'Please,' she said. 'Don't be naive. They have their ways.' She dance-walked through the dining room and out of sight.
Milo rubbed his face and turned to me. 'Think Mate was boffing her?'
'She did take the time to mention that their relationship was social but not sexual. Because we were obviously going to ask. So maybe.'
Alice Zoghbie returned, looking grim.
'The press?' said Milo.
'A nuisance call-my accountant. The IRS wants to audit me-big surprise, huh? I've got to go gather my tax records, so if there's nothing else…' She pointed to the door.
We stood.
'You climb mountains for fun?' said Milo.
'I hike, Detective. Long-distance walks on the lower slopes, no pitons or any of that stuff.' She gave Milo's gut a long appraisal. 'Stop moving and you might as well die.'
That reminded me of something Richard Doss had told me six months ago:
I'll rest when I'm dead.
Milo said, 'Did Dr. Mate stay active?'
'Mentally, only. Never could get him to exercise. But what does that have to do with-'
'So you have no idea who Dr. Mate was going to help the weekend he died?'
'No. I told you, we never discussed patient issues.'
'The reason I'm asking is-'
'You think a traveler killed him? That's absurd.'
'Why, ma'am?'
'These are sick people we're talking about, Detective. Weak people, quadriplegics, Lou Gehrig's disease, terminal cancer. How could they have the strength? And why would they? Now, please.'
Her foot tapped. She looked jumpy. I supposed an audit could do that to you.
'Just a few more details,' said Milo. 'Why'd you choose the Avis in Tarzana? Far from here and from Dr. Mate's place.'
'That was the point, Detective.'
'What was?'
'Covering our tracks. Just in case someone got suspicious and refused to rent to us. That's also why I chose Avis. We alternated. Last time was Hertz; before that, Budget.'
She hurried to the door, opened it, stood tapping her foot. 'Forget about it being a traveler. None of Eldon's people would hurt him. Most of the time they required help just to get over to the travel site-'
'Help from who?'
Long silence. She smiled, folded her arms. 'No. We're not going there.'
'Other people have been involved?' said Milo. 'Dr. Mate had assistants?'
'Unh-unh, no way. Couldn't tell you even if I wanted to, because I don't know. Didn't want to know.'
'Because Dr. Mate never discussed clinical details with you.'
'Now please leave.'
'Let's say Dr. Mate did have confederates-'
'Say whatever you please.'
'What makes you so sure one of them couldn't have turned on him?'
'Because why would they?' She laughed. Harshly. Too loudly. 'I can't get you to see: Eldon was brilliant. He wouldn't have trusted just anyone.' She put a foot out onto her front porch, jabbed a manicured fingernail. 'Look. For. A. Fanatic.'
'What about a fanatic passing himself off as a confederate?'
'Oh please.' Another loud laugh. Zoghbie's hands flew upward, fingers fluttering. She dropped them quickly. A series of clumsy movements, at odds with the dancer's grace. 'I can't answer any more stupid questions! This is a very hard time for me!'
The tears returned. No more symmetrical trickle. A gush.
This time she wiped them hastily. She slammed the door behind us.
CHAPTER 8
BACK IN THE unmarked, Milo looked up at the vanilla cottage. 'What a harpy.'
'Her attitude changed after that phone call,' I said. 'Maybe it was the IRS. Or she was let down that it wasn't the press. But maybe it was someone who'd worked with Mate, telling her to be discreet.'
'Dr. Death had his own little elves, huh?'
'She did everything but confirm their existence. Which leads me to an interesting question: this morning we talked about the killer luring Mate to Mulholland by posing as a traveler. What if he was someone Mate already knew and trusted?'
'Elf goes bad?'
'Elf gets next to Mate because he likes killing people. Then he decides he's finished his apprenticeship. Time to co-opt. It would fit with playing doctor, taking Mate's black bag.'
'So I shouldn't start rounding up Catholics and Orthodox Jews, huh? Old Alice would have been an asset to the Third Reich. Too bad her alibi checks out-flights confirmed by the airlines.' He punched the dashboard lightly. 'A confederate gone bad… I've gotta get hold of Haiselden, see what kind of paper he's been stashing.'
'What about storage lockers in Mate's name?' I said.
'Nothing, so far. No POBs either. It's like he was covering his tracks all the time-the same kind of crap you get with a vie who's a criminal.'
'All part of the intrigue. Plus, he did have enemies.'
'Then why wasn't he more careful? She's right about the way he lived. No security at all.'
'Monumental ego,' I said. 'Play God long enough, you can start to believe your own publicity. Mate was out for notoriety right from the beginning. Fooled around on the edge of medical ethics long before he built the machine.' I told him about the letter to the pathology journal, Mate's death-side vigils, staring into the faces of dying people.
He said, 'Cellular cessation, huh? Goddamn ghoul. Can you imagine being one of those poor patients? Here you are, stuck in the ICU, fading in and out of consciousness, you wake up, see some schmuck in a white coat just sitting there, staring at you. Not doing a damn thing to help, just trying to figure out exactly when you're gonna croak? And how could he look in their eyes if they were that sick?'
'Maybe he lifted the lids and peeked,' I said.
'Or used toothpicks to prop them up.' He slapped the dash again. 'Some childhood he must've had.' Another glance at the vanilla house. 'An ex-wife. First I've heard of it. Don't want her popping up in the press and making me look like the fool I feel.' Smile. 'And some of my best sources have been exes. They love to talk.'
He got on the cell phone: 'Steve, it's me… No, nothing earthshaking. Listen, call County Records and see if you can find any marriage certificate or divorce papers on old Eldon. If not, try other counties… Orange, Ventura, Berdoo, try 'em all.'
'Before med school, he worked in San Diego,' I said.
'Try San Diego first, Steve. Just found out he was based there before he became a doc… Why? Because it might be important… What? Hold on.' He turned to me: 'Where'd Mate go to med school?'
'Guadalajara.'
That made him frown. 'Mexico, Steve. Forget trying to pry anything out of there.'
I said, 'He interned in Oakland. Oxford Hills Hospital, seventeen years ago. It's out of business, but there might be some kind of record.'
'That's Dr. Delaware,' said Milo. 'He's been doing some independent research… Yeah, he does that… What? I'll ask him. If none of what I told you pans out, try our buds at Social Security. No one's filed for insurance benefits, but maybe there're some kind of federal payments going out to dependents… I know it's an hour of voice mail and
