Devil's Waltz

34

A nurse and a policewoman arrived soon after.

I gave the cop the packet of pills and sleep-walked my way to the teak doors.

Out in Five East, people were moving and talking, but I didn’t focus on them. I rode the elevator down to the basement. The cafeteria was closed. Wondering if Chip had a key to that, too, I bought coffee from a machine, found a pay phone, and sipped as I asked information for a number on a Jennifer Leavitt. Nothing.

Before the operator could break the connection, I had him check for any Leavitts in the Fairfax district. Two. One of them matched my vague memory of Jennifer’s parents’ home number.

My watch said 9:30. I knew Mr. Leavitt went to sleep early in order to make it to the bakery by 5:00 A.M. Hoping it wasn’t too late, I punched numbers.

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Leavitt? It’s Dr. Delaware.”

“Doctor. How are you?”

“Fine, and you?”

“Very good.”

“Am I calling too late?”

“Oh, no. We’re just watching television. But Jenny’s not here. She has her own apartment now — my daughter the doctor, very independent.”

“You must be proud of her.”

“What’s not to be proud of? She’s always made me proud. Do you want her new number?”

“Please.”

“Hold on... She’s in Westwood Village, right near the U. With another girl, a nice girl... Here it is. If she’s not there, she’s probably in her office — she’s got an office, too.” Chuckle.

“That’s great.” I copied down the numbers.

“An office,” she said. “You know, raising a child like that, it’s a privilege... I miss her. For my taste, the house is too quiet.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You were very helpful to her, Dr. Delaware. College at her age wasn’t so easy — you should be proud of yourself.”

No one answered at Jennifer’s apartment. But she picked up her office phone after one ring: “Leavitt.”

“Jennifer, it’s Alex Delaware.”

“Hi, Alex. Did you solve your Munchausen by proxy?”

“The whodunit,” I said. “But the whydunit’s not clear yet. It turned out to be the father.”

“Well, that’s a twist,” she said. “So it isn’t always the mother.”

“He was counting on our assuming it was. He set her up.”

“How Machiavellian.”

“He fancies himself an intellectual. He’s a professor.”

“Here?”

“No, at a junior college. But he does his serious research at the U, which is why I’m calling you. My bet is he read up exhaustively on the syndrome in order to create a textbook case. His first child died of SIDS. Another textbook case, so I’m wondering if he set that up too.”

“Oh, no — this sounds grotesque.”

“I was thinking about the SAP system,” I said. “If he’s got a faculty account, would there be some way to find out?”

“The library keeps a record of all users, for billing.”

“Do the bills list which articles were pulled?”

“Absolutely. What time is it? Nine forty-seven. The library’s open till ten. I could call down there and see if anyone I know is working. Give me the bastard’s name.”

“Jones, Charles L. Sociology, West Valley Community College.”

“Got it. I’m going to put you on hold and call them on the other line. Just in case we get cut off, give me your number.”

Five minutes later she clicked in.

“Voilà, Alex. The idiot left a beautiful paper trail. Pulled everything the system’s got on three topics — Munchausen, sudden infant death, and the sociological structure of hospitals. Plus a few isolated articles on two other topics: diazepam toxicity and — are you ready for this? — women’s fantasies about penis size. It’s all there: names, dates, exact hour. I’ll get a printout for you tomorrow.”

“Fantastic. I really appreciate it, Jennifer.”

“One more thing,” she said. “He’s not the only one who used the account. There’s another signature on some of the searches — a Kristie Kirkash. Know anyone by that name?”

“No,” I said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s young, cute, and one of his students. Maybe even plays sorority softball.”

“Sleazy affair for the prof? How do you figure?”

“He’s a creature of habit.”