Time Bomb by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page B

story was an interview with a portly, white-bearded psychologist named Dobbs, billed as an expert on childhood stress who’d been enlisted by the School Board to work with the children. That held my attention.
    Dobbs had on a three-piece suit that looked as if it had been woven from Shredded Wheat, and toyed with a heavy-looking watch chain as he spoke. His face carried a lot of loose flesh and he pursed his lips a lot, which made him look like a rubber Santa mask gone sour. He used home-grown jargon that made my head reel, talked a lot about crisis intervention and moral values—had plenty to say about how society had lost its moral fiber. I kept waiting for him to hold up a book jacket.
    The phone interrupted his spiel.
    “Dr. Delaware?”
    “Speaking.”
    “This is Linda Overstreet. You gave me this number, so I figured it was all right to use it.”
    “Sure, Linda. What’s up?”
    “Have you by any chance been watching the news?”
    “Got it on screen right now.”
    “So you saw him—Dobbs.”
    “In all his tweedy glory.”
    “He’s lying, believe me. No one called him in on anything. I know because I spoke to the Board this afternoon and they hadn’t gotten themselves in gear yet.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “I don’t know. What I do know is that Dobbs has got connections with the Board. So he probably assumed they’d give him the okay, just went steamrolling ahead on his own.”
    “What kind of connections?”
    “A couple of years back, after one of the earthquakes, he presented a very slick proposal to the Board: crisis intervention free of charge, at several schools—including the one where I was in training. What he actually ended up
doing
was having his assistants administer computerized tests to the kids and hand out brochures. Nothing hands-on. Couple of weeks later, some of the parents started getting phone calls informing them the tests had shown their kids to be suffering from severe emotional problems. Strongly
advising
them to bring the kids in for individual therapy. Those who resisted got follow-up calls, letters, not-so-subtle pressure. Funny thing is, all of the ones who were followed up lived in high-priced ZIP codes.”
    “The poor get poorer and the rich get therapy?”
    “Yup. The Board got a few complaints about the hard sell, but overall they were pleased with Dobbs because he hadn’t cost them a dime and they got testimonials from some of the parents of the kids who went for treatment, saying it had been helpful.”
    “Are his credentials on the level?”
    “Far as I know.”
    “Hold on for a second. I’ll check.”
    I went into the library, got an American Psychological Association directory, and came back on the line.
    “What’s his first name?”
    “Lance.”
    I thumbed to the D’s, found a bio on
Dobbs, Dr. Lance L.,
and skimmed it. Birthdate in 1943, Ph.D. 1980, in educational counseling from a land-grant college in the Midwest. Internship and postdoctoral training at a drug rehab center in Sacramento. State license in ’82. Director of Cognitive-Spiritual Associates, Inc., since ’83. Two addresses: West L.A. and Whittier.
    “Looks bona fide,” I said.
    “Maybe, but with assistants doing all the work, what’s the big deal if he himself is qualified? I see him as a self-promoter—the kind who loves to see himself on screen.”
    “This is L.A.,” I said. “People demand
more
than their fifteen minutes of fame.”
    She laughed. “So you’re not ticked off?”
    “Why should I be?”
    “You do the work; he takes the credit. Seems to me I spend half my time dealing with ego stuff, stepping on toes. Guess I’m sensitized to it.”
    “My toes feel fine.”
    “Okay,” she said. “I just wanted to keep things straight. If Dobbs’s people show up, I’ll handle it.”
    “Thanks. And thanks for calling.”
    “Sure.”
    Silence.
    I said, “How’s everything going at school?”
    “Good as can be expected.” Her voice broke. “It’s just starting