wiped out.”
“Did she see the seizure?”
Stephanie nodded. “So did the unit clerk. Cindy pressed the call
button, then ran out of the room, crying for help.”
“When did Chip show up?”
“Soon as we had Cassie stabilized, Cindy called him at home and he came
right over. I guess it must have been around four-thirty.”
“Some night,” I said.
“Well, at least we’ve got outside corroboration of the seizures.
Kid’s definitely grand mal.”
“So now everyone knows Cindy’s not nuts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday she talked to me about people thinking she was crazy.”
“She actually said that?”
“Sure did. The context was her being the only one who saw Cassie get
sick, the way Cassie would recover as soon as she got to the
hospital.
As if her credibility was suspect. It could have been frustration, but
maybe she knows she’s under suspicion and was bringing it up to test my
reaction. Or just to play games.”
“How did you react?”
“Calm and reassuring, I hope.”
“Hmm,” she said, frowning. “One day she’s worrying about her
credibility; then all of a sudden we’ve got something organic to work
with?”
“The timing is awfully cute,” I said. “Who else besides Cindy was with
Cassie last night?”
“No one. Not constantly. You think she slipped her something?”
“Or pinched her nose. Or squeezed her neck-carotid sinus pressure.
Both came up when I was scanning the Munchausen literature and I’m sure
there are a few more tricks that haven’t been documented yet.”
“Tricks a respiratory tech might know. . . Damn. So how in blazes do
you detect something like that?”
She pulled her stethoscope from around her neck. Looped it around one
hand and unwrapped it. Facing the wall, she pressed her forehead to it
and closed her eyes.
Are you going to put her on anything?” I said. “Dilantin or
phenobarb?”
“I can’t. Because if she doesn’t have a bona fide disorder, meds can
do more harm than good.”
“Won’t they suspect something if you don’t medicate her?”
“Maybe. . . I’ll just tell them the truth. The E.E.G tracings are
inconclusive and I want to find the exact cause for the seizures before
I dose her up. Bogner’ll back me up on that-he’s mad because he can’t
figure it out.”
The teak doors swung open and George Plumb shot through, jaw leading,
white coat flapping. He held the door for a man in his late sixties
wearing a navy-blue pin-stripe suit. The man was much shorter than
Plumb-five six or seven-stocky and bald, with a rapid, bowlegged walk
and a malleable-looking face that appeared to have taken plenty of
direct hits: broken nose, off-center chin, grizzled eyebrows, small
eyes set in a sunburst pucker of wrinkles. He wore steel-rimmed
eyeglasses, a white shirt with a spread collat, and a powder-blue silk
tie fastened in a wide Windsor. His wingtips gleamed.
The two of them came straight to us. The short man looked busy even
when standing still.
“Dr. Eves,” said Plumb. And Dr. … Delaware, was it?”
I nodded.
The short man seemed to be opting out of the introductions. He was
looking around the ward-that same measuring appraisal Plumb had
conducted two days ago.
Plumb said, “How’s our little girl doing, Dr. Eves?”
“Resting,” said Stephanie, focusing on the short man. “Good morning,
Mr. Jones.”
Quick turn of the bald head. The short man looked at her, then at
me.
Intense focus. As if he were a tailor and I were a bolt of cloth.
“What exactly happened?” he said in a gravelly voice.
Stephanie said, “Cassie experienced an epileptic seizure early this
morning.”
“Damn.” The short man punched one hand with the other. And still no
idea what’s causing it?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid. last time she was admitted we ran every relevant
test, but we’re running them again and Dr. Bogner’s coming over.
There’s also a visiting professor from Sweden who’s arriving any
minute. Childhood epilepsy’s his specialty. Though when I spoke with
him on the phone he felt we’d done everything right.”
“Damn.” The puckered eyes turned on me. A hand shot out.
“ChuckJones.”
Alex Delaware.
We shook hard and fast. His palm felt like a rasp blade.