Kellerman, Jonathan - Devil's Waltz by Kellerman Jonathan

Author:Kellerman, Jonathan [Kellerman, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ballantine Publishing Group
Published: 1992-05-05T04:00:00+00:00

19

I had to get away from the hospital.

Feeling like a teething puppy with nothing to chomp, I turned out of the lot and drove up Hillhurst, heading for a restaurant at the top of the street that I’d learned about from Milo but never went to alone. Continental food of the old school, autographed photos of near-celebrities, dark panel walls saturated with nicotine bitters, waiters without SAG cards.

A sign in the lobby said the restaurant wouldn’t be serving for another half hour but the cocktail lounge was accepting sandwich orders.

A middle-aged, tuxedoed woman with improbable red hair worked behind the bar. A few serious drinkers sat at the padded horseshoe chewing ice cubes, snuffling salted freebies, and devoting what little attention they had left to an auto-chase scene on the tube. The TV was mounted on a ceiling bracket. It reminded me of the one I’d just seen in Cassie’s room.

The hospital . . . dominating my thoughts the way it had years ago. I loosened my tie, sat down, and ordered a club sandwich and beer. When the bartender turned to prepare it, I went to the pay phone at the back of the lounge and called Parker Center.

“Records,” said Milo.

“Doctor Sturgis?”

“Well, if it isn’t Doctor Hard-to-Get. Yeah, I figured easiest way to get some action in that place was use the title.”

“If only it were so,” I said. “Sorry for the delay getting back to you but I was tied up with Vicki Bottomley, then Cassie and her parents.”

“Anything new?”

“Not much, except the Joneses seemed a little cool.”

“Maybe you’re threatening them. Getting too close.”

“Can’t see why. As for Vicki, she and I had a little psychodrama—I was trying to clear the air, leaned on her a bit. She accused me of suspecting her of harming Cassie. So I asked her if she was, and she went nuclear. Ended up giving me a sanitized version of her son’s story and adding something I hadn’t known: Reggie gave her a book as a Mother’s Day gift. True-crime thing about some nurse in New Jersey who murdered babies.”

“Some gift. Think she was trying to tell you something?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should tell Stephanie to pull her off the case and see what happens. If Stephanie can be trusted. Meanwhile, this Dawn Herbert thing. On top of being murdered, she was a bit of a kleptomaniac.”

I gave him my blackmail theory. “What do you think?”

“Uh-huh . . . well,” he said, clearing his throat, “that’s certainly a good question, sir, but that information’s not currently available on our present data base.”

“Bad time to talk?”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” A moment later, he lowered his voice: “Brass coming through on tour, some kind of police-biggie convention this weekend. I’m off in five minutes. How about late lunch, early dinner—let’s say half an hour?”

“Started without you,” I said.

“What a pal. Where are you?”

I told him.

Still talking quietly, he said, “Good. Order me a pea soup with a ham bone and the breast of chicken with the cornbread stuffing, extra stuffing.

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