Devil’s Waltz. By: Jonathan Kellerman

the other study the institute had funded.

Zimberg, Walter William. University of Maryland, Baltimore.

Something to do with statistics in scientific research.

The med school? Mathematics? Public health?

I got the university’s number and called it. No Zimbergs on the

medical school faculty. Same at the math department.

At Public Health a male voice answered.

“Professor Zimberg, please.”

“Zimberg? No such person here.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I must have gotten the wrong information. Do you

have a faculty roster handy?”

“One moment. . . I’ve got a Professor Walter Zimberg but he’s in the

Department of Economics.”

“Could you please connect me to his office?”

Click. Female voice: “Professor Zimberg, please.”

“Hold, please.”

Click. Another female voice: “Professor Zimberg’s office.”

“Professor Zimberg, please.”

“I’m afraid he’s out of town, sir.”

I threw out a guess: “Is he over in Washington?”

……. Who is this, please?”

“Professor Schweitzer, an old colleague. Is Wal-Professor Zimberg at

the convention?”

“What convention is that, sir?”

“National Association of Biostatisticians over at the Capital Hilton?

I heard he was going to present some new data on nonparametrics. The

study the Ferris Dixon Institute’s funding.”

“I’m- The professor should be calling in soon, sir. Why don you give

me your number and I’ll have him get back to you.

Appreciate the offer,” I said, “but I’m about to hop on a plane

myself. That’s why I didn’t make the convention. Did the professor write up an

abstract on his paper before he left? Something I could read when I

get back?”

“You’d have to talk to the professor about that.”

“When do you expect him back?”

Actually,” she said, “the professor’s on sabbatical.”

“No kidding? I didn’t hear that. . . . Well, he’s due, isn’t he?

Where’s he off to?”

“Various places, Professor.

“Schweitzer.”

“Various places, Professor Schweitzer. However, as I said, he does

call in frequently. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll have

him get back to you.”

Repeating, almost word for word, what she’d just said a minute ago. Word for word what another friendly female voice had said, five minutes

ago, speaking from the hallowed offices of the Ferris Dixon Institute

for Chemical Research.

To hell with Alexander Graham Bell.

I drove back to some hallowed halls I could see and touch.

There was one parking meter free near the university administration

building. I went to the registrar’s office and asked an Indian clerk

in a peach-colored said to look up Dawn Kent Herbert.

“Sorry, sir, we don’t give out personal information.”

I flashed my clinical faculty card from the med school across town. “I

don’t want anything personal-just need to know in which department

she’s enrolled. It has to do with a job. Verification of

education.”

The clerk read the card, had me repeat Herbert’s name, and walked

away.

A moment later she returned. “I show her as a graduate student in the

School of Public Health, sir. But her enrollment’s been terminated.”

I knew Public Health was in the Health Sciences building, but I’d never

actually been there. Shoving more money in the meter, I headed toward

south campus, passing the Psych building, where I’d learned to train

rats and listen with the third ear, crossing the Science quad, and

entering the Center at the west end, near the Dental School.

The long hall that led to Public Health was a quick jog from the

library, where I’d just studied Ashmore’s academic history. Walls on

both sides were lined with group photos of every class the medical

school had graduated. Brand-new doctors looking like kids. The

white-coats milling in the halls seemed just as young. By the time I

reached the School of Public Health, the corridor had quieted. A woman

was leaving the main office. I caught the door for her and stepped

in.

Another counter, another clerk working in cramped space. This one was

very young, black, with straightened hennaed hair and a smile that

seemed real. She wore a fuzzy lime-green sweater with a

yellow-and-pink parrot embroidered on it. The bird was smiling too.

“I’m Dr. Delaware from Western Pediatric Hospital. One of your

graduate students worked at our hospital and I’d like to know who her

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