Jonathan Kellerman - Victims

Telling it, the way she always did, as if Raul had the power to prevent such disasters.

He said, “No charts here at all?”

The receptionist said, “Not a one.”

“That sounds a little disorganized, Miss-”

“Actually it’s super-organized,” she said, not offering a name. “So we can multitask.”

“Multitask how?”

“When the church needs to use the space for something else, we wheel everything out of the way.”

“How often do doctors come in and use the space?”

“Most every day.”

“So you don’t do much wheeling.”

Shrug.

Raul leaned in and half whispered, “You’ve got people waiting but I don’t see any doctors.”

“Dr. Keefer’s due in.”

“When?”

“Soon. But he can’t help you.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s new. Yesterday was his first day, so he wouldn’t know your Mr. Whatever.”

“Huggler.”

“Funny name.”

Biro looked at her.

She said, “I don’t know him.”

He gave her a look at his business card.

She said, “You already showed me your badge, I believe that you’re po-lice.”

“See what this says?”

Moment’s hesitation. “Okay.”

“Homicide,” said Biro. “That’s all I care about, solving murders.”

“Okay.”

“Grant Huggler may have a funny name but he’s suspected of committing several really nasty murders. He needs to be stopped before he does more damage.”

He glanced back at the waiting women, trying to imply that they could turn up as victims.

The receptionist blinked.

He showed her the drawing.

She shook her head. “Don’t know him. We don’t want murderers here. If I knew him, I’d tell you.”

“Are you the only receptionist here-what is your name?”

“Leticia. No, I’m not. A bunch of us volunteer.”

“How many is a bunch?”

“I don’t know.”

He pulled out an enlargement of James Pittson Harrie’s lapsed driver’s license. “How about him?”

To Biro’s surprise, she went pale.

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“What kind?”

“Mental health,” she said. “A therapist. He came in to ask questions but he never came back.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Did we do insurance work. He said he had a lot of experience with it, could help if someone needed help with an accident or an injury. I told him we didn’t do that here. He gave me his card but I threw it out. I didn’t even read his name.”

“But you remember him.”

“We don’t usually get doctors walking in to drum up business.”

“What was his attitude?”

“Like a doctor.”

“Meaning?”

“Businesslike. He didn’t seem like one of those but I guess he was.”

“One of those what?”

“Slip-and-fall scammers. Those we get from time to time. Scouts working for lawyers.”

“Trying to exploit your patients.”

Nod. No attempt to claim they’re not our patients.

“So Mr. Harrie told you he was a psychologist.”

“Or a psychiatrist, I forget. He’s not?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“How’d he react when you turned him down?”

“Just said thanks and gave me the card.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“A while back,” said Leticia. “Months.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know-six, five?”

“That long ago but you remember him.”

“Like I told you, it was unusual,” she said. “Also, he was Anglo. We don’t get too many white guys, period, except for homeless who come in from the boulevard.”

Unzipping his file case, Raul showed her a mug shot of Lemuel Eccles. “Like him?”

“Sure, that’s Lem, he comes in once in a while.”

“For what?”

“You’d have to ask his doctor.”

“Who’s that?”

“Dr. Mendes.”

“First name?”

“Anna Mendes.”

Raul kept the photo in her face. She turned to the side.

He said, “So Lem comes in but this white guy”-switching back to the drawing of Huggler-“you don’t know about?”

“Correct. Do these guys know each other or something?”

“You could say that.”

“The other one, too? The psychologist?”

“What else can you tell me about Lem?”

“Just that he comes in,” she said. “He can be difficult but mostly he’s okay.”

“Difficult, how?”

“Nervous, kind of wired. Talks to himself. Like he’s crazy.”

“Like?” said Biro.

“We don’t judge.”

“Do you have a list of the other receptionists?”

“I don’t keep any lists and I don’t know who they are ’cause when I’m here, they’re not.”

“And you all volunteer.”

“Yeah.”

“Through what agency?”

“No agency, I do it for community service.”

She was too old for a high school student, didn’t look like an ex-con, any kind of troublemaker. “What kind of community service are you doing?”

“It’s for a class. Urban issues, I’m a senior at Cal State L.A.”

“You think maybe upstairs in the church office they’d have a list?”

“Could be.”

Biro said, “Okay, I’m going to leave you my card the way Mr. Harrie did, but please don’t throw it out.”

She hesitated.

“Take it, Leticia. Good people need to be good even when they’re not volunteering.”

Her mouth dropped open. Raul began climbing the steps to the church’s ground-floor lobby. One of the women in the lawn chairs said something in Spanish. Too soft for Biro to make out the words, but the emotion was obvious.

Relief.

As he headed for the church office a young man in a white coat and carrying a box crossed his path. M. Keefer, M.D. Resident in medicine at County General.

Ninety-hour work weeks but he had time to volunteer.

Raul said, “Hi, there, Doctor. Ever seen this guy?”

M. Keefer said, “No, sorry,” and bounced down the stairs.

The church office was locked, the magnificent marble sanctuary unoccupied. Raul returned to his car and got a number for an Anna Q. Mendes, M.D., in Boyle Heights.

This receptionist answered in Spanish and maybe it was Biro responding in kind, maybe not, but she said, “Of course,” and a moment later a warm female voice said, “Dr. Mendes, how can I help you?”

She listened to Biro’s explanation, said, “The thyroid case. Sure, I referred him for the scan. He came in for a refill of his Synthroid but his medical history was patchy. He looked a little underdosed to me and he was well overdue for a good look at his neck. He was reluctant but his therapist helped me convince him.”

“His therapist?”

“Some psychologist came with him, I thought that level of care was pretty impressive. Especially because the psychologist’s office was in Beverly Hills and Huggler clearly wasn’t a paying private patient.”

The ease with which she tossed out facts surprised Biro. Not even an attempt at resistance and he wondered if she’d been the anonymous tipster.

He said, “Did the psychologist give his name?”

“He did but I can’t recall.”

“Dr. Shacker?”

“You know, I think that’s it,” said Anna Mendes. “He readily agreed that in order to optimize the dosage we’d need better data. In the meantime, I upped Mr. Huggler’s dosage a tiny bit and wrote a scrip for three months’ worth.”

“Anything else you can tell me about Huggler?”

“You said you were in Homicide,” said Mendes. “So obviously he killed someone.”

Biro hadn’t mentioned Homicide. And obviously Huggler could’ve been a victim as easily as an offender.

Definitely the tipster.

“Looks like that, Doctor.”