Devil’s Waltz. By: Jonathan Kellerman

handled by the administration. A physician gets muraired and no one

even bothers to send around a memo. Not that aired and no one even

bothers to send around a memo. Not that they’re paper-shy when it

comes to disseminating their directives.”

“I know,” I said. “I happened to read one. On the door of the

library.”

He scowled and his mustache flared. “What library?”

“I saw that too.”

“Sucks,” he said. “Every time I have research to do I’ve got to drive

over to the med school.”

We walked across the lobby and came up against the queues.

One of the doctors noticed a patient waiting in line, said “I’ll join

you in a moment,” and left the group to greet the child.

“Don’t miss the meeting,” Kornblatt called after her, without breaking

step. When we were clear of the crowd, he said, “No library, no Psych

department, no overhead for grants, total hiring freeze.

Now, there’s talk about more cutbacks in all departments-straight

across the board. Entropy. The bastards probably plan to tear the

place down and sell the real estate.”

“Not in this market.”

“No, I’m serious, Alex. We don’t make money and these are bottom-line

people. Pave it over, put in lots of parking lots.>ø “Well,” I said,

“they might start by paving the ones across the street.”

“Don’t hold your breath. We arepeoffs to these guys. Just another

form of service staff” “How’d they get control?”

“Jones-the new chairman-was managing the hospital’s investments.

Supposedly did a really good job, so when hard times got harder the

board claimed they needed a financial pro and voted him in. He, in

turn, fired all the old administration and brought in his own army.”

Another crowd milled near the doors. Lots of tapping feet, weary head

shakes, and needless punches of the buttons. Two of the lifts were

stuck on upper floors. An OUT OF ORDER sign was taped across the door

of the third.

“Onward, troops,” said Kornblatt, pointing to the stairwell and

increasing his pace to a near-run. All of them vaulted the first

flight with the zest of triathlon junkies. When we got to the top,

Kornblatt was bouncing like a boxer.

“Go, team!” he said, pushing the door open.

The auditorium was a few paces down. A couple of doctors were lounging

near the entrance, which was topped by a handwritten banner that said

ASHMORE MEMORIAL.

I said, “Whatever happened to Kent Herbert?”

Kornblatt said, “Who?”

“Herbert. The toxicologist. Didn’t he work with Ashmore?”

“I didn’t know anyone worked with Ashmore. The guy was a loner, a

real-” He stopped himself. “Herbert? No, can’t say I remember him.”

We entered the big fan-shaped lecture hall; rows of gray cloth seats

sloped sharply to a wooden lecture pit. A dusty green board on wheels

stood at the rear of the pit. The upholstery on the seats was dingy

and some of the cushions were tattered. The light, fluctuating hum of

occasional conversation filled the room.

The auditorium held at least five hundred chairs but no more than

seventy were occupied. The spotty attendance gave it the look of a

pass-fail class. Kornblatt and his entourage headed down toward the

front of the room, shaking hands and trading a few high-fives along the

way. I hung back and sat by myself in the uppermost row.

Lots of white coats-full-time staffers. But where were the private

practitioners? Unable to attend on short notice or choosing to stay

away? Western Feds had always suffered from town-gown tension, but the

full-timers and the physicians out in “the real world” had always

managed to achieve a grudging symbiosis.

As I looked around some more, I was struck by another scarcity: gray

heads. Where were all the senior people I’d known?

Before I could mull that, a man holding a cordless microphone stepped

into the pit and called for quiet. Thirty-five; soft, pale baby face

under a big blond Afro. His white coat was slightly yellowed and too

big for him. Under it he wore a black shirt, and a brown knit tie.

He said, “Please,” and the hum died. A few beepers went off, then

silence.

“Thanks to all of you for coming. Could someone get the door?”

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