'The whodunit,' I said. 'But the whydunit's not clear yet. It turned out to be the father.'
'Well, that's a twist,' she said. 'So it isn't always the mother.'
'He was counting on our assuming it was. He set her up.'
'How Machiavellian.'
'He fancies himself an intellectual. He's a professor.'
'Here?'
'No, at a junior college. But he does his serious research at the U, which is why I'm calling you. My bet is he read up exhaustively on the syndrome in order to create a textbook case. His first child died of SIDS. Another textbook case, so I'm wondering if he set that up too.'
'Oh, no--this sounds gr'tesque.'
'I was thinking about the SAP system,' I said. 'If he's got a faculty account, would there be some way to find out?'
'The library keeps a record of all users, for billing.'
'Do the bills list which articles were pulled?'
Absolutely. What time is it? Nine forty-seven. The library's open till ten. I could call down there and see if anyone I know is working. Give me the bastard's name.'
'Jones, Charles L. Sociology, West Valley Community College.'
'Got it. I'm going to put you on hold and call them on the other line. Just in case we get cut off, give me your number.'
Five minutes later she clicked in.
'Boy, Alex. The idiot left a beautiful paper trail. Pulled everything the system's got on three topics-- Munchausen, sudden infant death, and the sociological structure of hospitals. Plus a few isolated articles on two other topics: diazepam toxicity and--are you ready for this?--women's fantasies about penis size. It's all there: names, dates, exact hour. I'll get a printout for you tomorrow.'
'Fantastic. I really appreciate it, Jennifer.'
'One more thing,' she said. 'He's not the only one who used the account. There's another signature on some of the searches--a Kristie
Kirkash. Know anyone by that name?'
'No,' I said, 'but I wouldn't be surprised if she's young, cute, and one of his students. Maybe even plays sorority softball.'
'Sleazy affair for the prof? How do you figure?'
'He's a creature of habit.'
Hot morning and the Valley was frying. A big rig had overturned on the freeway, showering all lanes with eggs. Even the shoulder was blocked and Milo cursed until the highway patrolman waved us through.
We arrived at the junior college ten minutes behind schedule.
Made it to class just as the last students were entering.
'Damn,' said Milo. 'Improv TIME' We climbed the stairs to the trailer. I remained in the doorway and he went up to the blackboard.
It was a small room-half the trailer, partitioned by an accordion wall and set up with a conference table and a dozen folding chairs.
Ten of the chairs were occupied. Eight women, two men. One of the women was in her sixties; the rest were girls. Both men were fortyish.
