Guilt

CHAPTER 9

Milo said, “Abortion mill. Plenty of those, back then.”

I said, “This one served wealthy families.”

“Good business model.” He speared a massive forkful of curried lamb, studied the outsized portion as if daring himself. Engulfed, chewed slowly.

We were at Cafe Moghul, a storefront Indian restaurant on Santa Monica near the station. The bespectacled woman who runs the place believes Milo is a one-man strategic defense system and treats him like a god in need of gastric tribute.

Today, the sacrificial array was crab and chicken and the lamb, enough vegetables to fill a truck garden. The woman came over, smiling as always, and refilled our chai. Her sari was hot pink printed with gold swirls and loops. I’d seen it before. More than once. Over the years, I’ve seen her entire wardrobe but I have no idea what her name is. I’m not sure Milo does, either.

“More of anything, Lieutenant?”

“Fine for the time being.” He snarfed more lamb to prove it, reached for a crab claw.

When the woman left, he said, “Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“I go with Dr. Greiner’s logic. No reason for a baby to be linked to a place like that. Same for Ellie Green, seeing as she worked with kids. Anyone with access to medical equipment coulda gotten hold of that box.”

I said nothing.

He put the claw down hard enough for it to rattle. “What?”

“When I asked Salome if she recalled a doctor who drove a Duesenberg, she tensed up and terminated the conversation and walked out on me.”

“You touched a nerve? Okay, maybe Duesie-man was the guy who worked at Swedish and he was more than a friend and she didn’t want to get into details with you. Was Greiner married back then?”

“Yes.”

“Happily?”

I thought about that. “Don’t know.”

“Kids?”

“Five.”

“What was her husband like?”

“He wrote books about Chaucer.”

“Professor?”

“Never got his Ph.D.”

“How’d he earn a living?”

“He didn’t.”

“Real alpha male, Alex. So she was the breadwinner. So a fellow doc with hot wheels coulda been appealing. She doesn’t want to dredge all that up, so she terminates the tete-a-tete.”

“Why have a tete-a-tete in the first place?” I said. “Why not just talk over the phone?”

“She bothers you that much,” he said.

“I’m not saying Salome did anything criminal. I do think she knows more than she let on.”

“Fine, I respect your intuition. Now, what do you suggest I do about it?”

I had no answer, didn’t have to say so because his phone began playing Debussy. Golliwog’s Cakewalk.

He slapped it to his ear. “Sturgis … oh, hi … really? That was quick … okay … okay … okay … yeah, makes sense … could be … if I need to I’ll try it … no, nothing else from this end. Thanks, kid.”

Clicking off, he snatched up the crab claw, sucked meat, swallowed. “That was Liz Wilkinson. She dates the bones consistent with the clippings. No new evidence of trauma, internal or external, not a single deformity or irregularity. She didn’t find any marrow or soft tissue but will ask DOJ to try to get DNA from the bone tissue. Problem is between budget cuts and backlog, this is gonna go straight to the bottom of the pile. If I want to speed it up, she suggested I ask Zeus to descend from Olympus. Only thing that’ll motivate him is if the media continue to cover the case. And Liz just got a call from a Times reporter.”

“The press contacts her but not you?”

“When did you hear me say I wasn’t contacted?” His tongue worked to dislodge food from a molar. Placing the crab claw on a plate piled with empties, he scrolled his phone through a screen of missed calls. The number he selected was from yesterday afternoon.

“Kelly LeMasters? This is Lieutenant Milo Sturgis returning your call on the bones dug up in Cheviot Hills. Nothing new to report, if that changes, I’ll let you know.”

He returned to his food.

I said, “So we forget about Swedish Hospital.”

“I don’t see it leading anywhere, but feel free to pursue. You come up with something juicy, I’ll say it was my idea in the first place.”

An innocuous chime sounded in my pocket. My phone’s turn to join the conversation.

Milo said, “The ringtone era and you’re living in a cave?”

I picked up.

“Hi, Doctor, Louise at your service. Just took one from a Holly Ruche. She said no emergency but to me she sounded kind of upset so I thought I’d be careful.”

“Thanks, Louise.”

“All these years talking to your patients,” she said, “you pick things up. Here’s her number.”

I walked to the front of the restaurant, made the call.

Holly Ruche said, “That was quick. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“No bother. What’s up?”

“Is there anything new on the … on what happened at my house?”

“Not yet, Holly.”

“I guess these things take time.”

“They do.”

“That poor little thing.” Sharp intake of breath. “That baby. I was all about myself, didn’t even think about it. Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Not that I’m OCD or anything.”

“It’s a tough thing to go through, Holly.”

“But I’m fine,” she said. “I really am … um, would you have time to talk? Nothing serious, just one session to clear things up?”

“Sure.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, thank you. I couldn’t do it tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“What works for you, Holly?”

“Um … say in three days? Four? At your convenience.”

I checked my calendar. “How about three days, one p.m.?”

“Perfect. Um, could I ask what your fee is?”

“Three hundred dollars for a forty-five-minute session.”

She said, “Okay. That’ll work. Seeing as it’s only once. Where’s your office?”

“I work out of my home.” I told her the address. “Off of Beverly Glen.”

“You must have fantastic views.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bet it is,” she said. “I’d have loved something like that.”