School Days - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,52

is now at least mildly impaired."

"Could he live a, I don't know what to call it, normal life?"

"With help," Dix said, "probably."

"He say anything about his relationship with Beth Ann Blair?"

"I didn't ask. He didn't tell," Dix said. "I was not there to question him about the crime."

"You think it had something to do with the crime?"

"In fact, of course, I don't know," Dix said. "A relationship which had proceeded to nudity, between a fully sexual adult woman and a barely pubescent retarded boy, would be a very powerful event in the boy's life. And if that boy stands accused of mass murder. . ."

Our sandwiches sat waiting and waiting on their paper plates on the counter. I stood up and got them and set them on the table. Dix had ham on light rye. I had tongue on light rye. I got a second glass of milk for me and another coffee for Dix.

"Is he retarded enough that we could use it in some sort of impairment defense?"

"I need more information. I'd want to know what role the woman played in his behavior." Dix took in a long, slow breath through his nose and let it out. "But basically, I doubt it. I doubt that his mental retardation prevented him from understanding the illegality of his actions any more than, if you are an accurate reporter, and I suspect that you are, it prevented him from some rather lengthy and careful preparation for his crime."

I nodded.

"If, on the other hand, you could establish some sort of obsessive circumstance with Dr. Blair . . ."

"Whatever the circumstance," I said, "it couldn't have been good."

Dix shrugged.

"You think it could be okay?" I said.

"I have been doing what I do," Dix said, "for a long time. I have found almost nothing that people do which is always good or always bad. How about you?"

I nodded.

"But for a kid like that," I said, "to suddenly start murdering people at random. Isn't the crime itself proof that the criminal is crazy?"

Dix smiled at me.

"You know and I know that if you start asking that question too insistently, you find yourself on a slippery, slippery slope. If doing the crime is proof of insanity, and sanity is a defense against conviction, then the crime is its exculpation, and no one is responsible for anything."

"And ten thousand years of what might optimistically be called civilization," I said, "goes right down the slope, too."

"On the other hand, if Dr. Blair was involved, and he was obsessed, and you have a good lawyer available . . ."

"Would you examine him further?" I said.

"As needed," Dix said.

"Would you testify?"

"I would testify to what I believed to be the truth," Dix said.

"Or as close as we can get to it," I said.

"One can get pretty close," Dix said, "if one keeps at it."

"Keeping at it is one of my best things," I said.

"Apparently," Dix said.

When we finished our sandwiches, we had some pie. It was blueberry this time. And none the worse for being so.

Chapter 52

"GARNER'S HUMPING the school shrink?" DiBella said. We were sitting in DiBella's car, parked on the main street in Dowling, a block from the Coffee Nut.

"Wouldn't you?" I said.

"Yeah, sure, but why would she?"

"Excellent question." I said. "When there are studs like you and me around."

"I'm not so sure about you," DiBella said.

"Actually, I included you," I said, "to be kind."

DiBella nodded. "Now we got that out of the way," he said. "And the school shrink was humping the Clark kid?"

"She was at least taking her picture naked with him."

"You wouldn't have it on you," DiBella said.

"Degenerate," I said.

"Sure, like you haven't studied it," DiBella said.

"Of course I have," I said. "It's evidence."

"Of what?" DiBella said. "Blair's snatch?"

"Well," I said. "Yes."

"Maybe I should see what I can dig up on both of them," DiBella said. "Garner and Blair."

"I thought you had this case closed already, and were just humoring me," I said.

"I'm in the habit," DiBella said. "I may as well humor you some more."

"Hard to believe it wouldn't have something to do with the shooting," I said.

"Pretty big set of coincidences," DiBella said.

"I don't know where it takes us," I said.

"That's why it's called investigation," DiBella said. "We see where it takes us."

From the backseat of DiBella's car, Pearl barked at a tan mongrel that went by on the other end of the leash from a middle-aged woman in cropped pants and a straw sun hat.

"Did you know," DiBella said, "that I'm not allowed