When they were inside I said, “Folderol?”
“How’d you like to have him for a grandpa?”
“He must love Chip’s earring.”
“One thing he doesn’t love is shrinks. After Psychiatry was abolished a bunch of us went to him, trying to get some sort of mental health services restored. We might as well have asked him for an interest-free loan. Plumb was setting you up just now, when he told Jones what you do.”
“The old corporate pissing game? Why?”
“Who knows? I’m just telling you so you’ll keep your guard up. These people play a different game.”
“Duly noted,” I said.
She looked at her watch. “Time for clinic.”
We left Chappy and headed for the elevator.
She said, “So what are we going to do, Alex?”
I considered telling her what I’d put Milo up to. Decided to keep her out of it. “From my reading, the only thing that seems to work is either catching someone in the act or having a direct confrontation that gets them to confess.”
“Confrontation? As in coming out and accusing her?”
I nodded.
“I can’t exactly do that at this point, can I?” she said. “Now that she’s got witnesses to a bona fide seizure and I’m bringing in specialists. Who knows, maybe I’m totally off-base and there really is some kind of epilepsy, I don’t know... I received a letter from Rita this morning. Express mail from New York — she’s touring the art galleries. ‘How are things progressing on the case?’ Am I ‘making any headway’ in my ‘diagnosis?’ I got the feeling someone went around me and called her.”
“Plumb?”
“Uh-huh. Remember that meeting he wanted? We had it yesterday and it turned out to be all sweetness and light. Him telling me how much he appreciates my commitment to the institution. Letting me know the financial situation is lousy and going to get lousier but implying that if I don’t make waves, I can have a better job.”
“Rita’s.”
“He didn’t come out and say it but that was the message. It would be just like him to then go and call her, set her against me... Anyway, none of that’s important. What do I do about Cassie?”
“Why don’t you wait to see what this Torgeson says? If he feels the seizures have been manufactured, you’d have more ammunition for an eventual confrontation.”
“Confrontation, huh? Can’t wait.”
As we neared the waiting room I commented on how little impact Laurence Ashmore’s murder seemed to have made.
“What do you mean?”
“No one’s talking about it.”
“Yes. You’re right — it’s terrible, isn’t it. How hardened we get. Caught up in our own stuff.”
A few steps later she said, “I didn’t really know him — Ashmore. He kept to himself — kind of antisocial. Never attended a staff meeting, never RSVP’d to party invitations.”
“With those kinds of social skills, how’d he get any referrals?”
“He didn’t want referrals — didn’t do any clinical work. Pure research.”
“Lab rat?”
“Beady eyes and all. But I heard he was smart — knew his toxicology. So when Cassie started coming in with those respiratory things, I asked him to go over Chad’s chart.”
“You tell him why?”
“You mean that I was suspicious? No. I wanted him to go in with an open mind. I just asked him to look for anything out of the ordinary. He was very reluctant. Almost resentful — as if I was imposing. A couple of days later I got a phone message saying he hadn’t found anything. As in, don’t bug me again!”
“How’d he pay his way? Grants?”
“I assume.”
“I thought the hospital was discouraging them — didn’t want to pay overhead.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he brought in his own overhead.”
She frowned. “No matter what his social skills, what happened to him is horrible. There was a time, no matter how ugly things got out on the street, if you wore a white coat, or a steth around your neck, you were safe. Now that’s all broken down. Sometimes it feels as if everything’s breaking down.”
We reached the clinic. The waiting room was overflowing and as noisy as a steam drill.
She said, “Enough whining. No one’s forcing me. What I wouldn’t mind is some time off.”
“Why don’t you take some?”
“Got a mortgage.”
Several mothers waved at her and she returned the greetings. We passed through the door to the medical suite and headed for her office. A nurse said, “Morning, Dr. Eves. Your dance card is full.”
Stephanie smiled gamely. Another nurse came up and handed her a stack of charts.
She said, “Merry Christmas to you, too, Joyce,” and the nurse laughed and hurried off.
“See you,” I said.
“Sure. Thanks. Oh, by the way, I learned something else about Vicki. A nurse I used to work with on Four told me she thought Vicki had a bad family situation. Alcoholic husband who roughed her up quite a bit. So maybe she’s just a bit frayed — down on men. She still bugging you?”
“No. Actually we had a confrontation of our own and reached a truce of sorts.”
“Good.”
“She may be down on men,” I said. “But not on Chip.”
“Chip’s no man. He’s the boss’s son.”
“Touché,” I said. “An abusive husband might explain why I put her teeth on edge. She could have turned to a therapist for help, gotten nowhere, developed a resentment... Of course, major family stress could also lead her to act out in other ways — become a hero at work in order to raise her self-esteem. How’d she handle the seizure?”
“Competently. I wouldn’t call it heroic. She calmed Cindy down, made sure Cassie was okay, then called me. Cool under fire, everything by the book.”
“Textbook nurse, textbook case.”
“But like you said before, how could she be involved, when all the other crises started at home?”
“But this one didn’t. No, in all fairness, I can’t say I really suspect her of anything. It just twangs my antennae that her home life’s troubled and she comes over here and shines... I’m probably just focusing on her because she’s been such a pain.”
“Fun referral, huh?”
“High intrigue, just like you said.”
“I always keep my promises.” Another glance at her watch. “Got to get through my morning exams, then drive out to Century City to pick up Torgeson. Got to make sure his car doesn’t get caught up in the parking mess. Where’d they stick you?”
“Across the street, like everyone else.”
“Sorry.”
“Hey,” I said, feigning insult, “some of us are international hotshots and some of us park across the street.”
“Guy sounds like a cold fish over the phone,” she said, “but he is hot stuff — served on the Nobel Committee.”
“Hoo-hah.”
“Hoo-hah in spades. Let’s see if we can frustrate him too.”
I called Milo from a pay phone and left him another one-beep message: “Vicki Bottomley has a husband who drinks and may beat her up. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but could you please check if there are any domestic violence calls on record and if so, get me the dates?”
Textbook nurse...
Textbook Munchausen by proxy.
Textbook crib death.
Crib death evaluated by the late Dr. Ashmore.
The doctor who didn’t see patients.
Just a grisly coincidence, no doubt. Stick around any hospital long enough and grisly becomes routine. But, not knowing what else to do, I decided to have a closer look at Chad Jones’s chart myself.