Jonathan Kellerman - Dr. Death

"So he informed me. Why was he asked to leave the Bureau?"

Bratz leaned across and clicked on the recorder, said, "How'd you meet him, sir?"

"Sorry, I'm not comfortable with this," I said, sorry about a lot more. Moments ago, I'd been ready to focus on Michael Burke as the real Dr. Death. If Fusco had lied, what happened to that scenario?

"What's the problem, sir?" said Donovan.

"Talking to you, going on record, without knowing the full picture. I spent time with Fusco. I need to know who I was dealing with."

Another looked passed between them. Donovan's mouth turned up again and she crossed her legs, setting off little scratchy sounds. Short legs, but shapely. Runner's calves in sheer stockings. Bratz snuck a peek at them, as if they were still a novelty. I wondered how long they'd been partnered.

"Fair enough, sir," she said, suddenly sunny. She tossed her hair, but it didn't move much. Leg recross. She inched closer to me. I could imagine some FBI seminar. Achieve rapport with the subject by any appropriate means. "But first, let me take a stab at how you met him: he contacted Detective Sturgis and asked to meet with you to discuss a homicide-most likely that of Dr. Mate- because you're the psychological consultant on the case. He told you he knows who the murderer is." Lots of teeth. "How'm I doing so far?"

"Very well," I said.

"Michael Burke," said Bratz. "He wanted you to believe in Dr. Michael Burke."

"Is Burke fiction?"

Bratz shrugged. "Let's just say Dr. Fusco's obsessed."

"With Burke."

"With the idea of Burke," said Donovan.

"Are you telling me he made Burke up?"

She glanced at the recorder. Switched it off. "Okay, here's the whole story, but we insist you keep it confidential. Agent Fusco had an honorable career with the Bureau. For several years, he was assigned to the Midtown Manhattan office as director of behavioral sciences. Five years ago, his wife died-breast cancer-and he was left sole parent of his child. A daughter, fourteen years old, named Victoria. What made Mrs. Fusco's death especially traumatic for Agent Fusco was that Victoria had also been diagnosed with cancer. Several years before, as a toddler. A bone tumor, she was treated at Sloan-Kettering, apparently cured. Shortly after his wife passed away, Fusco requested a transfer, said he wanted to raise Victoria in a quieter environment. An administrative position was found for him in the Buffalo office and he purchased a home near Lake Erie."

"Not a career move," I said. "He was devoted to the girl."

Donovan nodded. "Everything seemed fine for a couple of years, then the girl got sick again, at sixteen. Leukemia. Apparently the radiation she'd received for her bone tumor years ago had caused it."

"Secondary tumor," I said. Rare but tragic; I'd seen it at Western Peds.

"Exactly. Agent Fusco began bringing Victoria down to New York to be re-treated at Sloan-Kettering. She went into one remission, relapsed, received more chemo, achieved only a partial remission, started to weaken, tried some experimental drugs and got better but even weaker. Agent Fusco decided to continue her treatment closer to home, at a hospital in Buffalo. The goal was to increase her strength until she was able to tolerate a bone-marrow transplant back in New York. She improved for a while, then came down with pneumonia because chemotherapy had weakened her immune system. Her doctors hospitalized her and, unfortunately, she passed away."

"Was that expected?"

"From what we can gather, it wasn't unexpected but neither was it inevitable."

"One of those fifty-fifty situations," said Bratz.

"A hospital in Buffalo," I said. "Was she cared for by a respiratory tech named Roger Sharveneau?"

Donovan frowned. Looked at Bratz. He shook his head, but she said, "Possibly."

"Possibly?"

"Roger Sharveneau was on duty during Victoria's final hospitalization. Whether he was ever her therapist is unclear."

"Missing records?" I said.

"What's the difference?" said Bratz.

"Was Michael Burke also working there during that period?"

Bratz's eyes narrowed. Donovan said, "There's no record of Burke caring for her."

"But he was circulating through at the time- probably freelancing at the E.R.," I said.

Silence from both of them.

I went on: "When did Fusco become convinced that someone-Sharveneau or Burke, or both of them-had murdered his daughter?"

"Months later," said Donovan. "After Sharveneau began confessing. Fusco claimed he recognized him from the ward, had seen him in Victoria's room when he had no good reason to be there. He tried to interview Sharveneau in jail, was refused permission by the Buffalo police because the Bureau had no standing in the case and he certainly didn't-it was obviously a personal issue. Agent Fusco didn't react well to that. After Sharveneau was released, he persisted, harassing Sharveneau's lawyer. He became increasingly… irate. Even after Sharveneau committed suicide, he didn't cease."

"Was Fusco considered a suspect in Sharveneau's supposed suicide?" I said.

Second's hesitation. "No, never. Sharveneau had been in hiding, there's no evidence Fusco ever found him. Meanwhile, Agent Fusco's work product deteriorated and the Bureau sent him back to Quantico for several months. Had him teach seminars to beginning profilers. As a cooling-off measure. It seemed to be working, Fusco looked calm, more content. But that turned out to be a ruse. He was utilizing the bulk of his energies researching Burke, accessing data banks without permission. He was brought back to New York for a meeting with his superiors, during which he was let go on disability pension."

"Emotional disability," said Bratz.

"You see him as seriously disturbed?" I said. "Out of touch with reality?"

Bratz exhaled, looked uncomfortable.

"You've met him," said Donovan. "What do you think, Doctor?"

"To me he seemed pretty focused."

"That's the problem, Doctor. Too much focus. He's already committed a score of felonies."

"Violent felonies?"

"Mostly multiple thefts."

"Of what?"

"Data-official police records from various jurisdictions. And he continues to represent himself as a special agent. If all that got out… Doctor, the Bureau has sympathy for his misfortune. The Bureau respects him- respects what he once was. No one wants to see him end up in jail."

"Is he off base on Burke?" I said.

"Burke's not the issue," said Bratz.

"Why not?"

"Burke's not the issue for MS," Donovan clarified. "We handle only internal investigations, not external criminal matters. S.A. Fusco's been identified as an internal issue."

"Is anyone in the Bureau looking into Michael Burke?"

"We wouldn't have access to that information, sir. Our goal is simple: take custody of Leimert Fusco, for his own good."

"What happens to him if you find him?" I said.

"He'll be cared for."

"Committed?"

Donovan frowned. "Cared for. Humanely. Forget all the movies you've seen. Dr. Fusco's a private citizen now, due the same rights as anyone else. He'll be cared for until such a time as he's judged competent-it's for his own good, Doctor. No one wants to see a man of his… fortitude and experience end up in jail."

Bratz said, "We've been looking for him for a while, finally traced him to L.A. He covers his tracks pretty well, got himself a cell phone account under another name, but we found it and it led us to an apartment in Culver City. By the time we got there, he was gone. Packed up. Then an hour ago, you called and we just happened to be there."

"Lucky break for you," I said.

"Where is he, Doctor?"

"Don't know."

His hand clenched. "Why were you attempting to call him, sir?"

"To discuss Michael Burke. I'm sure you know I'm a psychological consultant to LAPD. I've been asked to interface with S.A. Fusco." I shrugged. "That's it."