Simon's Story

By Buff Brazy Given

Its an ordinary day, a Wednesday in October, as a drama unfolds in one corner of the UCLA campus. A five-year old boy is caught up in events swirling around his father, Simon Kyser PhD. Bribery and corruption emerges, followed by attempted murder, mayhem, and kidnapping. It is a story of scientific espionage gone awry.
Grace Tooley MD finds young Simon drenched and alone in the middle of a downpour in a parking lot at UCLA. She in concert with her colleague Wesley Brown MD, head of the psychiatric institute and Anton Kristov PhD, head of the biotech department work to unravel what fast becomes a web of deceit.
The story is told in seven days.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 20, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462812196

Buff Brazy Given

Buff Brazy Given, lived two years in England; photographed the women of China; experienced village life while living in France. She earned an MA in Architecture and Urban Planning from UCLA, working in those related fields as lecturer, writer and professional consultant. A SMALL FLIRTATION is her first venture into fiction. She lives with her husband in Southern California.

Book preview

Simon’s Story

1.jpg

A Novel

BUFF BRAZY GIVEN

Copyright © 2005 by Buff Brazy Given.

Library of Congress Number:     2004098806

ISBN:      Hardcover                 978-1-4134-7591-3

               Softcover                  978-1-4134-7590-6

               Ebook                      978-1-4628-1219-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by: Helen Gotlib

Helengotlib.com

[e-mail]

734-678-7976

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

27102

Contents

Acknowledgements

Part I

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

Part II

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

Part III

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

Part IV

53

54

55

56

Part V

57

58

Acknowledgements

My profound thanks to you my beloved friends, family and supporters from all over the world, who encouraged me to ‘soldier on’ and write this story. Even as I became immersed in the research, checking and rechecking details of biotech subjects about which I have endless fascination and very little real knowledge, the legalities of foster care, and the psychological ramifications of them all, I often wondered if I could keep all the lines straight and all the balls in the air at the same time. You my readers and consultants, my verifiers of facts as well as those of you who held my feet to the fire to get the facts correct, have my gratitude.

My gratitude to Dr. Steven Gotlib M.D., child psychiatrist extraordinaire who challenged my assumptions, corrected my focus and shepherded me through the maze.

My thanks to Xlibris’ wonderful team, especially Sol-Amor Mucoy who guided me with great sensitivity through the myriad steps on the way to final publication.

To Pat Golbitz my editor, I have undying admiration. With the stroke of her red pen, the muddled becomes clear and the obtuse vanishes. I am forever reminded it is a novel that I am writing – not a polemic.

And to Bert, mi amor, who suffers right along with me every single step whether it be day or the middle of the night, my forever love.

PART I

1.jpg

‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practice to deceive’—Sir Walter Scott

PROLOGUE

Wednesday night

The rain had not been forecast. It was teeming and I was having difficulty finding my newly assigned parking place in the construction zone when my headlights picked up a drenched child moving in and out among the parked cars. I drove carefully, watching for an adult to rein him in. He did not seem to be aware that I was so close. I tooted my horn and lowered my window.

Hi, there, are you looking for someone? Can I help you? He just stood there dripping, mutely shaking his head.

Wait there while I park and we’ll get out of the rain together, OK? He did as he was told, mostly because he seemed not to have any kind of plan and was relieved to have someone take charge.

I’m Grace Tooley, who are you? I asked while walking him in the direction of the campus infirmary and child-care center. Again, he said nothing though he reached up and took my hand. I explained where I was taking him and why.

I could not think what to do with the child other than to get him inside some place dry and in the care of people who would handle the situation, at least for the moment. I was due to moderate a panel discussion in a very few minutes. I would check back later.

A social worker appeared, grabbed a big towel and went for some hot cocoa from a machine. The little boy looked up at me and asked if I would come back. I assured him I would. At least he was not a mute… just scared and confused.

I rushed to the auditorium, shrugged off my rain-cape and took my place at the lectern. As the moderator for the evening, I came first.

There is nothing nice about divorce, I began. Relief is only the rebound from the tension which precedes the final break-up. The sudden release makes a person giddy – at times euphoric. The fear and anxiety which follow is both unexpected and confounding – no matter your therapist has warned you as you sought divorce counseling.

I stopped there. The audience let out a collective sigh. Luckily, I had hit the right note for openers. As chief of the psychiatric service lecturing first year residents, I had a big job. It was immensely useful to get their attention at the start of each session.

"To continue, the format for this evening will be as outlined last week. There will be four presenters. Each will have a maximum of fifteen minutes to give an overview of his or her case, noting the salient points directly applicable to the Law of Unintended Consequences as it affects divorce – the topic under scrutiny this evening. A question and answer period will follow each presentation. Total time for each case will be thirty minutes. We will take a fifteen-minute break after the first two presentations and then plunge on. If the topic is of sufficient interest to you, I will be glad to schedule further time as a group or individually.

Now to the first case: Dr. Needham, are you ready to begin?

At the break, I realized I had been only half listening. The rest of my thoughts were on the young child I had so unceremoniously left to the tender mercies of a social worker. I headed to a quiet spot down the hall, pulled out my cell phone and called the infirmary for a check on what was found out about the boy. Satisfied that he was still there and quite co-operative, I felt more comfortable about continuing with my seminar. I would skip the after session re-hash and get straight over to him and evaluate the situation as best I could. Thus far, no one had the story on what had happened and so opted to wait for me, the child psychiatrist, to take over.

1

Has he told you anything helpful – his name, address, his parents names – anything?

I went straight to the coffee machine. It was still raining and quite unexpectedly chilly. The hot liquid felt good. Has he had anything to eat? My questions kept coming faster than Dr. Jane Keever, chief of medical services at the infirmary could answer them.

He’s in the play-room with Elaine. This way, Grace. He has eaten – and well. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with his appetite, she said smiling. However, all we get is ‘my name is Simon, what’s yours?’ Maybe Elaine has more to go on. They’ve been in there quite a long time.

I observed them from the doorway. He was an attractive child. Appeared to be about five years of age; surely old enough to divulge some personal data.

Thanks so much, Jane. I’ll take it from here, for the moment. Not too many adults at one time, I think. She nodded her agreement.

My office is just around the corner if you need me. In the meantime, I’ll check with the Security Office again. As of an hour ago, they had no report of a missing child. Odd, wouldn’t you say?

God, yes! Very odd. Entering the room with a sense of mission seemed the best approach. He was not being a problem. On the other hand, he was not being forthcoming with any useful information. I decided I would be kind, firm and direct. In fact, I had been kind already, in rescuing him from the parking lot. It was now time to confront this young man.

Hello, Elaine, Grace Tooley. We shook hands and started toward the craft table where Simon was creating a creature from play dough. Any luck beyond a first name?

She shook her head. Simon, Dr. Tooley is here to see you. Having got his attention, Elaine moved back, giving me the uncrowded space I needed to work. I took the chair across from him.

So that’s your first name is it, Simon? Simon what? What’s your last name?

You were gone a long time. Are you a real doctor? Why don’t you have a white coat?

I’m not the kind of doctor who wears a white coat.

Why not? My doctor wears a white coat all the time. I was getting nowhere fast. I had to stop the little inquisitor before this went any further.

I’m a psychiatrist. That’s a kind of doctor. I listen to what my patients want to tell me and we talk. That way I can help make things easier for them. You know, help people who have some sort of problems. And right now, I want to help you. Is that OK? I smiled at him.

He looked at me quizzically, not quite certain where to go with my job description. Also, for some reason, he didn’t seem the least bit agitated being out on a rainy night, all alone with strangers. Truth is, in some way, he seemed almost content – in no hurry to change his status.

As he only nodded his head, I continued: OK. Let’s start at the beginning when we met in the parking lot. Where were you coming from, Simon, where had you been? And will you please tell me why you were alone? He burst into tears. Swell. I had been doing better when he was asking the questions. They had revealed an observing, and intelligent child who had been mostly compliant and seemed to have a trusting nature. Now, for the second time tonight, I seemed to have hit a nerve.

Talk to me, Simon – here, take this tissue and wipe your nose. We can work this out together. Just tell me what happened to you tonight. Please. I caught Elaine looking at me as though I were an ogre. After all, hadn’t she had Simon for almost three hours without incident? I consoled myself by taking his tears as some small break-through. I reached across the space between us and stroked his head. Come on, Simon, what’s going on?

They were yelling and mad and I ran out the door. I don’t like when they yell and say bad things. He had finally found his voice. Through the tears he kept talking, all the while I was holding his hand. He told me what boiled down to an all too common scene: his parents in con-joint therapy were asked to bring the child in to talk to the therapist.

They were talking and asking me a whole lot of things. Mommy said I love her best. Daddy said I love him best and he wants me to live with him. Then the lady talked to me. I told her I want to go home with Mommy and Daddy. He looked at me with hurt and confusion in his eyes.

I lowered my head for an instant and closed my eyes. I could visualize the whole scene in living color. How many times had I witnessed the torture of the children? What a stunning coincidence. My seminar this evening inquired into this very matter. If ever there was an unintended consequence of divorce, this was it.

Poor little guy. I went around and picked him up. He sat in my lap while I pieced together the rest of his story:

It was evident a full-blown battle ensued during which all three of the adults lost contact with the boy. Frightened by the mounting emotions he simply removed himself from the situation and left. What dumfounded me was not one of them missed him! And now what? Where in the hell was everybody? Why wasn’t there an all out alarm sent out in search of the child? For our part, Security had been informed we had him and, thus far, no one had claimed him.

Unforgivable of the therapist. Who was the fool? I was shaking with fury and grateful to the powers-that-be that I was the one who came upon him. I shuddered to think of the countless ways he could have been hurt.

Dr. Keever came to the door and motioned me to step out to the corridor.

Grace, the parents have not been found. Can you imagine no one has notified the campus police about a missing boy? Because of my calls to them, they went over to your department and informed the Institute director. Lord, what a mess.

Jane Keever was a hellava gal. She ran the infirmary and childcare center as though they were her own home. Every sick or hurt person who crossed the threshold was one of her very own family. This kind of incident was beyond her ken. She was close to retirement age and none of us who knew and worked with her could imagine how the place would function without her.

What’s he going to do? I asked.

He’s on his way over. Should be here any minute now. I haven’t spoken to him directly but I hear he wants to talk to the youngster and he’s pretty hot under the collar.

With that, the door to the building swung open and in came Wesley Brown accompanied by three security guards. He was a big strapping man who exuded self-confidence. Now, angry and filled with frustration, he was a remarkable sight.

Jane, Grace, he nodded by way of a greeting. What the hell is going on? How could this have happened? Where is the child? Somebody clue me in. All I know is these men came to me with an incomprehensible story. A child is found wandering around in the parking lot next to all the heavy construction in the pouring rain. The only other thing needed to complete the whole catastrophe was for him to be picked up and spirited away by some kook. I can’t believe it.

You got that right, sir, one of the guards spoke up. Dr. Brown was unwinding enough to let one of us speak

Slow down, Wes, and I’ll tell you what I know beyond those facts. I proceeded to relate to the director what little I had gleaned from the boy about the meeting with his parents and the therapist and about his absenting himself from the scene unbeknownst to the three adults.

Incredible! Have you found out who she is – the therapist? Does he know her name? Where is the child now? I want to see him.

Cool it, Wes, Jane stepped in. Simon is a very bright and perceptive child. I won’t have you barging into the playroom and start with a barrage of questions.

What the hell do you take me for, some neophyte? He was rapidly losing his cool.

Jane’s right, Wes. You’ve come in here like gangbusters with steam coming out of your ears. We – Jane, Elaine Myer and I have been dealing with this puzzle for some hours and we do not want the boy to become frightened. In fact, I think he needs some place warm and safe for the night. We’ll all be available if anyone gets a heads-up during the night. There will be time enough tomorrow to begin to sort all this out.

We have to get a court order – some kind of protective coverage for the Institute, he said. After all, he was lost or abandoned here while ostensibly working with one of our staff. We also need protective custody for the boy. We can’t just stash him someplace without letting the authorities know what’s going on over here. He was emphatic.

I told him I wasn’t simply planning to ‘stash him someplace.’ I’d been considering taking him home with me. I’d had not had a chance to talk about it with Jane yet, but was certain we could fill out some sort of official document, briefly stating the facts and have both Drs. Brown and Keever witness it.

What do you think, Jane? Would that cover us?

Jane shook her head. We also have to notify the police and protective services, Grace. Maybe you can convince them since you rescued the boy and he trusts you that he would be better off with you until we get this matter sorted out. At least his parents aren’t patients of yours. She looked quizzically at Wesley Brown.

Maybe so, Jane. We could get Judge Hazlett to sign off on it. After all, we’re licensed as a childcare center/hospital and my judgment should count for some damn thing, under the circumstances.

The guards had been standing quietly not saying a word. Wes took charge of the men, addressing Jane and me as well.

It would be helpful to the Institute if we keep this situation under wraps at the moment while we locate the therapist. She is our surefire path to the parents and to the unraveling of this puzzle. In the meantime, I do want to see the child for myself. These security men should observe him too.

You’re right, sir. We’ll need that much for our report, the lead man was relating to Dr. Brown but then turned to me. Whatever you say, Dr. Tooley, will work for us. Any way you want to play it.

Thanks Mike. The last thing we want to do is overwhelm Simon into silence. The observation area has a two-way mirror and a sound system. That should be satisfactory, shouldn’t it?

You bet, Doc. Can we get started? Then me and the boys, we’ll get back to the office and work on the report. It’s getting late.

With all of my outpatient clinic work, Mike Gonzales was one of the senior security men I could count on when I needed help. We had come to know each other and over time had developed a mutual respect – two professionals doing their jobs.

Wesley Brown struck out for the playroom with the three guards in tow. I pushed past them and redirected them to the observation room. Come in here and take a look. Except for when I was working with him, Elaine has stuck with him like glue.

Nice looking kid, Mike said, What kind of parents would just walk away – disappear without a clue? It beats the hell out of me – sorry, Doc., he added with a sheepish grin.

It beats the hell out of all of us, Mike, I said and smiled at him. Let’s listen in for a few moments

It was decided that Dr. Brown didn’t need to speak to Simon. It was obvious to all of us the child was tired. Elaine was holding him on her lap while humming little songs. At one point, he raised his head up, looked directly at the mirror and said, Where is Grace? I want to see her. Did she find my Mommy and Daddy? Is that why she went away? He looked sad but not frightened.

No, Simon. But she is talking to some men about finding out where they are. She will be back soon. Honey, it will help us a lot if you know the name of the lady your parents were talking to. Or maybe you can tell me what she looks like? Elaine Myer was young, soft-spoken and skilled – altogether extremely well suited to her work with both the patients in the infirmary and as the primary social worker assigned to the children at the center.

He looked pensive for a moment. She’s kinda fat and kinda pretty except when she gets mad and then she’s scary and she looks like a witch.

Simon, do you remember what Mommy or Dad called her? Did they say her name?

One time Mommy said, ‘Oh, Melly’ or something. Is Melly a name? So sweet, so trusting, I wanted to cry.

Yes, Simon, Melly is a name. Thank you. That’s very helpful. Can I get you something to eat or drink before Dr. Grace comes back? Are you hungry?

No. I want to pee! Elaine put him down and escorted her little charge to the bathroom. We all burst out laughing, momentarily dispelling some of the tension in the room.

Well, it seems you ladies have things well in hand. Wes Brown turned away from the observation window. For now, Grace, I agree it’s probably best for the boy to be with one of you, at least temporarily. And if it’s really what you want to take on, I’ll go to bat for you but you can’t take him to your house, yet. Maybe you can talk to him and make him comfortable here for a while. It is getting late for him. In the meantime, I’ll go back to my office and get moving on the official matters. If anything develops, you’ll hear immediately. OK, then. You all know where I’ll be should anything come up over here that I need to know.

Once more, he directed his gaze at me. Grace, I’ll work it out. I want you to know that I appreciate what you’re doing and how you’re handling all of this. I hope you realize you’re letting yourself in for a tremendous responsibility. Then addressing Jane he said, Will you help me with the details of this report?

Wesley Brown is good at his job – not an easy one, balancing the needs of a prestigious psychiatric institution against the multitudinous personalities of the medical and support staff, to say nothing of the needs and demands of the patients, both in-house as well as a very active out-patient department. He can be a bit stiff and at times overbearing. Admittedly, I was pleased by his remarks – generous in the midst of this tempest.

2

Tempest both inside and out. It hadn’t stopped raining. I’d said my good-byes with profuse thanks to Jane and Elaine. Her assignment was to look through the therapists’ pictures and attempt to identify ‘Melly’ a name unfamiliar to us. Was it short for ‘Melinda’, a last name, or even a nickname? I had my job cut out for me. The others would have to deal with the rest of it. I, for one, was happy not to be involved in anymore of it tonight. When I allowed myself to think about her role in all this mess, I knew I was still too incensed to deal with the therapist. Yes, tomorrow would be soon enough.

Now, young man, we are off to another adventure in a night full of adventures. I looked down at him and let out a big sigh. It was not going to be difficult – not for now, at least. He sagged against his seat belt and was sound asleep.

The last two hours had been intense. The police were called as well as child protective services. Judge August Hazlett agreed to be brought in and the ball got rolling rather quickly, considering the complexity of the problem. I was well known to the social worker from child protection; we dealt with each other from time to time in the course of our work. She was quick to size up the situation and agreed I was the logical one to take temporary custody of Simon. I was told to return him to the child-care center in the morning and retrieve him at days’ end if, God forbid, his missing parents had not been located.

The tired little boy fell into a deep sleep almost instantly after I wished him sweet dreams and tucked the covers around him. He was comfortably ensconced on the day bed in my den. I went rummaging in my refrigerator to see what I could find that would pass for a meal. It suddenly occurred to me I was famished. Between the seminar and the Sturm und Drang at the center, I’d missed dinner and had had nothing but coffee and some stale fig-newtons from a machine. Happily, there was chicken stew and a head of lettuce handily available. I put the stew into the microwave oven to warm, and was making a salad when the phone rang. I jumped a foot anticipating trouble and grabbed the phone before it rang again. I didn’t want Simon unnecessarily disturbed.

Grace Tooley? Dr. Grace Tooley? The voice was agitated yet somehow vaguely familiar.

Who is this? I replied.

Just tell me if you are Dr. Tooley. The woman sounded frightened and desperate. I moved quickly across to my kitchen door, double locked it and pulled the blind down over the window. I felt a sudden pang of fear. I know you are so listen to me. Please. I don’t have much time. You have my son Simon. For God’s sake, keep him for now. Keep him safe.

Where are you? Tell me what’s going on. At least tell me your name. Let me help you. I was trying to stay calm while my mind was racing. Why in the name of good common sense hadn’t we thought to put a tap on my phone? The Judge was right there and would have signed the order. Now there wasn’t a chance I could trace this call.

No, no. Don’t ask any more questions. Just keep Simon safe. I have to go. I’ll call again. The line went dead. I stood looking at the phone like an idiot when a recorded voice said ‘If you want to make a call, please hang up and dial again.’

I called Wes Brown immediately, asking him to get hold of Security or the Judge, or whomever he thought appropriate. I’m afraid I sound frantic even to my own ears, Wes. I admit this is one scenario I didn’t anticipate. Shall we call the police and ask for protection? Have a tap put on the phone? I did try *69. The number was blocked.

I’ll get on it right away and call you back as soon as possible. Just stay calm and make sure you are locked in. With that admonition, he hung up.

I tried to eat a little but gave up after a couple of bites. Instead, I went to the freezer, took out my all time anxiety reducer, peppermint-stick ice cream and poured some crème de menthe over it for good measure. The phone rang again. A sudden surge of adrenaline rushed through me as I picked up the receiver.

Grace, Wes. I sighed with relief when I heard his voice. Judge Hazlett agrees we need a tap not only on this phone, but on the one in your office and at the center. However, as a member of the State court system, he’s not allowed to order it done. It takes a Federal Court to issue a wiretap order. He’s offered to contact one of his friends on the federal bench and get back to me. I’m sure he’ll see to it a.s.a.p.

Well done, but what about protection? The woman who claimed to be his mother was adamant that he be kept safe. From what, only God knows.

The possibility he would be in some sort of danger hadn’t occurred to me either. I was not concerned about such a thing. My concern, Grace, was based solely on the child’s possible reaction when he realized that his parents were not coming for him. I was afraid that after being taken home by you, he might suddenly freak out. As for protection, the police can’t do anything yet. However, Mike Gonzales said as you live in faculty housing, it’s OK for him to send over one of his men as soon as the shift ends. In the meantime, I’m heading over right now and intend to stay till one of the campus cops gets there.

He hung up before I could protest. It would have been a phony protest, anyway. Although his calm voice calmed me, I had to admit I was still dismayed at the idea of Simon being in danger.

How is he doing? Wes asked even as he shrugged off his raincoat.

He’s just fine. Sound asleep on the couch in my den without a peep. He’s really a fine little guy. What’s going to happen to him now? Do you think the call portends trouble?

I don’t know, Grace. Maybe, maybe not. But I sure as hell don’t like it. Not for you or for him. He walked quietly to the entrance of the den and stared at the boy. Shaking his head, he turned away and followed me to the kitchen After growing-up in the south during the 50’s and 60’s, you’d think I’d have become inured to human suffering. He smiled trying to lighten his words, but his voice gave him away. It’s all too familiar to me and it still breaks my heart.

Please sit down, Wes, and let me get you something. I was trying to eat when the call came and never quite got to it. I reheated the stew and served Wes a bowl of it without asking, poured us both a glass of wine and sat down with him. He dove into it dipping bread in the gravy, finishing every morsel. He sat back with a slightly embarrassed grin on his face.

You’re some cook, lady. Or is this from Bristol Farms? Wherever, it’s the best stew I’ve put tooth and gum to since I visited my Mama last winter. We both burst out laughing.

Our good humor was short lived. We heard a thump and a howl coming from the den. Simon! I’m coming, I called out as I ran to him. You’re alright. You just fell off the couch. I sat down on the floor with him and took him in my arms. He was