Devil’s Waltz. By: Jonathan Kellerman

It soon became obvious that a system did exist. The slips had been

classified by date of request, each stack representing a month, each

piece of paper placed in daily chronological order. Five stacks

because this was May.

No shortcuts-every slip had to be examined. And if Chad Jones’s chart

had been checked out before January I, the form wouldn’t be here at

all.

I began reading the names of dead children. Pretending they were just

random assemblages of letters.

A moment later I found what I was looking for, in the February stack.

A slip dated February 54 and signed by someone with very poor

penmanship. I studied the cramped scrawl, finally deciphered the last

name as Herbert. D. Kent Herbert, or maybe it was Dr Kent Herbert.

Other than the signature, the date, and a hospital phone extension, the

slip was blank; POSITION/TIME, DEPARTMENT REASON FOR REQUEST hadn’t

been filled out. I copied the extension and thanked the woman behind

the counter.

“Everything okay?” she said.

“Do you have any idea who this is?”

She came over and peered at the form.

“Habert. . . no. I just work here one month.” Another smile.

“Good hospital,” she said cheerfully.

I began to wonder if she had any idea what she was filing.

“Do you have a hospital directory?”

She looked confused.

A hospital phone book-the little orange ones?”

Ah.” She bent and produced one from under the counter.

No Herberts in the medical roster. In the following section, listing

nonmedical staff, I found a Ronald Herbert, tagged as Assistant Food

Services Manager. But the extension didn’t match the one on the slip

and I couldn’t see a catering specialist having an interest in sudden

infant death.

I thanked her and left. Just before the door closed, I heard her say,

“Come again, Doctor.”

I retraced my steps through the sub-basement, passing Laurence

Ashmore’s office again. The door was still closed and when I stopped

to listen, I thought I heard movement on the other side.

I kept going, looking for a phone, finally spotted a pay unit just past

the elevators. Before I got to it the elevator door opened and Presley

Huenengarth stood there, looking at me. He hesitated, then walked out

of the lift. Standing with his back to me, he removed a pack of

Winstons from his suit pocket and took a long time cracking the seal.

The elevator door started to shut. I checked it with the heel of my

hand and got on. The last thing I saw before it closed was the

security man’s placid stare behind a rising cloud of smoke.

Alter riding up to the first floor I used an in-house phone near

Radiation Therapy to dial D. Kent Herbert’s extension. The hospital’s

main switchboard answered.

“Western Pediatrics.”

“I was dialing extension two-five-oh-six.”

“One moment and I’ll connect you, sir.” A series of clicks and

mechanical burps, then: “Sorry, sir, that extension’s been

disconnected.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Any idea whose extension it was?”

“No, sir. Who were you trying to reach?”

“D. Kent Herbert.”

“Is that a doctor?”

“I don’t know.”

Pause. “One moment. . . The only Herbert I have listed is Ronald, in

Food Services. Would you like me to connect you?”

“Why not?”

Five rings.

“Ron Herbert.” Crisp voice.

“Mr. Herbert, this is Medical Records, calling about the chart you

requisitioned?”

“Come again?”

“The medical chart you checked out in February? From SPI?”

“You must have the wrong guy, pal. This is the cafeteria.”

“You never requested an SPI chart on February 54 of this year?”

laughter. “Now why the heck would I do that?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No prob. Hope you find what you’re after.”

I hung up, took the stairs to the ground floor and entered the throng

in the lobby. Easing my way through hard-packed bodies, I made it to

the Information counter and, after spotting a hospital directory near

the clerk’s hand, slid it toward me.

The clerk, a dyed-blond black woman, was answering a Spanish-speaking

man’s question in English. Both of them looked tired and the acid of

strife embittered the air. The clerk noticed the book in my hand and

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