Devil's Waltz

28

They were at the play table, holding crayons. Some of the papers were covered with colored scrawl.

When Cassie saw me she gripped her mother’s arm and began whining.

“It’s okay, hon. Dr. Delaware’s our friend.” Cindy noticed the box in my hands and squinted.

I came closer and showed it to her. She stared at it, then up at me. I stared back, searching for any sign of self-indictment.

Just confusion.

“I was looking for toilet paper,” I said, “and came across this.”

She leaned forward and read the gold sticker.

Cassie watched her, then picked up a crayon and threw it. When that didn’t capture her mother’s attention, she whined some more.

“Shh, baby.” Cindy’s squint tightened. She continued to look baffled. “How strange.”

Cassie threw her arms up and said, “Uh uh uh!”

Cindy pulled her closer and said, “Haven’t seen those in a long time.”

“Didn’t mean to snoop,” I said, “but I knew Holloway made equipment for diabetics and when I saw the label I got curious — thinking about Cassie’s blood sugar. Are you or Chip diabetic?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Those were Aunt Harriet’s. Where did you find them?”

“Beneath the sink.”

“How odd. No, Cass, these are for drawing, not throwing.” She picked up a red crayon and drew a jagged line.

Cassie followed the movement, then buried her head in Cindy’s blouse.

“Boy, I haven’t seen those in a really long time. I cleaned out her house, but I thought I threw all her medicines out.”

“Was Dr. Benedict her doctor?”

“And her boss.”

She bounced Cassie gently. Cassie peeked out from under her arm, then began poking her under the chin.

Cindy laughed and said, “You’re tickling me... Isn’t that odd, under the sink all this time?” She gave an uneasy smile. “Guess that doesn’t make me much of a housekeeper. Sorry you had to go looking for paper — I usually notice when the roller’s low.”

“No problem,” I said, realizing there’d been no dust on the box.

Pulling out a cylinder, I rolled it between my fingers.

Cassie said, “Peh-il.”

“No, it’s not a pencil, honey.” No anxiety. “It’s just a... thing.”

Cassie reached for it. I gave it to her and Cindy’s eyes got wide. Cassie put it to her mouth, grimaced, lowered it to the paper and tried to draw.

“See, I told you, Cass. Here, if you want to draw, use this.”

Cassie ignored the proffered crayon and kept looking at the cylinder. Finally she threw it down on the table and began to fuss.

“C’mon, sweetie, let’s draw with Dr. Delaware.”

My name evoked a whimper.

“Cassie Brooks, Dr. Delaware came all the way to play with you, to draw animals — hippos, kangaroos. Remember the kangaroos?”

Cassie whimpered louder.

“Hush, honey,” said Cindy, but without conviction. “No, don’t break your crayons, honey. You can’t — C’mon, Cass.”

“Uh uh uh.” Cassie tried to get off Cindy’s lap.

Cindy looked at me.

I offered no advice.

“Should I let her?”

“Sure,” I said. “I don’t want to be associated with confining her.”

Cindy released her and Cassie made her way to the floor and crawled under the table.

“We did a little drawing while we were waiting for you,” said Cindy. “I guess she’s had enough.”

She bent and looked under the table. “Are you tired of drawing, Cass? Do you want to do something else?”

Cassie ignored her and picked at the carpet fibers.

Cindy sighed. “I’m really sorry — for before. I... it just... I really blew it, didn’t I? I really, really screwed things up — don’t know what came over me.”

“Sometimes things just pile up,” I said, shifting the Insuject box from one hand to another. Keeping it in her view, looking for any sign of nervousness.

“Yes, but I still blew it for you and Cassie.”

“Maybe it’s more important for you and me to talk, anyway.”

“Sure,” she said, touching her braid and casting a glance under the table. “I could sure use some help, couldn’t I? How about coming out now, Miss Cassie?”

No answer.

“Could I trouble you for another iced tea?” I said.

“Oh, sure, no trouble at all. Cass, Dr. Delaware and I are going into the kitchen.”

Cindy and I walked to the door of the nursery. Just as we reached the threshold, Cassie crawled out, tottered upright, and came running toward Cindy, arms outstretched. Cindy picked her up and carried her on one hip. I followed, carrying the white box.

In the kitchen Cindy opened the refrigerator door with one hand and reached in for the pitcher. But before she could pull it out, Cassie slipped lower and Cindy needed both hands to hold her.

“Why don’t you concentrate on her,” I said, placing the box on the kitchen table and taking hold of the pitcher.

“Let me at least get you a glass.” She went to the open cupboards across the room.

The moment her back was turned, I conducted a manic visual scan of the fridge. The most medicinal thing on the shelves was a tub of no-cholesterol margarine. Butter was in the butter compartment, the one marked CHEESE held a packet of sliced American.

Taking hold of the pitcher, I closed the door. Cindy was setting a glass on a place mat. I poured it half-full and drank. My throat felt raw. The tea tasted sweeter than before — almost sickly. Or maybe it was just my mind, lingering on thoughts of sugar.

Cassie watched me with a child’s piercing suspicion. My smile caused her to frown. Wondering if trust could ever be regained, I put the glass down.

“Can I get you something else?” said Cindy.

“No, thanks. Better be going. Here.” Offering her the box.

“Oh, I don’t need it,” she said. “Maybe someone at the hospital can use it. They’re very expensive — that’s why Dr. Ralph used to give us samples.”

Us.

“That’s very nice of you.” I picked up the box.

“Well,” she said, “we sure can’t use them.” She shook her head. “How strange, your finding them — kind of brings back memories.”

Her mouth turned down. Cassie saw it, said, “Uh,” and squirmed.

Cindy replaced the pout with a wide, abrupt smile. “Hello, sweetie.”

Cassie poked at her mouth. Cindy kissed her fingers. “Yes, Mama loves you. Now let’s walk Dr. Delaware bye-bye.”

When we got to the entrance I stopped to look at the photos, realizing there were none of Chip’s parents. My eyes settled back on the shot of Cindy and her aunt.

“We were walking that day,” she said softly. “Along the dock. She used to take lots of walks. Long ones, for her diabetes — the exercise helped her control it.”

“Did she have it pretty much under control?”

“Oh, yes — that wasn’t what... what took her. That was an S-T-R-O-K-E. She had really great control — careful about everything that went into her mouth. When I lived with her, I wasn’t allowed any sweets or junk. So I never developed a taste for it, and we don’t keep much around the house.”

She kissed Cassie’s cheek. “I figure if she doesn’t get a taste of it now, maybe she won’t want it later.”

I turned away from the photo.

“We do everything,” she said, “to keep her healthy. Without health, there’s... nothing. Right? That’s the kind of thing you hear when you’re young but it’s only later that you start to believe it.”

Anguish filled her eyes.

Cassie wiggled and made wordless sounds.

“True,” I said. “How about you and me getting together tomorrow, right here.”

“Sure.”

“When would be a good time?”

“With or without... H-E-R?”

“Without, if possible.”

“Then it would have to be when she’s asleep. She generally naps from one to two or two-thirty then goes down for the night at seven or eight. How about eight, in order to play it safe? If that’s not too late for you.”

“Eight’s fine.”

“Chip will probably be able to be here, too — that should be good, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “See you then.”

She touched my arm. “Thanks for everything, and I’m really sorry. I know you’ll help us get through this.”

Back on Topanga, I pulled into the first gas station I saw and used the pay phone to call Milo at work.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “Just got off the phone with Fort Jackson. Seems little Cindy was sick all right. And back in ’83. But not pneumonia or meningitis. Gonorrhea. They drummed her out because of it, on an ELS — entry-level status. That means she served less than a hundred and eighty days and they wanted to get rid of her before they had to pay benefits.”

“Just because of a dose?”

“A dose plus what led up to it. Seems during the four months she was there, she set some kind of record for sexual promiscuity. So if she’s fooling around on hubby, that just means she’s being consistent.”

“Promiscuity,” I said. “I just finished my home visit and this was the first time I got a sense of her sexuality. I arrived early, on purpose — curious about why she didn’t want me out there until two-thirty. She’d let her hair down. Literally. Was wearing short shorts and a T-shirt with no bra.”

“Coming on to you?”

“No. In fact she seemed really uncomfortable. A few minutes later she spilled some dirt on her clothes, hurried off to change and came back dowdied up.”

“Maybe you just missed her boyfriend.”

“Could be. She told me one-to-two was Cassie’s nap time and Chip teaches a class that day from twelve to two, so what better time for an affair? And the bedroom smelled of disinfectant.”

“Masking the smell of love,” he said. “You didn’t see anyone? Pass any cars speeding away?”

“Just the pool man pulling out of the driveway next door — Oh, shit, you don’t think?”

“Sure I do.” He laughed. “I see the worst in everyone.” More laughter. “The pool man. Now there’s your basic SoCal thang.”

“He was next door, not at her house.”

“So what? It’s not unusual for those guys to service several pools on one block — that far out of town, he might do the whole damned neighborhood. More ways than one. Do the Joneses have a pool?”

“Yes, but it was covered.”

“Get a look at Mr. Chlorine?”

“Young, tan, ponytail. The sign on his truck said ValleyBrite Pool Service, with an I-T-E.”

“He see you pull up?”

“Yup. He stopped short, stuck his head out the window and stared, then gave this big grin with the thumb-up sign.”

“Friendly, huh? Even if he’d just screwed her, he may not be the only one. Back in the army she was no nun.”

“How’d you find out about it?”

“Wasn’t easy. The army buries stuff just on principle. Charlie spent a lot of time trying to get into her file and couldn’t. Finally, I swallowed my pride and called the colonel — only for you, bucko.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Yeah... To his credit, the asshole didn’t gloat. Hooked me right up with an unlisted military number in D.C. Some kind of archive. They had no details — just name, rank, serial number, and her ELS designation, but I was lucky to get a records officer who’d done rice-paddy duty same time as me, and I convinced him to call South Carolina and find me someone to talk to. He came up with a female captain who’d been a corporal back when Cindy was a grunt. She remembered Cindy very well. Seems our gal was the talk of the barracks.”

“It’s an all-female base,” I said. “Are we talking lesbian promiscuity?”

“Nope. She messed around in town — used to go on leave and party in the local bars. It ended, according to this captain, when Cindy hooked up with a bunch of teenagers and one of them happened to be the son of a local big shot. She gave him the clap. Mayor paid a visit to the base commander, and bye-bye. Sordid little tale, huh? Any relevance to the Munchausen thing?”

“Promiscuity’s not part of the profile, but if you consider it another form of attention seeking, I guess it would be consistent. Also, Munchausens often report incest in childhood, and promiscuity could be another reaction to that. What definitely fits the profile is early experience with serious illness, and V.D. wasn’t her first. The aunt who raised her was diabetic.”

“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 controlling. 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.”

“True. If we can pin down this shipment to him after the aunt died, that would be great. Any serial numbers on the things? Or an invoice?”

“Let me check... no invoice. But there are serial numbers. And the copyright on the manufacturer’s brochure is five years old.”

“Good. Give me those numbers and I’ll get on it. In the meantime, I still think your best bet is to continue playing with Cindy’s head. Give her a taste of her own medicine.”

“How?”

“Pull her in for a meeting, without the kid—”

“That’s already set up for tomorrow evening. Chip’ll be there too.”

“Even better. Confront her, straight on. Tell her you think someone is making Cassie sick and you know how. Hold up a cylinder and say you’re not buying any of this leftover crap. You want to take chances, go for a big bluff: say you’ve talked to the D.A. and he’s ready to file charges for attempted murder. Then pray she cracks.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“You get thrown off the case, but at least she’ll know someone’s wise to her. I don’t see what you can gain by waiting any longer, Alex.”

“What about Stephanie? Do I clue her in? Are we eliminating her as a suspect?”

“Like we said before, she could be Cindy’s secret lover, but there’s no sign of that. And if she was involved, why would Cindy mess with Benedict? Stephanie’s a doctor — she could get the same stuff he could. Anything’s possible, but far as I can tell, the mom started out looking good and she keeps getting better.”

“If Stephanie’s off the hook,” I said, “I should let her in on it — she’s the primary doc. Pulling something this strong without her knowledge is probably unethical.”

“Why don’t you just sound her out and see how she reacts? Tell her about the cylinders and see where she goes with it. If you’re satisfied she’s clean, take her along with you when you play with Cindy’s head. Strength in numbers.”

“Play with her head? Sounds fun.”

“It rarely is,” he said. “If I could do it for you, I would.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

“Anything else?”

Finding the Insujects had pushed the visit to Dr. Janos’s office out of my head.

“Plenty,” I said, and told him how Huenengarth had beat me to Dawn Herbert’s computer disks. Then I threw in my calls to Ferris Dixon and Professor W. W. Zimberg’s office, and my updated blackmail theories on Herbert and Ashmore.

“High intrigue, Alex — maybe some of it’s even true. But don’t let yourself get distracted from Cassie. I’m still checking on Huenengarth. Nothing yet, but I’ll stay on it. Where will you be in case something does come up?”

“I’ll call Stephanie soon as we hang up. If she’s in her office I’ll run over to the hospital. If not, I’ll be home.”

“All right. How about we get together later tonight, trade miseries. Eight okay?”

“Eight’s fine. Thanks again.”

“Don’t thank me. We’re a long way from feeling good about this one.”