Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

The edginess...

Robin said, “What’s the matter? Your shoulders are all bunched.”

I told her.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into it, Alex. It could have been a relative visiting — her father or her brother.”

“She doesn’t have either.”

“So it was a cousin or an uncle. Or a service call — the plumber, the electrician, whatever.”

“Try getting one of those guys on a Sunday evening,” I said.

“They’re rich. The rich get what they want when they want it.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s all it was... Still, I thought she sounded nervous. As if I’d caught her off guard.”

“Okay, let’s say she’s having a fling. You already suspect her of poisoning her kid. Adultery’s a misdemeanor in comparison.”

“Having a fling the first day back from the hospital?”

“Hubby didn’t see anything wrong with flying off to his office the first day, did he? If that’s his usual pattern, she’s probably a lonely lady, Alex. He isn’t giving her what she needs, so she’s getting it elsewhere. Anyway, does adultery relate to this Munchausen business?”

“Anything that makes someone with those tendencies feel helpless could have an effect. But it’s more than that, Robin. If Cindy’s having an affair, that could provide a motive. Ditch hubby and kids, get free to be with her lover.”

“There are easier ways to get free of your family.”

“We’re talking about someone sick.”

“Really sick.”

“I don’t get paid to deal with healthy heads.”

She leaned forward and touched my face. “This is really getting to you.”

“Sure is. Cassie’s so damned dependent and everyone’s failing her.”

“You’re doing everything you can.”

“I suppose.”

We stayed in the water. I worked at relaxing again, settled finally for loose muscles and a tight mind. Soap-sud clouds gathered around Robin’s shoulders like an ermine stole. She looked beautiful and I told her so.

She said, “What a flatterer, Mer.” But her grin was deep and heartfelt. At least I’d made someone feel good.

We got back into bed and tackled the Sunday paper. I read carefully this time, searching for anything on Western Peds or Laurence Ashmore but finding nothing. The phone rang at ten forty-five. Robin answered. “Hi, Milo.”

He said something that made her laugh. She said, “Absolutely,” handed me the receiver, and returned to her crossword puzzle.

“Nice to hear her voice again,” he said. “Finally, you show some good judgment.” The connection was clear, but it sounded distant.

“Where are you?”

“Alley behind a leather-goods store, little pilfering surveillance, nothing so far. Am I interrupting something?”

“Domestic bliss,” I said, stroking Robin’s arm. She was concentrating hard on the puzzle, pencil in mouth, but her hand rose to meet mine and we laced fingers.

“Let’s hear it for any kind of bliss,” said Milo. “Got a couple of things for you. First, your Mr. Huenengarth has an interesting pattern. Valid driver’s license and social security number, but the address on the license traces to a mail drop in Tarzana, and he’s got no phone number, credit history, or IRS file. No county records either. No record of him in the military or on the voter roster. Similar pattern to a long-term con just out of the joint — someone who hasn’t voted or paid taxes. Though he doesn’t show up on NCIC or the parole rolls either, so maybe it’s a computer glitch or I screwed up technically. I’ll have Charlie try tomorrow.”

“Phantom of the hospital,” I said. “I feel so much better knowing he’s head of Security.”

Robin looked up briefly, then down again.

“Yeah,” said Milo. “You’d be surprised how many strange types get into security — nutcases who try out for police departments, don’t pass the psych evaluation. Meantime, keep your distance from him until I can find out more. Second thing is, I’ve been nosing around the Herbert file and plan to do a little late-night downtown prowl — talk to that bartender witness.”

“Does he have something new to offer?”

“No, but Gomez and his partner didn’t follow through enough for my taste. The guy has a serious dope record and they figured him for an unreliable witness. So they let him off easy, not enough questions. I got hold of his number, spoke to his girlfriend, and found out he got a job at another club nearby, over in Newton Division. Thought I’d go over and talk to him. Thought you might be interested in a tag-along. But you’ve obviously got better things to do.”

Robin looked up. I realized my fingers had tightened around hers and eased my grip.

“When are you going?” I said.

“Hour or so. Figured I’d make it over there after midnight, when the scene just starts. I want to catch him in his element, but before it gets too intense. Anyway, enjoy your bliss.”

“Wait. I’ve got a few things for you . Got time?”

“Sure. Nothing here in this alley but us cats. What’s up?”

“I got buttonholed by Grandpa Chuck today, just as I left the hospital. He gave me a one-big-happy-family speech — defending the clan’s honor, just like we discussed. Topped it off by offering me a job. The implication I got was I should behave myself, not dig too deeply.”

“Not very subtle.”

“Actually, he managed to do it quite subtly. Even if it had been taped, he could never have been pinned down. Not that the offer was worth much, because a job at Western Peds isn’t likely to have much security.”

I recounted Plumb’s newspaper interview, and the financial-scheme hypotheses that had led me to look further into Laurence Ashmore’s research. By the time I got to the Ferris Dixon Institute, Robin had put her puzzle down and was listening intently.

“Virginia,” said Milo. “Been there a couple of times for fed training seminars. Pretty state, but anything down there always spells government to me.”

“The institute’s listed in a roster of private agencies. I figured it for some kind of corporate front.”

“What kind of grant was it?”

“Pesticides in the soil, Ashmore analyzing his old data. Way too much money for that kind of thing, Milo. I thought I’d call the institute tomorrow morning, see what else I can learn. I’m also going to try to contact Mrs. Ashmore again. Find out if Huenengarth the Mystery Man’s dropped by.”

“Like I said, Alex, keep your distance.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t get any closer than the phone. Afternoon I’ll be doing what I went to school for over at Chip and Cindy’s. Who may not be in a state of domestic bliss.”

I reviewed my suspicions, including the caveats Robin had raised. “What do you think?”

“I think, who the hell knows? Maybe she did have a leaky faucet, or maybe she’s the Hester Prynne of the San Fernando Valley. Tell you one thing, if she is stepping out on the Chipper, she’s being pretty sloppy about it, wouldn’t you say? Letting you hear Lover Boy’s voice.”

“Maybe she didn’t mean to — I caught her off guard. She sounded antsy — covered the phone almost immediately. All I actually made out were a few low tones. And if she’s a Munchausen type, flirting with another kind of danger would be right up her alley.”

“Low tones, huh? Sure it wasn’t the TV?”

“No, this was a real-life conversation. Cindy talked and the guy answered. I assumed it was Chip. If he hadn’t called me later, I’d never have known it wasn’t.”

“Hmm,” he said. “So what does it mean? In terms of Cassie?”

I repeated my motive theory.

He said, “Don’t forget Chip’s dough — that’s one hell of an incentive.”