addictive and potent and has a host of side effects, one of the most common of which is insomnia. Which might explain why Melody Quinn was sitting, staring out the window of a dark room at one in the morning.
Ritalin is a sweetheart drug when it comes to controlling children. It improves concentration and reduces the frequency of problem - behaviors in hyperactive kids - which sounds great, except that the symptoms of hyperactivity are hard to differentiate from those of anxiety, depression, acute stress reaction, or simple boredom at school. I've seen kids who were too bright for their classroom look hyper. Ditto for little ones going through the horrors of divorce or any other significant trauma.
A doctor who's doing his job correctly will require comprehensive psychological and social evaluation of a child before prescribing Ritalin or any other behavior modifying drug. And there are plenty of good doctors. But some physicians take the easy way out, using the pills as the first step. If it's not malpractice it's dangerously close.
I opened the vial and shook some pills onto my palm. They were amber, the 20 - milligram kind. I examined the label. One tablet three times daily. Sixty mg was the maximum recommended dosage. Strong stuff for a seven - year - old.
'You give her these three times a day?'
'Uh - huh. That's what it says, don't it?'
'Yes, it does. Did your doctor start off with something smaller - white or blue pills?'
'Oh yeah. We had her takin' three of the blue ones at first. Worked pretty good but I still got the complaints from the school, so he said it was okay to try these.'
'And this dosage works well for Melody?'
'Works real fine for me. If it's gonna be a rough day with lots of visitors comin' over - she don't do real good with lots of people, lots of commotion - I give her an extra one.'
Now we were talking overdose.
Bonita Quinn must have seen the look of surprise and disapproval that I tried unsuccessfully to conceal, for she spoke up with indignation in her voice.
'The doc says it was okay. He's an important man. You know, this place don't allow kids and I get to stay here only on account as she's a quiet kid. M and M Properties - they own the place - told me any time there's complaints about kids, that's it.'
No doubt that did wonders for Melody's social life. Chances are she had never had a friend over.
There was cruel irony to the idea of a seven - year old imprisoned amidst single - swingle splendor, tucked away in a slum pocket on an aerie high above the high Pacific, and dosed up with Ritalin to appease the combined wishes of the Los Angeles school system, a dimwitted mother and M and M Properties.
I examined the label on the vial to find out the name of the prescribing physician. When I found it, things began to fall into place.
L.W. Towle. Lionel Willard Towle, M.D. One of the most established and respected pediatricians on the West Side. I had never met him but knew him by reputation. He was on the senior staff of Western Pediatric and a half dozen other Westside hospitals. A big shot in the Academy of Pediatrics. A guest speaker, highly in demand, at seminars on learning disabilities and behavior problems.
Dr. Towle was also a paid consultant to three major pharmaceutical concerns. Translate: pusher. He had a reputation, especially among the younger doctors who were generally more conservative about drugs, as easy with the prescription pad. No one said it too loudly, because Towle had been around a long time and had lots of important patients and plenty of connections, but the whispered consensus was that he was a Dr. feel good for tots. I wondered how someone like Bonita Quinn had ended up in his practice. But there was no easy way to ask without appearing unduly nosy.
I handed the vial back to her and turned to Milo, who'd been sitting through the exchange in silence.
'Let me talk to you,' I said.
'Just one moment, ma'am.'
Outside the apartment I told him, 'I can't hypnotize this kid. She's drugged to the gills. It would be a risk to work with her, and besides, there's little chance of getting anything worthwhile out of her.'
Milo digested this.
'Shit.' He scratched his head. 'What if we take her off the pills for a few days?'
'That's a medical decision. We get into that and we're way out of bounds. We need the physician's permission. Which blows confidentiality.'
'Who's the doc?'
I told him about Towle.
'Wonderful. But maybe he'll agree to let her off for a few days.'
'Maybe, but there's no guarantee she'll give us anything. This kid's been on stimulants for a year. And what about Mrs. Q? She's scared plenty as is. Take her darling off the pills and first thing she'll do is lock the kid inside twelve hours a day. They like it quiet here.'
The complex was still silent as a mausoleum. At one - forty - five in the afternoon.
'Can you at least look at the kid? Maybe she's not that doped.'
Across the way the door to the Handler apartment was open. I caught a glimpse of elegance in disarray - oriental rugs, antiques, and severe acrylic furniture broken and upended, blood - spattered white walls. The police lab men worked silently, like moles.
'By now she's had her second dose, Milo.'
'Shit.' He punched his fist into his palm. 'Just meet the kid. Give me your impression. Maybe she'll be alert.'
She wasn't. Her mother led her into the living room and then left with Milo. She stared off into the distance, sucking her thumb. She was a small child. If I hadn't known her age I would have guessed it at five, maybe five - and - a - half. She had a long, grave face with oversized brown eyes. Her straight blond hair hung to her shoulders, held in place by twin plastic barettes. She wore blue jeans and a blue - greenandwhite - striped T - shirt. Her feet were dirty and bare.
I led her to a chair and sat opposite her on the couch.
'Hello, Melody. I'm Dr. Delaware. I'm a psychologist. Do you know what that is?'
No response.
'I'm the kind of doctor who doesn't give shots. What I do is talk and draw and play with kids. I try to help kids who are sad, or angry, or scared.'
At the word scared she looked up for a second. Then she resumed staring past me and sucked her thumb.
'Do you know why I'm talking to you?'
A shake of the head.
'It's not because you're sick or because you've done anything wrong. We know you're a good girl.'
Her eyes moved around the room, avoiding me.
'I'm here because you may have seen something last night that's important. When you couldn't sleep and were looking out the window.'
She didn't answer. I continued.
'Melody, what kind of things do you like to do?'
Nothing.
'Do you like to play?'
She nodded.
'I like to play too. And I like to skate. Do you skate?'
'Uh - uh.' Of course not. Skates make noise.
'And I like to watch movies. Do you watch movies?'
She mumbled something. I bent closer.
'What's that, hon?'
'On TV.' Her voice was thin and quivering, a trembling breathy sound like the breeze through dry leaves.
'Uh - uh. On TV. I watch TV, too. What shows do you like to watch?'
'ScoobyDoo.'
