Whittier.
“Didn’t know research paid that well,” he said.
“It doesn’t. Ashmore must have had some sort of independent income.
That would explain why the hospital hired him at a time when they’re
getting rid of doctors and discouraging research grants.
He probably brought some kind of endowment with him.”
“Paid his way in?”
“It happens.”
“Let me ask you this,” he said. “In terms of your
Ashmoregetting-curious theory. Cassie’s been in and out of the
hospital since she was born. Why would he wait until February to start
snooping?”
“Good question,” I said. “Hold on for a sec.”
I went to the library and fetched the notes I’d taken on Cassie’s
medical history. Milo had sat down at the table and I joined him,
turning pages.
“Here we are,” I said. “February so. Four days before Herbert pulled
Chad’s chart. It was Cassie’s second hospitalization for stomach
problems. The diagnosis was gastric distress of unknown origin,
possible sepsis-the main symptom was bloody diarrhea. Which could have
made Ashmore think of some specific kind of poisoning.
Maybe his toxicology training overcame his apathy.”
“Not enough for him to talk to Stephanie.”
“True.”
“So maybe he looked and didn’t find anything.”
“Then why not return the chart?” I said.
“Sloppy housekeeping. Herbert was supposed to but didn’t.
Knew she was leaving and didn’t give a damn about her paperwork.”
“When I see her I’ll ask her.”
“Yeah. Who knows, maybe she’ll give you a ride in her Miata.”
“Zoom zoom,” I said. Anything new on Reginald Bottomley?”
“Not yet. Fordebrand-the Foothill guy-is on vacation, so I’ve got a
call in to the guy who’s catching for him. Let’s hope he
cooperates.”
He put the Coke down. Tension wounded his face and I thought I knew
why. He was wondering if the other detective knew who he was. Would
bother to return his call.
“Thanks,” I said. “For everything.”
“De naaa.” He shook the can. Empty. Leaning on the counter with both
elbows, he faced me.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
“You sound low. Beaten down.”
“Guess I am-all this theorizing and Cassie’s no safer.”
“Know what you mean,” he said. “Best thing’s to stay focused, not
drift too far afield. It’s a risk on cases with bad solve-prospectsGod
knows I’ve had plenty of them. You feel powerless, start throwing wild
punches and end up no wiser and a helluva lot older.”
He left shortly after that and I called Cassie’s hospital room. It was
after nine and direct access to patients had been cut off. I
identified myself to the hospital operator and was put through. Vicki
answered.
“Hi, it’s Dr. Delaware.”
“Oh. . . what can I do for you?”
“How’s everything?”
Are you in Cassies room?”
“No out here.”
At the desk?”
“Yes.”
How’s Cassie ~~~~g~~~ “Sleeping?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about Cindy?”
“Her too.”
“Busy day for everyone, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Has Dr. Eves been by recently?”
Around eight-you want the exact time?”
“No, thanks. Anything new, in terms of the hypoglycemia?”
“You’d have to ask Dr. Eves that.”
“No new seizures?”
“Nope.”
All right,” I said. “Tell Cindy I called. I’ll be by tomorrow.”
She hung up. Despite her hostility, I felt a strange-almost
corrupt-sense of power. Because I knew about her unhappy past and she
was unaware of it. Then I realized that what I knew put me no closer
to the truth.
Far afield, Milo said.
I sat there, feeling the power diminish.
The next morning I woke up to clean spring light. I jogged a couple of
miles, ignoring the pain in my knees and fixing my thoughts on the
evening with Robin.
Afterward I showered, fed the fish, and read the paper while eating
breakfast. Nothing more on the Ashmore homicide.
I called Information, trying to match a phone number to the address
Milo had given me for Dawn Herbert. None was listed and neither of the
two other Herberts residing in Culver City knew any Dawn.
I hung up, not sure it made much of a difference. Even if I located
her, what explanation would I use to ask her about Chad’s file?
I decided to concentrate on the job I’d been trained to do.
Dressing and clipping my hospital badge to my lapel, I left the house,