'Scooby - Doo. That's a good show. Any other shows?'
'My mama watches the soap operas.'
'Do you like the soap operas?'
She shook her head.
'Pretty boring, huh?'
A hint of a smile, around the thumb.
'Do you have toys, Melody?'
'In my room.'
'Could you show them to me?'
The room she shared with her mother was neither adult nor childlike in character. It was no more than ten foot square, low - ceilinged with a solitary window set high in the wall, which gave it the ambience of a dungeon. Melody and Bonita shared one twin bed unadorned by a headboard. It was half unmade, the thin chenille spread folded back to reveal rumpled sheets. On one side of the bed was a nightstand filled with bottles and jars of cold cream, hand lotion, brushes, combs and a piece of cardboard onto which a score of bobby pins were clasped. On the other side was a huge, moth - eaten stuffed walrus, made of fuzzy material and colored an atrocious turquoise blue. A baby picture was the sole adornment on the wall. A sagging bureau made of unfinished pine and covered with a crocheted doily, and the TV, were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
In one corner was a small pile of toys.
Melody led me over to it, hesitantly. She picked up a grimy, naked plastic baby doll.
'Amanda,' she said.
'She's beautiful.'
The child clutched the doll to her chest and rocked back and forth.
'You must really take good care of her.'
'I do.' It was said defensively. This was a child who was not used to praise.
'I know you do,' I said gently. I looked over to the walrus. 'Who's he?'
'Fatso. My daddy gave him to me.'
'He's cute.'
She walked over to the animal, which was as tall as she, and stroked it purposefully.
'Mama wants me to throw him out 'cause he's too big. But I won't let her.'
'Fatso's really important to you.'
'Uh - huh.'
'Daddy gave him to you.'
She nodded, emphatically, and smiled. I'd passed some kind of test.
For the next twenty - five minutes we sat on the floor and played.
When Milo and the mother returned, Melody and I were in fine spirits. We'd built and destroyed several worlds.
'Well, you're sure lookin' frisky,' said Bonita.
'We're having a good time, Mrs. Quinn. Melody's been a very good girl.'
'That's good.' She went over to her daughter and placed a hand on her head. 'That's good, hon.'
There was unexpected tenderness in her eyes, then it was gone. She turned to me and asked:
'How'd it go with the hypnotism?'
She asked it the same way she might inquire, how's my kid doing in arithmetic.
'We haven't done any hypnosis yet. Melody and I are just getting to know each other.'
I drew her aside.
'Mrs. Quinn, hypnosis requires trust on the part of the child. I usually spend a little time with children beforehand. Melody was very cooperative.'
'She didn't tell you nothin'?' She reached into the breast pocket of her shirt and pulled out another cigarette. I lit it for her and the gesture surprised her.
'Nothing of importance. With your permission I'd like to come over some time tomorrow and spend a little more time with Melody.'
She eyed me suspiciously, chewed on the cigarette, then shrugged.
'You're the doctor.'
We rejoined Milo and the child. He was kneeling on one leg and showing her his detective's badge. Her eyes were wide.
'Melody, if it's okay with you, I'd like to come by tomorrow and play with you some more.'
She looked up at her mother and began sucking her thumb again.
'It's fine with me,' Bonita Quinn said curtly. 'Now run along.'
Melody sprang for her room. She stopped in the doorway and gave me a tentative look. I waved, she waved back and then she disappeared. A second later the TV began blaring.
'One more thing, Mrs. Quinn. I'll need to talk to Dr. Towle before I do any hypnosis with Melody.'
'That's okay.'
'I'll need your permission to talk with Dr. Towle about the case. You realize he's professionally bound to keep this confidential, just as I am.'
'That's okay. I trust Dr. Towle.'
'And I may ask him to take her off her medicine for a couple of days.'
'Oh all right, all right.' She waved her hand, exasperated.
'Thank you, Mrs. Quinn.'
We left her standing in front of her apartment, smoking frantically, taking the towel off her head and shaking her hair loose in the midday sun.
I took the wheel of the Seville and drove slowly up toward Sunset.
'Stop smirking, Milo.'
'What's that?' He was looking out the passenger window, his hair flapping like duck wings.
'You know you've got me hooked, don't you? A kid like that, those big eyes like something out of a Keene painting.'
'If you want to quit right now, it wouldn't make me happy, Alex. But I wouldn't stop you. There's still time for gnocchi.'
'The hell with gnocchi. Let's talk with Dr. Towle.'
The Seville was consuming fuel with customary gluttony. I pulled into a Chevron self - serve at Bundy. While Milo pumped gas I got Towle's number from information and dialed it. I used my title and got through to the doctor in a half - minute. I gave him a brief explanation of why I needed to talk with him and told him we could chat now over the phone.
'No,' he said. 'I've got an office full of kids.' His voice was smooth and reassuring, the kind of voice a parent would want to hear at two in the morning when the baby was turning blue.
'When would be a good time to call you?'
He didn't answer. I could hear the bustle of activity in the background, then muffled voices. He came back on the line.
'How about dropping by at four - thirty? I've got a lull around then.'
'I appreciate your time, Doctor.'
'No bother.' And he hung up.
I left the phone booth. Milo was removing the nozzle from the rear of the Seville, holding it at arm's length to avoid getting gasoline on his suit.
I settled in the driver's seat and stuck my head out the window.
'Catch the windshield for me, son.'
He made a gargoyle face - not much of an effort and gave me the finger. Then he went to work with paper towels.
It was two - forty and we were only fifteen minutes from Towle's office. That left over an hour to kill. Neither of us was in a good enough mood to want first rate food, so we drove back to 'West L.A. and went to Angela's.
Milo ordered something called a San Francisco Deluxe Omelette. It turned out to be a bright yellow horror
