'Who's that? Oh, yeah, Vicki. I think Vicki's a cranky bitch but generally real good at what she does-' The droopy eyes perked.
'Her? Shit, I never thought about that, but that doesn't make sense, does it? Till this last seizure, the problems started at home?'
'Vicki visited the home, but only a couple of times. Not enough to do all the damage.'
'Besides,' he said, 'it's always the mother, isn't it, these Munchausens? And this one's strange-at least in my uneducated opinion.'
'How so?'
'I don't know. She's just too damned nice. Especially considering how inept we've been diagnosing her kid. That were me, I'd be pissed, demanding action. But she keeps smiling. Smiles too much for my taste. Hi, Doctor, how are you, Doctor?' Never trust a smiler, Al.
I was married to one the first time. Those white teeth were always hiding something-you can probably give me all the psychodynamics behind it, right?'
I shrugged and said, 'Perfect world.'
He laughed. 'Lot of good you are.'
I said, Any impressions of the father?'
'Never met him. Why? Is he strange too?'
'I wouldn't say strange. He's just not what you'd expect of Chuck Jones's son. Beard, earring. Doesn't seem to have much affection for the hospital.'
'Well, at least he and Chuck have something in common..
Far as I'm concerned the case is a loser and I'm tired of losing.
That's why I punted to you. And now you're telling me you've got squat.
Too bad.' He retrieved the hammer, tossed it, caught it, used it to drum the top of the table.
I said, 'Would hypoglycemia explain any of Cassie's earlier symptoms?'
'Maybe the diarrhea. But she also had fevers, so there was probably some kind of infectious process going on. In terms of the breathing problems, it's also possible. Mess with the metabolism, anything's possible.'
He picked up his stethoscope and looked at his watch. 'Got work to do.
Some of the kids out there, this'll be the last time I see them.'
I got up and thanked him.
'For what? I've accomplished squat on this one.
Iolaughed. 'Same way I feel, Al.'
'Consultancy blues. You know the story of the oversexed rooster who was bothering the hens in the henhouse? Sneaking up behind em and jumping their bones, just generally making a nuisance of himself? So the farmer had him castrated and turned him into a consultant. Now he just sits on the fence, watching and giving advice to the other roosters. Trying to remember what it felt like.'
I laughed again. We left the exam room and returned to the waiting room. A nurse came up to Macauley and handed him a pile of charts without comment. She looked angry as she walked away.
'Good morning to you, too, darling,' he said. To me: 'I'm a rotten deserter. Next few weeks are gonna be my punishment.'
He looked out at the turmoil and his hound face sagged.
'Does quieter pastures mean private practice?' I said.
'Group practice. Small town in Colorado, not far from Vail. Ski in the winter, fish in the summer, find new
