Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [36]
“No,” Jesse said.
“Because?”
“Because arresting her wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Lisa has been the victim of considerable abuse. What she did, she did in self-defense.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“Parental responsibility.”
Lisa was sitting quietly, looking at her father, listening. Her father occasionally looked at her.
“You think I’m not a responsible parent,” Leonard Barry said.
“This incident might be an indicator.”
“I work my ass off so that she can have what she needs.”
“What she needs is you involved in her life,” Jesse said.
“I am involved in her life.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Did you know she was dealing with some serious issues?”
“She never said anything.”
“Perhaps she never had the chance.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you’re not around to listen, how can she tell you anything ? Responsible parenting means being present and available. Being attuned to all of the signals.”
Mr. Barry didn’t say anything.
“Lisa showed up at school today with your pistol,” Jesse said. “Did you know she had it? That she not only threatened the principal’s life with it but her own life as well? That’s a big signal to have missed.”
Mr. Barry looked down.
“Lisa is still reeling from the loss of her mother, which is trauma enough. It also seems as if she’s lost her father as well. Something’s not right here.”
Mr. Barry didn’t say anything.
“Perhaps you could talk with her about what’s been going on in her life,” Jesse said. “And maybe pay close attention to what she has to say. There’s nothing more important for either of you.”
Mr. Barry looked up.
Jesse stood.
“I’m gonna have a talk with the Lincoln Village girls tomorrow,” he said.
“You are,” Lisa said.
“I am.”
“Wow,” she said.
38
Jesse couldn’t sleep. His mind was on overload, which finally drove him out of bed and downstairs, where he fixed himself a scotch.
When he brought it into the living room, he was surprised to find the cat asleep on one of his two leather armchairs. It barely raised its head when Jesse sat down in the chair next to it.
Jesse took a sip and smiled. He had become attached to the cat. Or, more likely, he was now owned by it. Which gave him purpose. He put his feet up and continued to sip the scotch.
He had narrowly avoided being killed today. And in turn, he had killed a man. The fact of which had barely registered amid the chaos of the day. The man was still unidentified and lay on a slab at the morgue.
A life, thought Jesse. A man’s life. Given up in the service of what? Defending the interests of some psychopath?
He thought about Lisa Barry. Alone. Bullied by a group of privileged adolescents who were acting out psychological issues that probably had nothing to do with her. Rebuffed by a desensitized authority figure. Begging for parental attention.
He thought about the odd series of events that had been plaguing Paradise. Animal killings. Arson.
What am I missing, he asked himself. What’s the connection? He considered Alexis Richardson. What was he doing with her? He had pushed Sunny Randall away. He had permanently shut the door on Jenn. He was just beginning to feel comfortable being alone. Now, suddenly, there was Alexis. Why?
Songs from the past kept running through his mind. Songs about summer love, summer romance. He was having a summer fling is what he was doing. With apparently no strings attached. Maybe.
What’s the connection, he asked himself again.
An unfamiliar noise registered in his now somewhat sodden consciousness. Something outside.
He picked up his Colt Commander and his Smith & Wesson tactical high-beam flashlight. He opened the porch door and went outside. He stood there, listening. Then he switched on the flashlight and began a slow tour of his grounds. He circled the house. He didn’t detect anything strange. He went back inside.
He sipped the last of the scotch.
What’s the connection, he said again.
Finally, he turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed.
After a while, Rollo dared to move. He carefully climbed out of the thorn bushes in which he had