Rage by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page B

put him in danger in
prison.”
    She
didn’t answer.
    I
said, “Who did kill Kristal?”
    “Troy’s my baby.” She held her mouth open, as if needing more breath. Behind the
desiccated lips were three teeth, brown and attenuated. I realized she was
smiling.
    “I
did the best I could,” she said. “You kin believe that or not.”
    I
nodded.
    “You
don’ believe me,” she said.
    “I’m
sure raising a son alone was hard.”
    “I
got rid of the others.”
    “The
others?”
    “I
got knocked up four times.”
    “Abortions?”
    “Three.
The last one hurt me.”
    “You kept
Troy.”
    “I
felt like I deserved it.”
    “Deserved
having a child.”
    “Yeah,”
she said. “That’s a woman’s right.”
    “To
have a child.”
    “You
don’t believe that?”
    “You
wanted Troy,” I said. “You did your best raising him.”
    “You
don’t believe that. You’re gonna send him off to prison.”
    “I’m
going to write a report about Troy’s psychological status— what’s going on in
his head— and give it to the judge. So anything you can tell me about Troy
could help.”
    “You
sayin’ he’s crazy?”
    “No,”
I said. “I don’t think he’s one bit crazy.”
    The
directness of the answer startled her. “He’s not,” she insisted, as if we
remained in dispute. “He’s real smart. He always was smart.”
    “He’s
very bright,” I said.
    “Yeah,”
she said. “I want him to go to college.” She turned and shot me another smile,
closemouthed, subtle. Its arc matched the coil of snake on her neck and the
effect was unnerving. “I figured he kin be a doctor or something else to get
rich.”
    Troy
had talked about getting rich. Unperturbed. As if the charges against him were
an inconvenience along the road to affluence. His mother’s delusions made my
eyes hurt.
    She
placed her hands on the BMW’s steering wheel. Pressed down on the inactive gas
pedal. Muttered, “This is somethin’.”
    “The
car?”
    She
eyed Weider through the windshield. “You think she’s gonna help Troy?”
    “She
seems to be a good lawyer.”
    “You
don’ ever answer a question, do you?”
    “Let’s
talk about Troy,” I said. “You want him to go to college.”
    “He
ain’t goin’ there now. You’re sending him to prison.”
    “Ms.
Hannabee, I can’t send him anywhere— ”
    “The
judge hates him.”
    “Why
do you say that?”
    She
reached over and touched my arm. Stroked it. “I know men. They’re all hate and
jumping.”
    “Jumping?”
    “On
women,” she said, working her way up toward my shoulder. Touching my cheek. I
removed her hand.
    She
gave me a knowing smile. “If there’s something a man needs, I know it.”
    I
shifted backward, touched the door panel. “Is there anything you want to tell
me about Troy?”
    “I
know men,” she repeated.
    I
caught her gaze and held it. She touched the bruise on her cheek. Her lips
quivered.
    “Where’d
you get that?” I said.
    “You
think I’m ugly.”
    “No,
but I would like to know— ”
    “I
used to be hot,” she said. “My tits were like water balloons, I used to dance.”
She pressed her palms to her chest.
    “Ms.
Hannabee— ”
    “You
don’t have to call me that. Miz. I’m no Miz.”
    “Jane—
”
    She
wheeled, grabbed my arm again. Claw-fingers bit through the wool of my sleeve.
No seductiveness this time. Desperation, as cold fear brightened her eyes and I
caught a glimpse of the girl she’d once been.
    “Please,” she said. “Troy didn’t kill no baby. The
retard did it. Everyone knows it.”
    “Everyone?”
    “He’s
the big one, Troy’s little. Troy’s my little man. It weren’t his fault he
hooked up with the retard.”
    “Rand’s
the guilty one,” I said.
    Her
grip on my arm tightened further. “Zactly.”
    “Did
Troy tell you that Rand killed the baby?”
    “Yeah.”
    I
glanced down at her fingers. She coughed and sniffed and removed them.
    “He’ll
get better,” she