When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online

single-swingle splendor, tucked away in a slum pocket on an aerie high above the high Pacific, and dosed up with Ritalin to appease the combined wishes of the Los Angeles school system, a dim-witted mother and M and M Properties.
    I examined the label on the vial to find out the name of the prescribing physician. When I found it, things began to fall into place.
    L.W. Towle. Lionel Willard Towle, M.D. One of the most established and respected pediatricians on the West Side. I had never met him but knew him by reputation. He was on the senior staff of Western Pediatric and a half dozen other Westside hospitals. A big shot in the Academy of Pediatrics. A guest speaker, highly in demand, at seminars on learning disabilities and behavior problems.
    Dr. Towle was also a paid consultant to three major pharmaceutical concerns. Translate: pusher. He had a reputation, especially among the younger doctors who were generally more conservative about drugs, as easy with the prescription pad. No one said it too loudly, because Towle had been around a long time and had lots of important patients and plenty of connections, but the whispered consensus was that he was a Dr. Feelgood for tots. I wondered how someone like Bonita Quinn had ended up in his practice. But there was no easy way to ask without appearing unduly nosy.
    I handed the vial back to her and turned to Milo, who’d been sitting through the exchange in silence.
    “Let me talk to you,” I said.
    “Just one moment, ma’am.”
    Outside the apartment I told him, “I can’t hypnotize this kid. She’sdrugged to the gills. It would be a risk to work with her, and besides, there’s little chance of getting anything worthwhile out of her.”
    Milo digested this.
    “Shit.” He scratched his head. “What if we take her off the pills for a few days?”
    “That’s a medical decision. We get into that and we’re way out of bounds. We need the physician’s permission. Which blows confidentiality.”
    “Who’s the doc?”
    I told him about Towle.
    “Wonderful. But maybe he’ll agree to let her off for a few days.”
    “Maybe, but there’s no guarantee she’ll give us anything. This kid’s been on stimulants for a year. And what about Mrs. Q? She’s scared plenty as is. Take her darling off the pills and first thing she’ll do is lock the kid inside twelve hours a day. They like it quiet here.”
    The complex was still silent as a mausoleum. At one-forty-five in the afternoon.
    “Can you at least look at the kid? Maybe she’s not that doped.”
    Across the way the door to the Handler apartment was open. I caught a glimpse of elegance in disarray—oriental rugs, antiques, and severe acrylic furniture broken and upended, blood-spattered white walls. The police lab men worked silently, like moles.
    “By now she’s had her second dose, Milo.”
    “Shit.” He punched his fist into his palm. “Just meet the kid. Give me your impression. Maybe she’ll be alert.”
    She wasn’t. Her mother led her into the living room and then left with Milo. She stared off into the distance, sucking her thumb. She was a small child. If I hadn’t known her age I would have guessed it at five, maybe five-and-a-half. She had a long, grave face with oversized brown eyes. Her straight blond hair hung to her shoulders, held in place by twin plastic barettes. She wore blue jeans and a blue-green-and-white-striped T-shirt. Her feet were dirty and bare.
    I led her to a chair and sat opposite her on the couch.
    “Hello, Melody. I’m Dr. Delaware. I’m a psychologist. Do you know what that is?”
    No response.
    “I’m the kind of doctor who doesn’t give shots. What I do is talk and draw and play with kids. I try to help kids who are sad, or angry, or scared.”
    At the word scared she looked up for a second. Then she resumed staring past me and sucked her thumb.
    “Do you know why I’m talking to you?”
    A shake of the head.
    “It’s not because you’re sick or because you’ve