Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

“Sugar screw-up. Interesting.”

“Wait, there’s more.” I told him about finding the Insujects and showing them to Cindy.

“I thought it might be the confrontation we’ve been waiting for. But she didn’t show any guilt or anxiety. Just puzzlement about what they were doing beneath the sink. She said they were leftovers from the aunt — something she thought she’d gotten rid of when she cleaned out the aunt’s house after she died. But there was no dust on the box, so that’s probably another lie.”

“How long ago did the aunt die?”

“Four years. The doctor the samples were sent to was the aunt’s physician and boss.”

“Name?”

“Ralph Benedict. Hell, for all I know, he’s the mystery lover. Who’d be better at faking illnesses than a doctor? And we know she goes for older men — she married one.”

“Younger ones too.”

“Yeah. But it makes sense, doesn’t it — a doctor boyfriend? Benedict could be supplying her with drugs and apparatus. Coaching her in faking illness.”

“What’s his motive?”

“True love. He sees the kids as encumbrances, wants to get rid of them and have Cindy all to himself. Maybe with some of Chip’s money thrown in. As an M.D., he’d know how to set it up. Know how to be careful. Because two kids from one family dying, one right after another, is suspicious, but if the deaths were different and each looked medically valid, it could be pulled off.”

“Ralph Benedict,” he said. “I’ll check with the medical board.”

“Cindy grew up in Ventura. He might still be there.”

“What’s the name of the company who shipped him these cylinders?”

“Holloway Medical. San Francisco.”

“Let’s see what else they sent him and when. Cylinders — like empty tubes?”

“They’re part of a kit.” I described the Insuject system.

“No needles or drugs under the sink?”

“Nope, the needles and the insulin spansules come separately.” I recounted my search of the bedroom and the refrigerator. “But they could be anywhere in that house. Any possibility of getting a search warrant now?”

“Just on the basis of tubes? Doubtful. With needles attached and the insulin all loaded up, maybe. That would be evidence of premeditation, though she could still claim the stuff was left over from the aunt.”

“Not if the insulin was still fresh. I’m not sure of insulin’s exact shelf life, but it’s not four years.”

“Yeah. So find me some fresh insulin and I’ll visit a judge. Right now, there’s no evidentiary chain.”

“Even with Cassie’s low sugar?”

“Even with. Sorry. Wonder why she left it under the sink like that.”

“She probably never imagined anyone would look there. It was stuck in a corner — you’d have to be groping around to find it.”

“And she wasn’t pissed at all that you were snooping in her john?”

“If she was, she didn’t show it. I made up a story about running out of toilet paper and going under the sink for a fresh roll. She apologized for not being a better housekeeper.”

“Eager to please, huh? The boys back in South Carolina sure took advantage of it.”

“Or she gets people to do what she wants by playing dumb and passive. I didn’t walk out of that house feeling in control.”

“Ye olde bathroom detective. Sounds like you’re ready for the Vice Squad.”

“I’ll pass. The whole thing was surreal. Not that I was doing much good as a therapist.”

I told him how Cindy had thrust Cassie at me, and Cassie’s subsequent panic.

“Up till then my rapport with Cassie had been progressing pretty well. Now, it’s shot to hell, Milo. So I have to wonder if Cindy was deliberately trying to sabotage me.”

“Waltzing and leading, huh?”

“Something she told me suggests that control is a big issue for her. When she was a kid, the aunt wouldn’t let her eat any sweets at all, even though there was nothing wrong with her pancreas. That’s a far cry from Munchausen, but there is a hint of pathology there — not allowing a healthy child to have an occasional ice cream.”

“Aunt projecting the diabetes onto her?”

“Exactly. And who knows if there were other aspects of the disease the aunt projected — like injections. Not insulin, but maybe some kind of vitamin shots. I’m just guessing. Cindy also told me that she restricts Cassie’s sweets. At face value, that sounds like good mothering. Reasonable health-consciousness from someone who’s already lost one child. But maybe there’s a whole weird thing going on with regard to sugar.”

“Sins of the mothers,” he said.

“The aunt was Cindy’s functional mother. And look at the role model she provided: a health professional who had a chronic disease and controlled it — Cindy spoke of that with pride. She may have grown up associating being female — being maternal — with being sick and emotionally rigid: controlled and control ling . It’s no surprise she chose the military right after high school — from one structured environment to another. When that didn’t work out, her next step was respiratory tech school. Because Aunt Harriet told her it was a good profession. Control and illness — it keeps repeating itself.”

“She ever mention why she didn’t finish respiratory tech school?”

“No. What are you thinking — more promiscuity?”

“I’m a big believer in patterns. What’d she do after that?”

“Junior college. Where she met Chip. She dropped out, got married. Got pregnant right away — more big changes that might have made her feel out of control. The marriage was a step up for her socially, but she ended up living in a very lonely place.”

I described Dunbar Court and the surrounding tract.

“Slow death for someone who craves attention, Milo. And when Chip gets home, I’ll bet the situation doesn’t change much. He’s really into the academic life — big fish in a small pond. I dropped by the J.C. before I went to the house and caught a glimpse of him teaching. Guru on the grass, disciples at his feet. A whole world she’s not part of. The house reflects it — room after room of his books, his trophies, masculine furniture. Even in her own home she hasn’t made an imprint.”

“So she makes an imprint on the kid.”

“Using familiar tools, things she remembers from her childhood. Insulin, needles. Other poisons — manipulating what goes into Cassie’s mouth the same way her aunt controlled her.”

“What about Chad?”

“Maybe he actually did die of SIDS — yet another traumatic illness in Cindy’s life — and that was the stress that drove her over the edge. Or maybe she smothered him.”

“You think your finding the cylinders will scare her off?”

“That would be logical, but with Munchausen, the whole power game, I suppose it could do just the opposite — raise the ante, challenge her to get the better of me. So maybe I just made things more dangerous for Cassie — hell if I know.”

“Don’t flog yourself. Where are the cylinders now?”

“Right here. In the car. Can you have them dusted for prints?”

“Sure, but Cindy’s or Chip’s prints on it wouldn’t mean much — one of them stashed it years ago and forgot about it.”

“What about the lack of dust?”

“It’s a clean cabinet. Or you knocked off whatever dust was on it when you took it out. I’m talking like a defense attorney now, though we’re not even close to making anyone need one. And if this Benedict guy touched it, that’s cool too. They were sent to him in the first place.”

“With the aunt dead, there’d be no reason for him to give them to Cindy.”