Sue Grafton - B Is For Burglar

"You can probably help me as well as he could," I said.

"Well, I'll do what I can," she said dubiously. "I'm no expert, but I've assisted him all our married life. He's often said I could probably fill a tooth as well as he could, but now I don't like that Novocain. I won't fool with needles. It makes my hands turn to ice and I get all goose-bumpy on my arms." She rubbed her arms, giving a mock shiver to illustrate how upsetting it was. "Anyway, you go on and ask what you want. I don't mean to interrupt."

"I understand Dr. Pickett had a patient named Elaine Boldt," I said. "Could you check your records and tell me when she came in last?"

"The name sounds familiar, but I can't say I know her offhand. She wouldn't be anyone regular, I will say that, because I'd know her if she'd been here more than once." She leaned closer to me. "I don't suppose you're allowed to tell me how this applies," she said in a confidential tone.

"No, I'm not," I said, "but they were friends. Mrs. Boldt lived right next door to Mrs. Grice."

Mrs. Pickett nodded slightly, giving her eyebrows a lift as though she got the drift and wouldn't repeat a word of it. She went over to the file cabinets and pulled open the top drawer. I was right next to her. I wondered if she'd mind my looking over her shoulder, but she didn't seem to object. The drawer was packed so tightly she could barely squeeze her fingers in. She started reciting the names on the tags.

"Let's see. Bassage, Berlin, Bewley, Bevis… Uh oh, looka here now. That's out of place," she said. She switched the two files around and started where she'd left off. "Birch, Blackmar, Blount. I have Boles. Is that the name you gave?"

"No, Boldt," I said. "B-o-l-d-t. I know you billed her once and I just saw a reminder for a six-month checkup."

"I believe you're right. I wrote that recall card myself and I remember now. Via Madrina, wadn't it?" She looked back into the file drawer, checking a few folders forward and a few folders back. "I bet you for some reason he's got that on his desk," she said. 'You come on in here and we'll take a look."

I followed her down a short hallway and into a small office on the left that had probably once been a powder room. Dr. Pickett's desk was stacked with files and his wife put her hands on her hips as though she'd never laid eyes on such a sight.

"Oh my stars. Now if that's not a mess." She began to check through the nearest pile.

"Why would he have it on his desk?" I asked.

"We might have had a request for dental records is all I can think of," she said. "Sometimes patients transfer out of state."

"You want me to help?"

"I sure do, hon. This might take all day at this rate."

I pitched in, riffling through the stack nearest me, then rechecking the pile she'd done to make sure she hadn't overlooked anything. There was no Elaine Boldt.

"I got one more place," she said. She held a finger up and marched us back to the front desk where she opened the top desk drawer and reached for a small gray metal file box. "This is the recall file. If she got a notice, she'd be in this box. I don't guess she gave any hint when she might have been in."

"Nope," I said. "I'd guess December, though, if she just got a six-months' notice."

Mrs. Pickett gave me an appreciative glance. "Good point. I guess that's why you're a detective instead of me. All right, let's see what December looks like." She sorted through about fifteen cards. Already, I was worried about Dr. Pickett's annual income if he saw fewer patients than one a day.

"Light month," I remarked, watching her.

"He's semiretired," she said, absorbed in her hunt. "He still takes care of these old people in the neighborhood, but he tries to limit his practice. He's got varicose veins worse than me and his doctor doesn't want him on his feet all day. We get out and walk every chance we get. Keeps the circulation up. Here it is." She held an index card up, handing it to me with a mixture of triumph and relief. They might be near retirement age, but the office was still well run.

I studied the card. All it had on it was Elaine Boldt's name and address and the date she'd been in. December 28. Was I on the right track? I turned the notion over in my mind.

"Marty Grice would have come in first," I said, "and then recommended Dr. Pickett to Elaine."

"That's not hard to verify," Mrs. Pickett said. "See? On the back of the card, I have that line says 'referred by' and here's Mrs. Grice's name sure enough. Actually, we do that so if folks skip out on their bill, we have some way to trace back."

"Could I see Marty's chart?" I asked.

"Well, I don't see why not."

She went back to the file cabinet and pulled a slim folder out of the drawer marked G-I and passed it to me. Marty's name was neatly typed across the tag on the top. I opened the file. There were three sheets inside. The first was a medical questionnaire, asking for information about medications, known allergies, and past illnesses. Marty had completed the form and signed it, automatically authorizing "all necessary dental services." The second was a dental history inquiring about root canals, bleeding gums, occasional bad breath, and grinding or clenching of teeth. The third sheet contained information about treatment actually rendered, with a line drawing of the top and bottom rows of teeth laid out like a Mercator projection, current fillings marked in ballpoint pen. Marty's name was neatly typed on the top line. Below were Dr. Pickett's brief handwritten notes. A routine visit. She'd had her teeth cleaned. There were apparently no dental caries. X rays had been done and she was scheduled to return in June. I stared at it for a long time, running the whole sequence of events through my head. Everything seemed to be in order except for the date: December 28. I moved over to the window and held the chart to the light. I could feel a chill smile forming because somehow I'd

Known it would come down like that. I just hadn't believed I would actually find the proof. Yet here it was. Someone had neatly whited out the name originally typed in and typed Marty's name right over it. I ran my finger across the top line, feeling for the name typed underneath as though it were done in Braille. Elaine Boldt's name was visible as a faint imprint under the name Marty Grice. The last few pieces were falling into place. I was certain hers were the charred remains recovered from the Grices' house that night. I closed my eyes. It suddenly seemed very strange. I'd been tracking Elaine for ten days without realizing I'd already seen her in a photograph in the homicide file, burned beyond recognition. Marty Grice was alive and I suspected that she and Pat Usher were one and the same. There were details to nail down yet, but I had a very good idea how the murder had been set up. "Are you feelin' all right?" "I'm fine," I said briefly. "Did you want to talk to John?"

"Not right now, but at some point, yes. You've been a big help, Mrs. Pickett. Thanks."

"Well, I don't know what I did, but you're certainly welcome." I shook her hand, dimly aware of the mystified gaze that followed me as I left. I got in my car and sat there, trying to figure out what to do next. Jesus, how had they assured that the stomach contents would match? That must have been a slick one. The autopsy report indicated the blood type was O-positive, the most common type, so that was easy enough. Marty and Elaine were close in height. It wasn't as though the murder victim was completely unknown. Everyone assumed it was Marty, and the dental X rays had simply been used to confirm her identity. There was no reason to imagine that the dead woman was anyone else. Leonard and his sister had talked to her on the phone at nine and Lily claimed Marty had hung up to go answer the door. The call to the police station was a little flourish someone thought up for the effect. Mike was right about the time. At 8:30 that night, there was a woman s body wrapped up in a rug. It just wasn't his aunt. Elaine must have been bludgeoned to death sometime earlier, with enough of her jaw and teeth left intact to make identification possible. So many things were suddenly falling into place. Wim Hoover must have recognized Marty going in or out of Elaine's apartment. Marty or Leonard apparently got to him before he got to a phone.