Devil's Waltz Part 52

"Oh, yes," she said. "Those in the know say her promotion is imminent."

The smile got wider and took on a hungry cast. "Well, all the best to her . . . though I hope she learns to antic.i.p.ate events a bit better. One of her teenage patients just showed up without an appointment and is creating a scene out in the waiting room. And Stephanie left without checking out."

"Doesn't sound like her," I said.

"Really? Lately, it's become like her. Perhaps she sees herself as having already ascended."

A nurse pa.s.sed by. Kohler said, "Juanita?"

"Yes, Dr. Kohler?"

"Have you seen Stephanie?"

"I think she went out."

"Out of the hospital?"

"I think so, Doctor. She had her purse."

"Thank you, Juanita."

When the nurse had gone, Kohler pulled a set of keys out of a pocket.

"Here," she said, jamming one of the keys into Stephanie's lock and turning. Just as I caught the door, she yanked the key out sharply and walked away.

The espresso machine was off but a half-full demita.s.se sat on the desk, next to Stephanie's stethoscope. The smell of fresh roast overpowered the alcohol bite seeping in from the examining rooms. Also on the desk were a pile of charts and a memo pad stuffed with drug company stationery. As I slipped my note under it I noticed writing on the top sheet.

Dosages, journal references, hospital extensions. Below that, a solitary notation, scrawled hastily, barely legible.

B, Brwsrs, 4 Browsers-the place where she'd gotten the leather-bound Byron. I saw the book, up in the shelf.

B for Byron? Getting another one?

Or meeting someone at the bookstore? If it meant today, she was there now.

It seemed an odd a.s.signation in the middle of a hectic afternoon.

Not like her.

Until recently, if Kohler was to be believed.

Something romantic that she wanted segregated from the hospital rumor mill? Or just seeking out some privacy-a quiet moment among the mildew and the verse.

Lord knew she was ent.i.tled to her privacy.

Too bad I was going to violate it.

Only a half-mile from the hospital to Los Feliz and Hollywood, but traffic was lobotomized and it took ten minutes to get there.

The bookstore was on the west side of the street, its facade the same as it had been a decade ago: cream-colored sign with black gothic letters spelling out ANTI-QUARIAN BOOK MERCHANT above dusty windows. I cruised past, looking for a parking s.p.a.ce. On my second go-round I spotted an old Pontiac with its back-up lights on, and waited as a very small, very old woman eased away from the curb. Just as I finished pulling in, someone came out of the bookstore.

Presley Huenengarth.

Even at this distance his mustache was nearly invisible.

I slumped low in the car. He fiddled with his tie, took a pair of sungla.s.ses out, slipped them on, and shot quick looks up and down the street. I ducked lower, pretty sure he hadn't seen me. He touched his tie again, then began walking south until he came to the corner. Turning right, he was gone.

I sat up.

Coincidence? There'd been no book in his hand.

But it was hard to believe he was the one Stephanie was meeting. Why would she call him "B"?

She didn't like him, had called him spooky.

Gotten me thinking of him as spooky.

Yet his bosses were promoting her.

Had she been talking the rebel line while fraternizing with the enemy?

All for the sake of career advancement?

Do you see me as a division head, Alex?

Every other doctor I'd spoken to was talking about leaving, but her eye was on a promotion.

Rita Kohler's hostility implied it wouldn't be a bloodless transition. Was Stephanie being rewarded for good behavior-treating the chairman's grandchild without making waves?

I remembered her absence at the Ashmore memorial. Her showing up late, claiming she'd been tied up.

Maybe true, but in the old days she'd have found a way to be there. Would have been up on the dais.

I kept thinking about it as I sat there, wanting to see it another way. Then Stephanie came out of the store and I knew I couldn't.

Satisfied smile on her face.

No books in her hand either.

She looked up and down the block the same way he had.

Big plans for Dr. Eves.

Rat jumping onto a sinking ship?

I'd driven over intending to show her the Insuject cartridges. Ready to study her reaction, declare her innocent and make her a part of tomorrow night's confrontation of Cindy Jones.

Now, I didn't know where she stood. Milo's first suspicions of her began to solidify.

Something wrong-something off.

I lowered my head again.

She began walking. In the same direction he had.

Came to the corner, looked to the right. Where he'd gone.

She lingered there for a while. Still smiling. Finally crossed the street and kept going.

I waited until she was out of sight, then drove away. The moment I cleared the s.p.a.ce, someone zipped in.

First time all day I'd felt useful.

When I got home, just before five, I found a note from Robin saying she'd be working late unless I had something else on my mind. I had plenty, but none of it included fun. I called her, got a machine and told her I loved her and that I'd be working too. Though as I said it, I realized I didn't know at what.

I phoned Parker Center. A nasal, high-pitched male voice answered.

"Records."

"Detective Sturgis, please."

"He's not he-ere."

"When will he be back?"

"Who is this?"

"Alex Delaware. A friend."

He p.r.o.nounced my name as if it were a disease, then said, "I have absolutely no ide-a, Mr. Delaware."

"Do you know if he's gone for the day?"

"I wouldn't know that either."

"Is this Charlie?"

Pause. Throat clear. "This is Charles Flannery. Do I know you?"

"No, but Milo's talked about how much you've taught him."

Longer pause, more throat clears. "How grand of him. If you're interested in your friend's schedule, I suggest you call the deputy chief's office."

"Why would they know?"

"Because he's there, Mr. Delaware. As of half an hour ago. And please don't ask me why, because I don't kno-ow. No one tells me anything."

The deputy chief's. Milo in trouble again. I hoped it wasn't because of something he'd done for me. As I thought about it, Robin called back.

"Hi, how's the little girl?"

"I may have pinned down what's happening to her, but I'm worried it may have made things worse for her."

"How could that be?"

I told her.

She said, "Have you told Milo yet?"

"I just tried to reach him and he's been called into the deputy chief's office. He's been free-lancing for me on the department computer. I hope it didn't mess him up."

"Oh," she said. "Well, he can handle himself-he's shown that."

"What a mess," I said. "This case is bringing back too many memories, Robin. All those years at the hospital-eighty-hour weeks and all the suffering you can eat. So much garbage I couldn't do anything about. The doctors weren't always effective either, but at least they had their pills and their scalpels. All I had were words and nods and meaningful pauses and some fancy behavioral technology that I rarely got a chance to use. Half the time I walked around the wards feeling like a carpenter with bad tools."

She said nothing.

"Yeah, I know," I said. "Self-pity's a bore."

"You can't suckle the world, Alex."

"Now there's an image for you."

"I mean it. You're as masculine as they come but sometimes I think you're a frustrated mother-wanting to feed everyone. Take care of everything. That can be good-look at all the people you've helped. Including Milo, but-"

"Milo?"

"Sure. Look at what he's got to deal with. A gay cop in a department that denies there's any such thing. Officially, he doesn't exist. Think of the alienation, day in and day out. Sure he's got Rick, but that's his other world. Your friendship's a connection for him-an extension to the rest of the world."

"I'm not his friend out of charity, Robin. It's no big political thing. I just like him as a human being."

"Exactly. He knows the kind of friend you are-he once told me it took him six months to get used to having a straight friend. Someone who would just take him at face value. Told me he hadn't had a friend like that since junior high. He also appreciates the fact that you don't play therapist with him. That's why he extends himself for you. And if he's gotten in trouble because of it, he can deal with it. Lord knows he's dealt with worse- Oops, gotta turn off the saw. That's all the profundity you get out of me today."

"When did you get so wise?"

"It's always been there, Curly. You just have to have your eyes open."

Alone again, I felt like jumping out of my skin. I called my service. Four messages: a lawyer asking me to consult on a child custody case, someone with an M.B.A. promising to help me build my practice, the county psychological a.s.sociation wanting to know if I was going to attend the next monthly meeting and, if so, did I want chicken or fish. The last, from Lou Cestare, letting me know he'd found nothing new on George Plumb's former employers but would keep trying.

I tried Milo again, on the off chance he'd returned from the deputy chief's office. Charles Flannery's voice came on and I hung up.

What was Stephanie up to, meeting with Huenengarth?

Just malignant careerism or had someone leaned on her, too-the old drunk-driving arrest.

Or maybe her drinking wasn't ancient history. What if the drinking was still out of control and they were exploiting that?

Exploiting while grooming her for division head?