The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(65)

She handed the paper back to Milo. “Really, guys, I can’t believe you’re wasting your time on something so childish.”

Milo said, “According to the complainant, ‘MD’ doesn’t refer to medical doctors. It’s Crispin’s code for ‘Must Die.’?”

“His code? Nonsense,” said Haley Moman. But her voice lacked conviction.

I said, “Does Crispin have strong computer skills?”

“Isn’t he entitled to a plus? Yes, he’s great with computers.”

“So he’s used to codes and coding.”

“Oh, please. That’s advanced math and whatever, this is a stupid letter thing. To me ‘MD’ means ‘medical doctor’ and until you can prove different, that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

Milo looked at me.

I said, “We’re really sorry if this is upsetting you but as a parent you can see that we need to follow up.”

“On the basis of this?”

“The complainant said Crispin also made verbal threats.”

“Where?”

“At school.”

“Hah. As if he’s there often enough to even talk to anyone—you need to understand, Crispin’s different but not in a bad way, he’s just different. Until his senior year, he was homeschooled. His therapist felt he needed a social experience before college, even with the adjustment challenges that were likely to occur. We go by what she says. She’s brilliant, a professor at the U., a doctorate from Yale. So please excuse me for trusting her and not this.”

“Could we talk to her?”

“Absolutely not—oh, hell, why not, she’s only going to back up what I’m saying. Dr. Marlene Sontag. Go for it.”

Lucky break. Someone I knew and liked.

I said, “Could you please call Dr. Sontag and give your consent?”

“You bet, sir. You bet. Now can we end this and let me get to the gym?”

“We were also told Crispin had issues with animals.”

Haley Moman’s eyes zipped to the right. Lowered. Aimed at her lap and stayed that way. “Oh, Jesus—I thought that was resolved.”

I said nothing.

“I can’t believe this—it was a squirrel for God’s sake. They’re disgusting rodents, they carry diseases. It might as well have been a rat. They’re basically rats with fluffy tails.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” said Haley Moman. “This was months ago. Right after Crispin began at Beverly. During lunchtime, that’s all, nothing disruptive in class. Out on the lawn. Do you think anyone would take the time to reach out since the time he got there? As if. So he was all by himself, eating, and a stupid squirrel ran up to him and bared its teeth. Blatant. Aggressive. I mean that’s not normal, right? Normally they’re afraid of people, right? So this one had to be sick. Maybe even rabies. Or some other horrible disease.”

I said, “Crispin felt threatened.”

“Wouldn’t you? I mean, let’s face it, everyone’s into animals nowadays. I don’t mind, I gave up my furs. But animals aren’t perfect, there are mean ones just like there are mean people, and this one was obviously vicious. Baring its teeth unprovoked at a child? What was Crispin supposed to do, sit there and get mauled?”

“What did he do?”

She tented her fingers then ran them down the sides of a perfectly styled nose. “What did he do? He protected himself.”

“How?”

Her eyes dropped down again. “Look. I had no idea he had it with him. It was a gift from his grandpa. My dad, he ranches cattle in Montana, to him, a knife’s a tool. This was a stupid little two-inch blade for whittling. Dad gave it to Crispin when Crispin turned six. We took it away because we’re fiercely anti any sort of weapon. Crispin must’ve found it.”

Milo said, “So no firearms in the house.”

“Of course not!” said Haley Moman. Appalled, as if he’d suggested she was old. “No instruments of destruction, period.”

Her chest heaved. “From the beginning, we knew Crispin deserved special consideration. That means zero tolerance.”

“Crispin got hold of the knife.”

She threw up her hands. “I kept it ’cause of my dad, hid it in my bathing suit drawer, somehow he found it. He said it was just for that day, he was planning to pick up a tree branch and whittle—he tries to be artistic. So he had it with him and he ended up using it.”

“On the squirrel.”

Haley Moman faced me, cheeks flushed, brown eyes narrowed. “The stupid thing was baring its teeth at him, he felt threatened. For all we know he was in danger of being exposed to the plague or something. So he used it. So big deal.”

I said, “You’re making a good point about disease. Did Animal Control ever analyze the body to see if it was infected?”

No reaction from Haley Moman. Then she tugged at her hair, picked up her water bottle, uncapped, recapped. Put it down hard on a taupe travertine table.

“No,” she said. “There wasn’t much left to analyze.”

She ran out. This time she was gone for a while, returning with her eyes raw, her hair loose, clutching a fresh water bottle.

During her absence, Milo had done some research. Twenty years ago, Haley Hartford had worn a blood-red bathing suit for two seasons of a show called Tideline. First marriage to an actor who’d O.D.’d. A couple of boyfriends in between the marriage to Adrian Moman. Crispin’s age said Moman was likely his stepdad.