chair that I offered.
“Must be nice working out of your house.”
    “It
has its advantages. Something to drink?”
    He
considered the offer. “Why not? Beer, if you’ve got it.”
    I
went to the kitchen and fetched a couple of Grolsches. When I returned his
posture hadn’t relaxed. His hands were clenched and he looked like someone
forced to seek therapy.
    I
popped the caps on the beers and handed him a bottle. He took it but didn’t
drink.
    “Troy
Turner’s dead,” he said.
    “Oh,
no.”
    “It
happened two weeks ago, C.Y.A. never thought to call me. I found out from
Social Services because they were looking for his mother. He was found hanging
from a punching bag stand in a supply room off the gym. He was supposed to be
putting equipment away— that was the job they gave him. He’d been judged too dangerous
to work in the kitchen or in the vegetable garden with tools.”
    “Suicide?”
    “That’s
what they thought till they saw blood pooled on the floor and swung him around
and found his throat cut.”
    I’ve
always been too good at conjuring mental pictures. The brutality of the scene—
small, pale body dangling in a dark, heartless place— would visit my dreams.
    “Do
they know who did it?” I said.
    “They’re
figuring it for a gang thing,” said Laskin. “He’d been there, what, a month?
Tried right away to hook up with the Dirty White Boys— an Aryan-B farm club. He
was still in the initiation stage and part of the deal was jumping a Latino
boy. He pulled that off ten days ago, surprised one of the smaller Vatos Locos
in the shower, hit him upside the head with a heavy hairbrush and kicked the
kid when he was down. The boy suffered a concussion and bruised ribs and ended
up being transferred to another facility. Troy’s punishment was solitary
confinement for a week. He’d been back in his bunk-room for three days. The day
before he died, they put him back on gym closet duty.”
    “So
everyone knew where he’d be at a specific time.”
    Laskin
nodded. “The blood was still wet and the weapon was left at the scene— homemade
shank fashioned from a toothbrush and a piece of butter knife honed to a
razor-sharp edge. Whoever did it took time to wipe up his footprints.”
    “Who
found the body?”
    “A
counselor.” He finished his beer and put the bottle down.
    “Want
another?”
    “Yes,
but no.” He uncrossed his legs, held out a hand as if asking for something. “I
thought I was being compassionate by sending him to Chaderjian. Downright
Solomonic.”
    “I
thought so, too.”
    “You
agreed with the decision?”
    “Given
the choices,” I said, “I thought it was the best decision.”
    “You
never said anything.”
    “You
never asked.”
    “The
Malleys weren’t happy with the decision. Mister called to tell me.”
    “What
did he prefer?”
    “The
death penalty.” His smile was queasy. “Looks like he got it.”
    I
said, “Would sending Troy to adult prison have made him safer?”
    He
picked up the empty bottle and rolled it