Rage by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online

written it yet.”
    “You
must have come to some conclusions.”
    “I’ll
be reporting to Judge Laskin. He’ll send you copies.”
    “So it’s
going to be like that,” she said.
    “Per
Judge Laskin, that’s the way it has to be.”
    She
collected her papers and fiddled with her ring. “Think about this, Dr.
Delaware: Psychology’s a mushy soft science and psychologists can be made to
look pretty vulnerable on the stand.”
    “I’m
sure they can.”
    “More
than vulnerable,” she said. “Downright ludicrous.”
    “I’m
sure some of them deserve it.”
    She
sat up straighter, tried to stare me down, looked disgusted when she failed.
“Doctor, you can’t seriously be considering these kids for an adult trial.”
    “It
won’t be up to me— ”
    “Judge
Laskin is relying on your expertise, so for all practical purposes it will be up to you, Doctor.”
    “From
what I’ve seen, Judge Laskin is a pretty independent guy.”
    Montez
said, “All we’re aiming for is basic justice, Doctor. Let’s give these kids a
chance at rehabilitation.”
    Weider
said, “Doctor, we’ll be bringing in our own experts.”
    I
said, “Mr. Montez has already hired Professor Davidson from Stanford.”
    Weider
turned and eyed her colleague. He twirled a mustache and nodded. “It took
awhile to get his fees authorized, but he’s on board.”
    Weider
shot him a cold smile. “How funny, Lauritz. I called Davidson last week. His
secretary told me he had a prior commitment.”
    “If
you want him for your kid, maybe we can work something out,” said Montez.
    “No
need,” said Weider, breezily. “I’ve got LaMaria from Cal.”
    I
said, “Do either of you have a theory as to why your clients murdered Kristal
Malley?”
    They
swiveled toward me.
    Weider
said, “Doctor, exactly what are you asking?”
    “What
you think your clients’ motive was.”
    “Isn’t
motivation your thing, Doctor?”
    “I’d
imagine it would be yours, too.”
    She
stood, shook her head, stared down at me. “You really think I’m going to lay my
strategy out right here?”
    “I’m
not interested in strategy,” I said. “Just insight.”
    “Doctor,
I don’t have any insight. Which is precisely my point vis-à-vis your report: A
fresh perspective is required. I hope you’re prepared to deliver that.”
    Montez’s
eyes followed Weider as she walked to the door. “See you in court, Doctor.”
    Montez
left a second later; he avoided looking at me.
    I sat
there for a while. Wondering what I was going to do.
    * * *
    As I
entered the jail parking lot, Sydney Weider called out my name. She was
standing next to an ice-blue BMW convertible, tapping the croc bag against a
long, lean thigh. To her left stood two women and a man.
    Weider
waved as if we were old buddies. I walked over. When I reached her, she smiled
as if we’d just shared a pleasant afternoon. She drew one of the women close.
“Doctor, this is Troy’s mom, Jane.”
    Jane
Hannabee was several inches shorter than the attorney and she seemed to shrink
further under Weider’s grasp. My files put her at twenty-eight. Her sallow face
was scored with paper-cut wrinkles. Her long-sleeved knit top was bisected by a
wide red stripe and looked brand new. So did her baggy jeans and her white
sneakers. A snake tattoo coiled up past the sweater’s crewneck. Its triangular
head terminated just behind her left ear. Fangs bared, some sort of adder.
    She
had a thin body, thin lips, thin nose, lank brown hair that hung past her
shoulders. Three holes punched in each ear but no earrings. A tiny black dot on
her right nostril said that region had once been pierced. A caved-in mouth
foretold missing teeth. Her eyes were blue and red-rimmed.
    Crusted
makeup failed to mask a bruise on her left cheek.
    The
police report said Troy had hit her from time to time.
    She
looked older than Weider.
    I
said, “Pleased to meet you.”
    Jane
Hannabee bit her lip and looked down at the oil-spotted floor of the