Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

I smiled. “It’s still best to take it slow. And if she’s not having any procedures, there’s no need to rush.”

“True,” she said. “For all that’s happening here, I guess we could go home right now.”

“Do you want to?”

“I always want to. But what I really want is for her to get better .” Cassie glanced over and Cindy lowered her voice to a whisper again: “Those seizures really scared me, Dr. Delaware. It was like...” She shook her head.

“Like what?”

“Like something out of a movie. This is terrible to say, but it reminded me of The Exorcist .” She shook her head. “I’m sure Dr. Eves will get to the bottom of whatever’s going on, eventually. Right? She said we should stay at least one more night, maybe two, for observation. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Cassie’s always so healthy here. ”

Her eyes moistened.

“Once you do go home,” I said, “I’d like to come out and visit.”

“Oh, sure...” Unasked questions flooded her face.

“In order to keep working on the rapport,” I said. “If I can get Cassie totally comfortable with me when she’s not having procedures, I’ll be in a better position to help her when she does need me.”

“Sure. That makes sense. Thank you, that’s very kind. I... didn’t know doctors still made house calls.”

“Once in a while. We call them home visits now.”

“Oh. Well, sure, that would be great. I really appreciate your taking the time.”

“I’ll call you after you’re discharged and set up an appointment. Why don’t you give me your address and phone number?”

I tore a sheet out of my datebook and handed it to her along with a pen.

She wrote and handed it back.

Fine, round hand, light touch.

A phone number with an 818 area code.

“That’s out at the north end of Topanga Boulevard,” she said. “Near the Santa Susanna Pass.”

“Pretty good ride to the hospital.”

“Sure is.” She wiped her eyes again. Bit her lip and tried to smile.

“What is it?” I said.

“I was just thinking. When we come in, it’s always the middle of the night and the freeway’s clear. Sometimes I hate the night.”

I squeezed her hand. Her fingers were slack.

I released them, looked at the paper again, folded it and put it in my pocket.

“Cassie B.,” I said. “What does the B. stand for?”

“Brooks — that was my maiden name. It’s sort of a tribute to Aunt Harriet. It’s not exactly feminine, I guess. Brooke with an e would have been more of a girl’s name. Like Brooke Shields. But I wanted to remember Aunt Harriet.” She glanced sideways. “What’re they doing now, Cass? Cleaning up the dishes?”

“Dih.”

“Good! Dishes! ”

She got up. I rose too. “Any questions before I go?”

“No... I don’t think so.”

“Then I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Sure. Great. Cass? Dr. Delaware’s leaving. Say bye-bye?”

Cassie raised her eyes. Each hand clutched a plastic doll.

I said, “Bye-bye, Cassie.”

“Bah-bah.”

“Great!” said Cindy. “That was really great!”

“Bah... bah.” The hands clapped, dolls clicking upon impact. “Bah! Bah!”

I walked over to the bed. Cassie looked up at me. Shiny eyes. Neutral expression. I touched her cheek. Warm and buttery.

“Bah!” A tiny finger probed my arm, just for a second. The puncture wound was healing nicely.

“Bye, cutie.”

“Bah!”

Vicki was at the nursing station. I said hi, and when she didn’t answer, I noted my visit in Cassie’s chart, walked to Five East, and took the stairs down to the ground floor. Leaving the hospital, I drove to a gas station at Sunset and La Brea and used a pay phone to call Milo at Parker Center.

The line was busy. I tried twice more, same result, dialed Milo’s home, and listened to Rick’s sister do Peggy Lee.

One beep sounded. I talked quickly: “Hey, Mr. Blue, no emergency, but some data that might save you some time. Dad was never in the army but mom was — how’s that for a switch? Maiden name: Brooks, as in babbling. She spent her time at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Discharged early, due to a bout of viral pneumonia, she claims. But she blushed and got a little antsy when talking about it, so maybe it’s not the whole truth. Maybe she misbehaved and got kicked out. She’s twenty-six now, was a senior in high school when she joined up, so that gives you a time range to work with.”

Returning to the car, I drove the rest of the way home thinking about pneumonia, respiratory therapy, and a baby boy lying still and gray in his crib. By the time I arrived, I was feeling short of breath.

I changed into shorts and a T-shirt, reviewed my chat with Cindy.

People must think I’m crazy... Sometimes I think I’m crazy .

Guilt? A veiled confession? Or just tantalizing me?

Waltzing.

She’d been totally cooperative until I’d suggested we leave the room.

The “overly caring” Munchausen mother? Or simply the reasonable anxiety of a woman who’s lost one child and suffered plenty with another?

I recalled the nervous surprise she’d shown when I told her of my plans for a home visit.

Something to hide? Or just surprise — a logical reaction — because doctors didn’t do house calls anymore?

Another risk factor: Her mother-figure, the nurse. A woman who came across, even in Cindy’s loving recollection, as something of a martinet.

A nurse who worked for a doctor but fought with him. Who disparaged physicians.

She’d guided Cindy into health care but away from nursing.

Ambivalence about doctors? About the health-care power structure? Preoccupation with sickness and treatment?

Had all that been communicated to Cindy at a young age?

Then there was the matter of her own illnesses — the flu and pneumonia that had disrupted her career plans.

Everything worked out for the best .

The blush, the yanking at her braid. The discharge was definitely a sensitive topic.

I got on the kitchen phone, obtained the 803 area code for South Carolina and dialed Information there. Fort Jackson turned out to be in Columbia. I wrote down the number and called it.

A drawling female voice answered. I asked for the base’s chief medical officer.

“You want the commander of the hospital?”

“Yes, please.”

“One moment.”

A second later: “Colonel Hedgeworth’s office.”

“This is Dr. Delaware, from Los Angeles, California. I’d like to speak with the colonel, please.”

“What was that name, sir?”

“Delaware.” I added my professional title and medical school affiliation.

“Colonel Hedgeworth is out of the office, sir. Would you care to speak with Major Dunlap?”

“That would be fine.”

“Please hold.”

Half a dozen beats, then another drawling voice. Male baritone: “Major Dunlap.”

“Major, this is Dr. Alex Delaware, from L.A.” I repeated my credentials.

“Uh-huh. What can I do for you, Doctor?”

“We’ve been doing some pilot research — contagion patterns of viral epidemics, influenza and pneumonia, specifically — in relatively closed environments such as prisons, private schools, and military bases. Contrasting it with control groups in the general population.”

“Epidemiological research?”

“We’re working out of the Pediatrics department. Still in the process of assembling a preliminary data base, and Fort Jackson came up as a possible target site.”