“After three straight days of this: nada. Guy’s got a court-appointed attorney against his will, and the lawyer’s screaming at us to make a case or let his client go. Our lieutenant is putting the pressure on — put up or shut up. So we keep digging. Zilch.
“At this point we begin to suspect we’ve been had, and confront the guy. He denies it. Really convincing — De Niro could have taken lessons. So we go over it again. Backtracking, double-checking, driving ourselves crazy. And still come up empty. Finally, we’re convinced it’s a scam, get overtly pissed off at the guy — major league bad-cop/bad-cop. He reacts by getting pissed off, too. But it’s an embarrassed kind of anger. Slimy. Like he knows he’s been found out and is being extra-indignant in order to put us on the defensive.”
He shook his head and hummed the Twilight Zone theme.
“What happened?” I said.
“What could happen? We let him walk out and never heard from the asshole again. We could have busted him for filing a false report, but that would have bought us lots of paperwork and court time, and for what? Lecture and a fine on a first offense knocked down to a misdemeanor? No, thank you. We were really steamed, Alex. I’ve never seen Del so mad. It had been a heavy week, plenty of real crimes, very few solutions. And this bastard yanks our chains with total bullshit.”
Remembered anger colored his face.
“Confessors,” he said. “Attention-seeking, jerking everyone around. Doesn’t that sound like your Munchausen losers?”
“Sounds a lot like them,” I said. “Never thought of it that way.”
“See? I’m a regular font of insight. Go on with your case.”
I told him the rest of it.
He said, “Okay, so what do you want? Background checks on the mother? Both parents? The nurse?”
“I hadn’t thought in those terms.”
“No? What, then?”
“I really don’t know, Milo. I guess I just wanted some counsel.”
He placed his hands atop his belly, bowed his head, and raised it. “Honorable Buddha on duty. Honorable Buddha counsels as following: Shoot all bad guys. Let some other deity sort them out.”
“Be good to know who the bad guys are.”
“Exactly. That’s why I suggested background checks. At least on your prime suspect.”
“That would have to be the mother.”
“Then she gets checked first. But as long as I’m punching buttons, I can throw in any others as a bonus. More fun than the payroll shit they’re punishing me with.”
“What would you check for?”
“Criminal history. It’s a police data bank. Will your lady doctor friend be in on the fact that I’m checking?”
“Why?”
“I like to know my parameters when I snoop. What we’re doing is technically a no-no.”
“No. Let’s keep her out of it — why put her in jeopardy?”
“Fine.”
“In terms of a criminal history,” I said, “Munchausens generally present as model citizens — just like your carpet cleaner. And we already know about the first child’s death. It’s been written off as SIDS.”
He thought. “There’d be a coroner’s report on that, but if no one had any suspicions of foul play, that’s about it. I’ll see what I can do about getting hold of the paperwork. You might even be able to do it yourself — check hospital records. If you can be discreet.”
“Don’t know if I can. The hospital’s a different place now.”
“In what way?”
“Lots more security — kind of heavy-handed.”
“Well,” he said, “you can’t fault that. That part of town’s gotten real nasty.”
He got up, went to the fridge, found an orange and began peeling it over the sink. Frowning.
I said, “What is it?”
“I’m trying to frame some strategy on this. Seems to me the only way to solve something like this would be to catch the bad guy in the act. The kid gets sick at home?”
I nodded.
“So the only way to do it would be to surveil their house electronically. Hidden audio and video. Trying to record someone actually poisoning the baby.”
“The Colonel’s games,” I said.
That made him frown.
“Yeah, exactly the kind of stuff that prick would delight in... He moved, you know.”
“Where?”
“Washington, D.C. Where else? New enterprise for him. Corporation with one of those titles that tells you nothing about what it does. Ten to one he’s living off the government. I got a note and a business card in the mail a while back. Congrats for entering the informational age and some free software to do my taxes.”
“He knew what you were doing?”
“Evidently. Anyway, back to your baby-poisoner. Bugging her house. Unless you got a court order, anything you came up with would be inadmissible. But a court order means strong evidence, and all you’ve got are suspicions. Not to mention the fact that Grandpa’s a pooh-bah, and you’ve got to tread extra carefully.”
He finished peeling the orange, put it down, washed his hands, and began pulling apart the sections. “This one may be a heartbreaker — please don’t tell me how cute the kid is.”
“The kid’s adorable.”
“Thank you very much.”
I said, “There were a couple of cases in England, reported in one of the pediatrics journals. They videotaped mothers smothering babies, and all they had were suspicions.”
“They taped at home?”
“In the hospital.”
“Big difference. And for all I know, the law’s different in England... Let me think on it, Alex. See if there’s anything creative we can do. In the meantime I’ll start playing with local records, NCIC, on the off chance that any of them has been naughty before, and we can build up something to get a warrant. Old Charlie’s taught me well — you should see me ride those data bases.”
“Don’t put yourself in jeopardy,” I said.
“Don’t worry. The preliminary searches are no more than what an officer does every time he pulls someone over for a traffic stop. If and when I dig deeper, I’ll be careful. Have the parents lived anyplace other than L.A.?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t know much about them, better start learning.”
“Yeah, you dig your trench; I’ll dig mine.” He hunched over the counter, thinking out loud: “They’re upper-crusties, which could mean private schools. Which is tough.”
“The mother might be a public school girl. She doesn’t come across as someone who was born to money.”
“Social climber?”
“No, just simple. He’s a college teacher. She might have been one of his students.”
“Okay,” he said, opening his note pad. “What else? Maybe military service for him, maybe officer’s training — another tough nut to crack. Charlie has managed to hack into some of the military files, but nothing fancy, just V.A. benefits, cross-referencing, that kind of stuff.”
“What do you guys do, play around with confidential data banks?”
“More like he plays, I watch. Where does the father teach?”
“West Valley Community College. Sociology.”
“What about mom? Any job?”
“No, she’s a full-time mom.”
“Takes her job seriously, huh. Okay, give me a name to work with.”
“Jones.”
He looked at me.
I nodded.
His laughter was deep and loud, almost drunken.