“Sure.”
“When would be a good time?”
“With or without... H-E-R?”
“Without, if possible.”
“Then it would have to be when she’s asleep. She generally naps from one to two or two-thirty then goes down for the night at seven or eight. How about eight, in order to play it safe? If that’s not too late for you.”
“Eight’s fine.”
“Chip will probably be able to be here, too — that should be good, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “See you then.”
She touched my arm. “Thanks for everything, and I’m really sorry. I know you’ll help us get through this.”
Back on Topanga, I pulled into the first gas station I saw and used the pay phone to call Milo at work.
“Perfect timing,” he said. “Just got off the phone with Fort Jackson. Seems little Cindy was sick all right. And back in ’83. But not pneumonia or meningitis. Gonorrhea. They drummed her out because of it, on an ELS — entry-level status. That means she served less than a hundred and eighty days and they wanted to get rid of her before they had to pay benefits.”
“Just because of a dose?”
“A dose plus what led up to it. Seems during the four months she was there, she set some kind of record for sexual promiscuity. So if she’s fooling around on hubby, that just means she’s being consistent.”
“Promiscuity,” I said. “I just finished my home visit and this was the first time I got a sense of her sexuality. I arrived early, on purpose — curious about why she didn’t want me out there until two-thirty. She’d let her hair down. Literally. Was wearing short shorts and a T-shirt with no bra.”
“Coming on to you?”
“No. In fact she seemed really uncomfortable. A few minutes later she spilled some dirt on her clothes, hurried off to change and came back dowdied up.”
“Maybe you just missed her boyfriend.”
“Could be. She told me one-to-two was Cassie’s nap time and Chip teaches a class that day from twelve to two, so what better time for an affair? And the bedroom smelled of disinfectant.”
“Masking the smell of love,” he said. “You didn’t see anyone? Pass any cars speeding away?”
“Just the pool man pulling out of the driveway next door — Oh, shit, you don’t think?”
“Sure I do.” He laughed. “I see the worst in everyone.” More laughter. “The pool man. Now there’s your basic SoCal thang.”
“He was next door, not at her house.”
“So what? It’s not unusual for those guys to service several pools on one block — that far out of town, he might do the whole damned neighborhood. More ways than one. Do the Joneses have a pool?”
“Yes, but it was covered.”
“Get a look at Mr. Chlorine?”
“Young, tan, ponytail. The sign on his truck said ValleyBrite Pool Service, with an I-T-E.”
“He see you pull up?”
“Yup. He stopped short, stuck his head out the window and stared, then gave this big grin with the thumb-up sign.”
“Friendly, huh? Even if he’d just screwed her, he may not be the only one. Back in the army she was no nun.”
“How’d you find out about it?”
“Wasn’t easy. The army buries stuff just on principle. Charlie spent a lot of time trying to get into her file and couldn’t. Finally, I swallowed my pride and called the colonel — only for you, bucko.”
“Much appreciated.”
“Yeah... To his credit, the asshole didn’t gloat. Hooked me right up with an unlisted military number in D.C. Some kind of archive. They had no details — just name, rank, serial number, and her ELS designation, but I was lucky to get a records officer who’d done rice-paddy duty same time as me, and I convinced him to call South Carolina and find me someone to talk to. He came up with a female captain who’d been a corporal back when Cindy was a grunt. She remembered Cindy very well. Seems our gal was the talk of the barracks.”
“It’s an all-female base,” I said. “Are we talking lesbian promiscuity?”
“Nope. She messed around in town — used to go on leave and party in the local bars. It ended, according to this captain, when Cindy hooked up with a bunch of teenagers and one of them happened to be the son of a local big shot. She gave him the clap. Mayor paid a visit to the base commander, and bye-bye. Sordid little tale, huh? Any relevance to the Munchausen thing?”
“Promiscuity’s not part of the profile, but if you consider it another form of attention seeking, I guess it would be consistent. Also, Munchausens often report incest in childhood, and promiscuity could be another reaction to that. What definitely fits the profile is early experience with serious illness, and V.D. wasn’t her first. The aunt who raised her was diabetic.”
“Sugar screw-up. Interesting.”
“Wait, there’s more.” I told him about finding the Insujects and showing them to Cindy.
“I thought it might be the confrontation we’ve been waiting for. But she didn’t show any guilt or anxiety. Just puzzlement about what they were doing beneath the sink. She said they were leftovers from the aunt — something she thought she’d gotten rid of when she cleaned out the aunt’s house after she died. But there was no dust on the box, so that’s probably another lie.”
“How long ago did the aunt die?”
“Four years. The doctor the samples were sent to was the aunt’s physician and boss.”
“Name?”
“Ralph Benedict. Hell, for all I know, he’s the mystery lover. Who’d be better at faking illnesses than a doctor? And we know she goes for older men — she married one.”
“Younger ones too.”
“Yeah. But it makes sense, doesn’t it — a doctor boyfriend? Benedict could be supplying her with drugs and apparatus. Coaching her in faking illness.”
“What’s his motive?”
“True love. He sees the kids as encumbrances, wants to get rid of them and have Cindy all to himself. Maybe with some of Chip’s money thrown in. As an M.D., he’d know how to set it up. Know how to be careful. Because two kids from one family dying, one right after another, is suspicious, but if the deaths were different and each looked medically valid, it could be pulled off.”
“Ralph Benedict,” he said. “I’ll check with the medical board.”
“Cindy grew up in Ventura. He might still be there.”
“What’s the name of the company who shipped him these cylinders?”
“Holloway Medical. San Francisco.”
“Let’s see what else they sent him and when. Cylinders — like empty tubes?”
“They’re part of a kit.” I described the Insuject system.
“No needles or drugs under the sink?”
“Nope, the needles and the insulin spansules come separately.” I recounted my search of the bedroom and the refrigerator. “But they could be anywhere in that house. Any possibility of getting a search warrant now?”
“Just on the basis of tubes? Doubtful. With needles attached and the insulin all loaded up, maybe. That would be evidence of premeditation, though she could still claim the stuff was left over from the aunt.”
“Not if the insulin was still fresh. I’m not sure of insulin’s exact shelf life, but it’s not four years.”
“Yeah. So find me some fresh insulin and I’ll visit a judge. Right now, there’s no evidentiary chain.”
“Even with Cassie’s low sugar?”
“Even with. Sorry. Wonder why she left it under the sink like that.”
“She probably never imagined anyone would look there. It was stuck in a corner — you’d have to be groping around to find it.”
“And she wasn’t pissed at all that you were snooping in her john?”