Obsession

CHAPTER 22

By four p.m., Robin was sketching and I was at the computer running a search on mosey deejay.

One hit, no images.

Moses “Big Mosey” Grant was cited in a long list of people thanked for contributing to the success of a hospital fund-raiser.

Western Pediatric, where I’d trained and worked.

The party had been thrown a year ago by the Division of Endocrinology, the cause was juvenile diabetes, and the person offering thanks was the head, Dr. Elise Glass. Elise and I had worked together on several cases. I had her private number on file.

She said, “Hi, Alex. Are you back to seeing patients or is it still that police stuff?”

“As a matter of fact.” I asked her about Moses Grant.

“Who?”

“The deejay at your benefit last year.”

“Mosey? Please don’t tell me he’s in trouble.”

“You know him personally?”

“No, but I remember him. Huge but gentle and really good with the kids. Am I going to be disillusioned?”

“He’s not in trouble, but he’s been seen with someone who is. I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing.”

“I hope so. First he cut his fees, then he insisted on working for free, stayed extra hours. He understood what we’re about.”

“Diabetic relative?”

“Diabetic himself. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be controlling it well. Toward the end of the evening, he was fading fast and I had to get him some juice.”

“How’d you come to hire him?”

“The Development Office hired him. He really seemed like a teddy bear, Alex.”

“I’m sure he is. Do you have a number for him?”

“That would be over in Development, too. Hold on, I’ll have Janice connect you.”

I waited as a recorded voice lectured me about nutrition and exercise.

“Development, this is Sue.”

“This is Dr. Delaware. I’m planning an event and heard you use an excellent deejay named Moses Grant. Do you know how I can reach him?”

“Hmm, let me check that.”

A new recorded message filled me in on the virtues of charitable giving. “We got him through a broker-The Party Line. Here’s the number.”

Valley exchange. Before I tried it, I plugged Moses Grant into the search engines and brought up a genealogy site and a lone reference to a miner who’d died in West Virginia a hundred and five years ago.

At The Party Line’s number, a hoarse male voice answered, “Agency, Eli Romaine.”

“I’m looking for a deejay you handle. Moses Grant.”

“Don’t handle him anymore,” said Romaine. “I’ve got better people. What kind of party are you doing?”

“Sweet sixteen,” I said. “I was told Grant’s one of the best.”

“It’s not rocket science, he knows how to push buttons. What kind of sweet sixteen are we talking about? Kids acting their age or pretending to be twenty-one? I’m asking ’cause the music’s different, depending.”

“These are just normal kids.”

Romaine’s laugh was a nicotine bark. “Okay, I’ve got guys who can go either way. Girls, too, but sweet sixteens always want guys. Preferably hot guys. I got a couple who could be on soap operas and also know how to push buttons. I also got dancers, I recommend some blond girls, to get the action going. It’s not that much more.”

“Grant wasn’t that good?” I said.

“Do you want someone who’s going to show up or not?”

“He flaked out.”

“Six months ago, so what kind of setup do you want?”

“Let me think about it.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said. “This isn’t about sweet sixteen. What, he owes you money? Don’t waste my time.”

Click.

I reached Petra’s cell and gave her Moses Grant’s name.

She said, “Thanks. I’m on my way to San Diego. Robert Fisk’s Mustang showed up not far from the long-term parking lot at Lindbergh Field. I may have to go through the airlines one by one. This is handy, I can also search for Grant’s name on the manifests.”

“Good luck.”

“If Fisk flew bye-bye, I’ll need it. Bye.”

I put that aside and thought about Grant dropping out of sight half a year ago. Same time Robert Fisk had left his apartment and turned invisible.

Had Grant stopped taking party jobs from Romaine because he’d found a better gig? Altruistic teddy bear or not, doing the club scene with Blaise De Paine or some other music-biz remora could be more enticing than spinning Raffi and Dan Crow for sick kids. Or dealing with sixteen-year-olds yearning for twenty-one.

Or maybe Grant’s disappearance hadn’t been voluntary. A diabetic who failed to monitor his blood sugar could face all sorts of complications.

I decided to start with hospitals and if that didn’t pan out, move on to emergency rooms and long-term-care units. The information I was after was confidential and I’d have to lie my way through layers of medical bureaucracy. Blitheness and my title might help.

Grant’s 818 number said the logical place to start was the Valley. Then I remembered a hospital where I could be truthful.

Rick said, “I’m walking to my computer as we speak. There’s an overall billing file for inpatients. Outpatients I’m not sure about, they may be classed by department. So you think this Grant person might have something to do with Patty and that guy Jordan?”

“Grant was seen in the company of Jordan’s murderer.”

“The kickboxer who left the fingerprints.”

“Milo’s filled you in.”

“I’ve been bugging him to keep me posted. I don’t know if you’ve sensed it, Alex, but he’s done a total turnaround on Patty. At first it was all I could do to get him to take Tanya’s concerns seriously. Jordan’s murder changed his mind, he’s convinced it’s tied to Patty. He’s also convinced it’s his fault because it happened right after he talked to Jordan.”

“Didn’t know it bothered him that way.”

“Guilt’s what Big Guy’s all about…okay, I have entered the General Billing System…looks like I need a code…oh, would you look at this. The codes are listed right out in the open by department, talk about inane…okay, I’m typing in the E.R. code and…here we go: Grant, Moses Byron, male, twenty-six years old, 7502 Los Ojos, Woodland Hills…oh, boy.”

“What?”

“Looks like he was one of ours. Came into the E.R. for hypoglycemia.”

“When?”

“Two and a half months ago.”

“Right before Patty got sick.”

“The hairs on my neck are standing up, Alex.”

“Did he come in alone?”

“That wouldn’t be in the billing records unless someone else guaranteed payment…let’s see…the account was settled in full, $869.23, no insurance co-pay or Medi-Cal. Either Grant’s check was good or he paid cash. Let me go find his chart. That could take a bit, would you prefer bad music or silence?”

“I could use some quiet.”

Moments later: “Mr. Grant arrived at our portals barely conscious at three fourteen a.m. on a Saturday night. I was off, the attending was Pete Berger. Let’s check the nursing notes…oh, boy, they’re Patty’s. One of her double shifts.”

“What did she write?”

“Basic intake material…okay, she does mention Grant being brought by ‘friends,’ no names…one of them had communicated to the triage nurse that Grant had taken an insulin shot shortly before feeling faint and nearly passing out. We got some sugar in him, monitored his vitals, found some funny stuff with the R waves of his EEG and recommended admission for further observation. Grant refused, checked himself out against medical advice, we never saw him again.”

“Would Pete Berger remember?”

“With thousands of patients since? No way. And the resident was rotating through from Olive View. Let me try to reach both of them for you anyway, stay right there.”

Ten minutes later: “Neither of them remember Grant, let alone his friends. I’m sure Patty would have total recall, her memory was astonishing.”

“Which could be the point,” I said. “She saw something while taking care of Grant that upset her. Soon after, she got sick, but it stuck in her mind.”

“I guess so, but what could have bothered her that much…I told you she looked worn out two weeks before diagnosis. I’ve been assuming that was the disease taking its toll. You’re saying it could’ve been emotional stress?”

“At this point it’s theory, but it does establish another link between Patty and Lester Jordan. She took care of him and an associate of the guy who killed him.”

“Speaking of which,” he said, “Milo told me your suspicions about Patty pilfering drugs. I went back and checked our Class Three inventories for the last year and nothing looks funny. I’ve always run a really tight ship in that regard, Alex. I don’t delude myself that anything’s perfect and a twelve-month check says nothing about pilferage years ago but I have to believe that if anything significant was going on, I’d have known it. Beyond that, I just can’t see Patty involved in anything like that.”

“I can’t either.”

“Yet Tanya has a trust fund,” he said. “That’s been eating at me.”

“Milo didn’t tell you the new theory about that?”

“No. I’ve been on for the last two days, haven’t seen him.”

I told him about Myron Bedard’s cash payments to Patty plus five years of free rent.

He said, “That makes me feel a little bit better. What I just said about running a tight ship? I might as well be up front. When I didn’t check the dope cabinet personally, I had Patty do it.”

“There’s no evidence she stole drugs, Rick.”

“I guess I just want to hear you say it. Anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” I said. “Thanks for helping with Grant.”

“Sure. Listen, maybe it’s best if Big Guy doesn’t know the extent of my involvement. He likes to shield me from the bad stuff.”