“We can work around it,” I said. “It just would have been nice to
have.”
“Shame,” said Ben. “Sorry we can’t help you. The police took all her
stuff and I didn’t see any medical chart in there. Not that I was
looking that close.”
“What about the things she stole?”
“No,” said Bobby, “no charts there, either. Not too thorough of the
cops not to find it, huh? But let me just check, to make suremaybe
inside the flaps or something.”
She went into the kitchen and came back shortly with a shoebox and a
strip of paper. “Empty-this here’s the picture she laid on top.
Like she was staking her claim.”
I took the photo. One of those black-and-white, four-fora-quarter
self-portraits you get out of a bus terminal machine. Four versions of
a face that had once been pretty, now padded with suet and marred by
distrust. Straight dark hair, big dark eyes. Bruised eyes. I started
to hand it back. Bobby said, “You keep it. I don’t want it.
I took another look at the photo before pocketing it. Four identical
poses, grim and watchful.
“Sad,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Bobby, “she never smiled much.”
“Maybe,” said Ben, “she left it at her office at the U-the chart, I
mean.”
“Do you know what department she was in?”
“No, but she had an extension there that sshe gave us.
Two-twothree-eight, right?”
“Think so,” said Bobby.
I took paper and pen out of my briefcase and copied that down.
“She was a doctoral student?”
“She gave a name for a reference,” said Bobby, “but to tell the truth
we never called it.”
Sheepish smile.
“Things were tight,” said Ben. “We wanted to get a tenant quickly, and
she looked okay.”
“The only boss she ever talked about was the guy at the hospital-the
one who got killed. But she never mentioned him by name.”
Ben nodded. “She didn’t like him much.”
“Why’s that?”
“I dunno. She never went into details-just said he was an asshole,
really picky, and she was gonna quit. Then she did, back in
February.”
“Did she get another job?”
“Not that she told us about,” said Bobby.
Any idea how she paid her bills?”
“Nope, but she always had money to spend.”
Ben gave a sick smile.
Bobby said, “What?”
“Her and her boss. She hated him but now they’re both in the same
boat. L.A. got em.”
Bobby shuddered and ate a muffin.
Learning about Dawn Herbert’s murder and her penchant for stealing got
me thinking.
I’d assumed she’d pulled Chad’s chart for Laurence Ashmore.
But what if she’d done it for herself because she’d learned something
damaging to the Jones family and planned to profit from it?
And now she was dead.
I drove to the fish store, bought a forty-pound bag of koi food, and
asked ill could use the phone to make a local call. The kid behind the
counter thought for a while, looked at the total on the register, and
said, “Over there,” pointing to an old black dial unit on the wall.
Next to it was a big saltwater aquarium housing a small leopard
shark.
A couple of goldfish thrashed at the water’s surface. The shark glided
peacefully. Its eyes were steady and blue, almost as pretty as Vicki
Bottomley’s.
I called Parker Center. The man who answered said Milo wasn’t there
and he didn’t know when he’d be back.
“Is this Charlie?” I said.
“No.”
Click.
I dialed Milo’s home number. The kid behind the counter was watching
me. I smiled and gave him the one-minute index finger while listening
to the rings.
Peggy lee delivered the Blue Investigations pitch. I said, “Dawn
Herbert was murdered in March. Probably March 9, somewhere downtown,
near a punk music club. The investigating detective was named Ray
Gomez. I should be at the hospital within an hour-you can have me
paged if you want to talk about it.”
I hung up and started walking out. A froth of movement caught the
corner of my eye and I turned toward the aquarium. Both the goldfish
were gone.
The Hollywood part of Sunset was weekend-quiet. The banks and
entertainment firms preceding Hospital Row were closed, and a scatter