Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

She coiled more violently, punching at my face, continuing to caterwaul. I tried to contain her while providing comfort. She jerked and turned scarlet, threw her little head back and howled, nearly slipping out of my grasp.

“Mommy’s coming right back, Cass—”

The bathroom door opened and Cindy rushed out, wiping her eyes. I expected her to grab Cassie away but she just held out her hands and said, “Please,” mouthing the word over Cassie’s shrieks and looking as if she expected me to withhold her child.

I handed Cassie back to her.

She hugged the little girl and started to circle the room very fast. Taking large, hard steps that made her thin thighs quiver, and muttering things to Cassie that I couldn’t hear.

Two dozen circuits and Cassie’s cries got softer. Another dozen and she was quiet.

Cindy kept moving, but as she passed me she said, “I’m sorry — I really am. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes and cheeks were wet. I told her it was okay. The sound of my voice made Cassie crank up again.

Cindy began walking faster, saying, “Baby, baby, baby.”

I went over to the play table and sat as best I could on one of the tiny chairs. The welcome cardboard stared up at me like some kind of sick joke.

A few moments later, gasps and sucking sobs took the place of Cassie’s cries. Then she silenced and I saw that her eyes were closed.

Cindy returned to the rocking chair and began to whisper harshly: “I’m really, really, really sorry. I’m so — That was — God, I’m a horrible mother!”

Barely audible, but the anguish in her voice opened Cassie’s eyes. The little girl stared up at her mother and mewled.

“No, no, baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry — it’s okay.”

Mouthing to me: “I’m horrible.”

Cassie started to cry again.

“No, no, it’s okay, honey. I’m good. If you want me to be good, I’m good. I’m a good mommy, yes, I am, yes — yes, honey, everything’s okay. Okay?”

Forcing herself to smile down at Cassie. Cassie reached up and touched one of Cindy’s cheeks.

“Oh, you are so good, little girl,” said Cindy, in a crumbling voice. “You are so good to your mommy. You are so, so good !”

“Ma ma.”

“Mama loves you.”

“Ma ma.”

“You’re so good to your mama. Cassie Brooks Jones is the best girl, the sweetest girl.”

“Ma ma. Mamama.”

“Mama loves you so much. Mama loves you so much.” Cindy looked at me. Looked at the play table.

“Mama loves you,” she said into Cassie’s ear. “And Dr. Delaware’s a very good friend, honey. Here, see?”

She turned Cassie’s head toward me. I tried another smile, hoping it looked better than it felt.

Cassie shook her head violently and said, “Nuh!”

“Remember, he’s our friend, honey? All those pretty drawings he did for you at the hospita—”

“Nuh!”

“The animals—”

“ Nuh nuh !”

“C’mon, honey, there’s nothing to be scared of—”

“ Nuuuh !”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay, Cass.”

I got up.

“Are you going?” said Cindy. Alarm in her voice.

I pointed to the bathroom. “May I?”

“Oh. Sure. There’s one just off the entry hall too.”

“This is fine.”

“Sure... Meantime, I’ll try to calm her down... I’m really, really sorry.”

I locked the door and the one leading to the master bedroom, flushed the toilet, and let out my breath. The water was as blue as the tiles. I found myself staring down at a tiny azure whirlpool. Turning on the water, I washed my face and dried it, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Dire and old with suspicion. I tried on a few smiles, finally settled on one that didn’t approximate the leer of a used-car salesman. The mirror was the face of a medicine cabinet.

Child-proof latch. I undid it.

Four shelves. I turned the water up full blast, rifled quickly, starting at the top and working down.

Aspirin, Tylenol, razor blades, shaving cream. Men’s cologne, deodorant, an emery board, a bottle of liquid antacid. A small yellow box of spermicidal jelly capsules. Hydrogen peroxide, a tube of earwax-dissolving ointment, suntan lotion...

I closed the cabinet. When I turned off the water I heard Cindy’s voice through the door, saying something comforting and maternal.

Until she’d thrust Cassie at me, the little girl had accepted me.

Maybe I’m not supposed to be a mother... I’m a horrible mother .

Stretched past the breaking point? Or trying to sabotage my visit?

I rubbed my eyes. Another cabinet beneath the sink. Another child-proof latch. Such careful parents, pulling up the carpets, washing the toys...

Cindy was cooing to Cassie.

Silently, I got down on my knees, freed the latch, and opened the door.

Beneath the snake of the drainpipe were boxes of tissues and rolls of plastic-wrapped toilet paper. Behind those sat two bottles of green mint mouthwash and an aerosol can. I examined the can. Pine-scented disinfectant. As I replaced it, it fell and my arm shot forward to catch it and mask the noise. I succeeded but the back of my hand knocked against something, off to the right, with sharp corners.

I pushed the paper goods aside and drew it out.

White cardboard box, about five inches square, imprinted on top with a red-arrow logo above stylized red script that read HOLLOWAY MEDICAL CORP. Above that was an arrow-shaped gold foil sticker: SAMPLE, PRESENTED TO: Ralph Benedict, M.D .

A string-and-disc tie held the box shut. I unwound it, pushed back the flaps, and exposed a sheet of corrugated brown paper. Under that was a row of white plastic cylinders the size of ballpoint pens, nestled in a bed of Styrofoam peanuts. A folded slip of printed paper was rubber-banded to each one.

I fished out a cylinder. Feather-light, almost flimsy. A numbered ring girdled the bottom of the shaft. At the tip was a hole surrounded by screw thread; on the other end, a cap that twisted but didn’t come off.

Black letters on the barrel said INSUJECT. I removed the printed paper. Manufacturer’s brochure, copyrighted five years ago. Holloway Medical’s home office was in San Francisco.

The first paragraph read:

INSUJECT (TM) is a dose-adjustable ultra-lightweight

delivery system for the subcutaneous

administration of human or purified pork insulin

in 1 to 3 unit doses. INSUJECT should be used in

conjunction with other components of the

Holloway INSU-EASE (TM) system, namely, INSUJECT

disposable needles and INSUFILL (TM) cartridges.

The second paragraph highlighted the selling points of the system: portability, an ultra-thin needle that reduced pain and the risk of subdermal abscesses, increased “ease of administration and precise calibration of dosage.” A series of boxed line drawings illustrated needle attachment, loading of the cartridge into the cylinder, and the proper way to inject insulin beneath the skin.

Ease of administration .

An ultra-thin needle would leave a minuscule puncture wound, just as Al Macauley had described. If the injection site was concealed, the mark just might escape detection.

I groped around inside the box, looking for needles.

None, just the cylinders. Shoving my hands into the recesses of the cabinet yielded nothing more.

Probably cool enough to store insulin, but maybe someone was picky. Could Insufill cartridges be sitting on one of the shelves of the chrome-faced refrigerator in the kitchen?

Standing, I placed the box on the counter and the brochure in my pocket. The water in the toilet bowl had just stopped spinning. I cleared my throat, coughed, flushed again, looking around the room for another hiding place.