“The poor Ramos kid.”
I nodded. “Even if Daney didn’t murder anyone else, if he was the father of her child, he’s responsible, on some level, for her death.”
He popped his beer but didn’t drink. “So how do I find out?”
“How about this: I could try to talk to Leticia Hollings and Beth Scoggins. Couch it as a general inquiry into foster care. If they mention or hint about being exploited, I’ll have a clear obligation to notify the police.”
“Any police in particular?”
“In a pinch, you’ll do.”
He smiled weakly. “The problem is, Alex, if you approach them as a police surrogate, the confidentiality thing will still get in the way of a criminal investigation.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I began as a police consultant but veered off to independent research.”
“Thought that was a cover story.”
“It could be real.”
He looked up. “How so?”
“I learned about Lee Ramos’s suicide working with you and got intrigued on an intellectual level.”
“Intrigued about what?”
“The relationship between foster care and suicide. The articles I published years ago on stress and abuse would make it a natural.”
“You still do research?”
“Haven’t for a while, but I’m a full professor and full professors get to do what they want.”
“When did you get promoted?”
“Last year.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“No big deal,” I said. “It’s a clinical appointment. What it boils down to is once in a while they ask me to supervise an intern or a grad student, serve on an ad hoc committee, or read a research proposal.”
“You get paid for that?”
“No,” I said. “It’s my way of giving back.” I formed a halo with my hands and held it over my head.
“What a guy,” he said. “You don’t look a day over associate professor.”
His phone beeped. “Sturgis. Oh hi… yeah, long time… you’re kidding. That’s great. Thanks a mill. I owe you big time.”
Wide smile. Long time since I’d seen that.
“That was Coroner’s Investigator Nancy Martino, R.N. She found tissue samples from Kristal Malley’s autopsy stored in a cooler. Kidney and stomach sections. Some of it looks degraded but there might be enough for analysis. They’ll hold it until I give them the word.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
“For what it’s worth.” His smile died.
“Now what?”
“What’s the DNA really gonna do, Alex? Confirm what we already know from the eye color: The cowboy wasn’t Kristal’s daddy. What it won’t accomplish is get me any closer to Malley for Rand. Or to Daney for whatever bad stuff he did.”
He tapped a calypso beat against the beer bottle. “Two bad guys, no leads, life is beautiful.”
“Better than no bad guys.”
“How comforting,” he said. “You must be a therapist.”
CHAPTER 33
I copied down Leticia Hollings’s phone number in Temecula and Milo got Elisabeth Mia Scoggins’s last-known address from the DMV in Santa Monica; it matched a phone book listing for Scoggins, E.
Chucking his beer bottle, he saw himself out.
Beth Scoggins lived in an apartment on Twentieth Street near Pico. Low-rent section of the beach city, but the thought that she’d achieved some sort of independence was encouraging.
It was seven-fifteen p.m. Allison’s office was on Montana, the high-rent north end of Santa Monica. I knew she was booked with patients until nine but her usual dinner break was at eight. If I managed to set up a meeting with Beth Scoggins, maybe I’d have time to drop in later…
Mr. Halo.
A young woman picked up the phone, sounding wary.
“Ms. Scoggins?”
“This is Beth.”
I gave her my name and my title, asked if she’d be willing to talk about her experiences in foster care.
“How’d you find me?” she said.
Panic in her voice made me want to back down. But that might scare her more. “I’m doing research- ”
“Is this… is this some kind of rip-off?”
“No, I really am a psychol- ”
“What research? What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry if- ”
“What research?”
“The stresses of foster care.”
Silence.
“I consult to the police and a young woman who was cared for by the same people who cared for you was found- ”
“Cared for? Is that what you said? Cared for? What’s your name?”
I told her.
Scratching sounds; copying it down.
“Ms. Scog- ”
“You shouldn’t be calling me. This is wrong.”
Click.
I sat there feeling dirty. Plenty of time to drop in on Allison now, but I was in no mood to be social. Logging onto my med school computer account, I ran an Ovid search on suicide and foster care, found no objective studies, only suggestions that kids taken out of their homes were at risk for all kinds of problems.
Gee thanks, academia.
I thought of calling Beth Scoggins back. Couldn’t see any way that wouldn’t make things worse. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. Give her time to consider…
By eight I was starting to feel the need to eat. Not hunger, more like an obligation to keep my blood sugar up. Maybe I’d be useful to someone.
As I was contemplating canned soup versus tuna, Robin called.
The sound of her voice tightened my scalp.
“Hey,” I said. Eloquent.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay,” she said. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Alex, but I felt it was the right thing to do. Spike’s not doing so great.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Age. He’s got arthritis in his hind legs- you remember the left one was always a little dysplastic? Now it’s really weak. Also, his thyroid function’s low and his energy level’s flagging, I have to put medicine in his eyes, and his night vision’s just about gone. All the other tests are normal except for a slight enlargement of his heart. The vet says it’s understandable, given his age. For a Frenchie, he’s a real old guy.”
The last time I’d seen Spike, he’d hurled his twenty-six pounds three feet in the air and come down insouciant. “Poor little guy.”
“He’s not the same dog you’d remember, Alex. Lies around most of the day and he’s gotten pretty passive. With everyone, even strange men.”
“That’s a switch.”
“I just thought you should know. He’s getting good care, but… no buts. That’s it. I thought you should know.”
“Appreciate it,” I said. “Glad you found a good vet up there.”
“I’m talking about Dr. Rich.”
“You’re back in L.A.?”
“Have been,” she said. “For a month.”
“Permanently?”
“Maybe… I don’t want to get into that. I can’t honestly say how much longer Spike’s got. This seems better than calling you one day with bad news and have you not prepared.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I mean it.”
“If you’d like, you can come see him. Or I can bring him over sometime.” Pause. “If Allison doesn’t mind.”
“Allison wouldn’t mind.”
“No, she’s sweet.”
“How are you doing?” I said.
“Not great.” A beat. “Tim and I are over.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s for the best,” she said. “But this really isn’t about that, it’s about Spike, so if you do want to see him…”
“I’d like to if you think it would be helpful for him. Last time I dropped by he was pretty eager to have you to himself.”
“That was ages ago, Alex. He’s really not the same dog. And deep down he loves you. I think competing with you for my attention gave him a reason to get up in the morning. The challenge of another alpha male.”