Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [139]
“Dear God!” A heavy sigh. “I wish I could help you, Detective. But I haven’t seen Dylan in years. When his stepfather adopted him, Dylan cut all of us out of the picture at the insistence of his mother.”
“How did your son feel about that?”
“It’s complicated,” the doctor replied.
Marge said, “When we came and visited you the first time, did you have suspicions that Dylan stole the gun.”
“No. I didn’t suspect anything!” Olivia was adamant. “Once everything came out, I put two and two together. It made me absolutely sick!”
“Dylan had access to your gun?”
“I suppose he must have.” A heavy sigh. “My son isn’t really Dylan’s father. I found that out later on. At the time of his divorce from Cresta—Dylan’s mother—Maurice thought it would be good for Dylan to spend some time at the office. He thought that being near me would be palliative for Dylan’s fragile nerves. We were always close, and when the divorce was announced, Dylan seemed so vulnerable.”
“You think he was faking it?”
“No, I don’t think he was faking it at all. Dylan was a quiet child, with his mother always screaming at one thing or another, so who could get a word in edgewise.”
“What do you mean that your son wasn’t Dylan’s father?”
“Cresta had a fidelity problem.”
“Who is the biological father?” Oliver asked.
“According to the law, it’s Maurice because he was married to Cresta at the time of the conception. According to the paternity test, it was Cresta’s plastic surgeon.”
“How’d your son find this out?” Oliver asked.
“Maurice became suspicious of the paternity after he found out about Cresta’s numerous affairs. It came to a head when Cresta became pregnant with Roy’s child, who is now six.” A heavy sigh. “The deal was that Roy would adopt Dylan, and Maurice would keep quiet about not being Dylan’s biological father. Roy also offered to take over child support. At first, Maurice declined. Dylan was his de facto son whether or not there was a biological connection. But Cresta made a continuing relationship so difficult. After a year or so, Dylan didn’t show any interest in Maurice, especially after my son remarried. It was one of those situations that just evolved. When Roy offered again to adopt the boy—something that both Dylan and Maurice’s new wife clearly wanted—Maurice caved in.”
“How’d you feel about it?” Marge asked.
“Devastated. He was my first grandchild.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “My little boy was sweet and funny and so very smart! I thought he would surely become a doctor. If there were warning signs, I didn’t see it. No cruelty to animals, no fires . . . he did wet his bed until he was six but that’s not unusual for boys. He just seemed like a wonderful, exceptionally bright boy.”
“He still is very bright,” Marge said. He’d probably do great in prison, she thought. If they ever found him.
Oliver said, “Do you have any idea where he might be hiding?”
Her eyes watered again. “The truth is I don’t know where he is. As I told you, I haven’t talked to him in years. But the other truth is that even if I did know where he was, I don’t know if I’d tell you.”
Marge assessed the doctor and decided that she believed the woman, that she truly didn’t know where Dylan was. What Marge felt was beyond pity. Olivia Garden was suffering something that Marge couldn’t even imagine.
“Thank you for talking to us.” Oliver handed her his card. “If he does call you . . . you know the drill.”
“I know the drill.”
But neither Marge nor Oliver expected to hear from her again. Marge could have added something very coplike—that it was the doctor’s duty to tell them if she found out information. After all, Dylan had caused the death of a young boy with a gun that he had stolen from her desk. But what purpose would reiteration have served?
So Marge said nothing.
There was pouring salt on the wound. And then there was just plain cruelty.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Gabe had parked two blocks away from the all-girls’ school in a neighborhood of small ranch houses and manicured