Dr. Death by Jonathan Kellerman

He chewed the cigar’s wooden tip, blew out acrid smoke. “You buy the whole Burke thing even though Fusco misrepresented himself?”

“When will you be going over to the Zoghbie crime scene?”

“Soon.”

“Wait till you see it. Everything fits. And Donovan and Bratz never dismissed Fusco’s findings, they’re just worried he’ll do something that makes the Bureau look bad. Fusco’s convinced Sharveneau and/or Burke murdered his daughter. Personal motivation can get in the way, but sometimes it’s potent fuel.”

He sucked in smoke, held it in his lungs for a long time, drew a lazy circle on the windshield fog. “So I’ve been spinning my wheels on Doss . . . who, from what I’ve been told by business associates, has very complicated financial records—maybe I’ll send my files to the Fraud boys.”

He faced me. “Alex, you know damn well he solicited Goad to kill Mate, we’re not talking Mother Teresa. Just because Goad didn’t go all the way doesn’t put Doss in the clear.”

“I realize that. But it doesn’t change what I saw in Glendale.”

“Right,” he said. “Back to square goddamn one . . . Burke, or whatever the hell he’s calling himself… you’re saying he craves center stage. But he can’t go public the way Mate did … so what does that mean? More nasties against trees?” His laugh was thick with affliction and anger. “Gee, that’s a terrific lead. Let’s go check out every bit of bark in the goddamn county—where the hell do I go with this, Alex?”

“Back to Fusco’s files?” I said.

“You’ve already been through them. Okay, I’ll accept the fact that Burke is evil personified. Now, where the hell do I find him?”

“I’ll go over them again. You never know—”

“You’re right about that,” he said. “I never do know. Spend half my damn life in blissless ignorance … Okay, let’s handle some short-term matters. Like keeping you out of jail once those prints cross-reference to the Medical Board. Did you touch anything but the gate?”

“The front door knocker. I also knocked on the side door, but just with my knuckles.”

“The old goat’s head,” he said. “When I first saw it I wondered if Alice was into witchcraft or something. That, combined with all her talk of Mate being a sacrifice. So she ends up tied up— All right, look, I’m going to run interference for you with Glendale PD, but at some point you’ll have to talk to them. It’ll take days for the prints to be analyzed, maybe a good week for the cross-reference, even longer if the med files aren’t on Printrak. But I need to work with them, so I’m telling them about you sooner—figure on tomorrow. I’ll try to have them interview you on friendly territory.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks, too.” He inhaled, made the cigar tip glow, created another quarter inch of ash.

“For what?”

“Being such a persistent bastard.”

“What’s next? “I said.

“For you? Keeping out of trouble. For me, anguish.”

“Want Fusco’s file?”

“Later,” he said. “There’s still Doss’s paper to deal with. I can’t let warrants lapse on an attempted murder case. I do that and Judge Maclntyre puts me on his naughty list. I’ll sic Korn and Demetri on Doss’s office, have them shlep the financial records to the station so I can get moving at Glendale. Maybe the scene will tell me something. Maybe Burke/whatever missed something in Alice’s house and we can get a lead on him.” He crushed the cigar in the ashtray. “Fat chance of that, right?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“Everything’s possible,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

By the time I got back, Robin was home. We had a takeout Chinese dinner and I fed slivers of Peking duck to Spike, acting like a regular, domestic guy with nothing heavier on my mind than taxes and prostate problems. This time I went to sleep when Robin did and drifted off easily. At 4:43 A.M., I woke up with a stiff neck and a stubborn brain. Cold air had settled in during the night and my hands felt like freezer-burned steaks. I put on sweats, athletic socks and slippers, shuffled to my office, removed Fusco’s file from the drawer where I’d concealed it from Donovan and Bratz.