“Hope not.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to try to sleep?”
“In a while,” I said. “I promise.”
“Well, I’ve got to nighty-night.”
She turned off the light, we kissed, and she rolled away. I got up, closed the bedroom door after me, padded to the kitchen and made some green tea. From his bed in the service porch, Spike played a prolonged snore solo.
I sipped the tea and tried to forget everything. Normally, I like the stuff. Tonight it reminded me of sushi bars minus the food, which is kind of like a concert hall without the music. I reminded myself that it was the only herbal substance proven to the satisfaction of whizbang white-coats to be good for you, crammed as it is with antioxidants. And with all life throws at you, why oxidize needlessly?
When I finished the cup, I gave Milo one last try, reversing the order: cell phone first, then home, then the station. Superstition paid off; he picked up in the detective’s room.
“Where’ve you been?” I said, realizing I sounded like a peeved parent.
“Right here. Why? What’s wrong?”
“I just called a few minutes ago and they said you were gone.”
“Gone upstairs. The lieutenant’s office. Not Mate, bureaucratic BS, seems my poor little baby detectives are unhappy. Insufficiently challenged by their assignment to Homicide. Like I’m running a kindergarten.”
“No success finding Haiselden?”
“Rub it in,” he said. “Some therapist you are. Locked office, the landlord’s some Chinese guy, barely speaks English, Haiselden’s rent isn’t due for another two weeks, so what does he care? I guess I should go back to his house, try to find out who does his gardening… . Normally, I’d send Korn and Demetri to do it, but all their bitching means I have to be careful.”
“You’re on the defensive? Thought LAPD was paramilitary.”
“More like day care, nowadays. Did you know you can get into the Academy now with prior drug arrests as long as they’re not too serious. Cokehead cops. Reassuring, huh? Anyway, what’s up?”
I told him about Fusco’s call.
“Yeah, the grand voice of the federal government. He’s got a PhD, I figured he might call you.”
“I didn’t want to talk to him without clearing it with you. Not that I have anything to tell him.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, of course. Sorry I didn’t tell you it was okay. He’s originally from Virginia, big-time pooh-bah from their Behavioral Science Unit. Looks like my call to VICAP triggered something.”
“What’s he offering?”
“A powwow. I figure what he really wants is to pick my brain—little does he know what a waste that’ll be. If the case is hopeless, he bugs out. If I’m onto something, he jumps aboard, sees if he can claim some credit. . .. He faxed a charming note: Anything I can do, blah blah blah… Lem. Assistant Deputy Director, Behavioral Science, hoo-ha.”
“He said you’d be meeting with him soon.”
“He wanted tomorrow, I put him off, said I’d be in touch. Gonna keep putting him off, unless the bosses order me to waste time. Or do you think I should be open-minded?”
“Not so open your brain falls out.”
“That’s already happened. … If we do meet, it’s gonna be at his expense. Two-pound steaks, hyperthy-roid potatoes at the Dining Car or The Palm—I’m making myself hungry. I work three months out of the year to pay the IRS. Let the Bureau pick up the tab for my cholesterol. Anything else?”
“Still planning on seeing Mr. Doss tomorrow?”
“Eleven A.M., his office. Why?”
“How ’bout that,” I said. “Eleven’s when I’m due to see Stacy.”
“There you go,” he said. “Synchronicity—something you want to tell me about Daddy?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, then, happy therapy, I’m heading home. If I fall asleep at the wheel, you can have my pencil box.”
“Take care of yourself,” I said.
“Sure, I always do. Sweet dreams, Professor.”
“Same to you.”
“I don’t dream, Alex. Against department regulations.”
CHAPTER 14
ELEVEN A.M. TUESDAY. Sun and heat and clarity, an unseasonably beautiful morning. The weather didn’t matter much. I’d been waiting in my office for half an hour, no sign of Stacy.