code, followed by the call letters of the first and last articles we'd retrieved. Seconds later the bin began to fill with paper.
Jennifer said, Automatically collated. Pretty nifty, huh?'
I said, 'Melvyl and Orion-those are basic programs, right?'
'Neand'rthal. One step above cards.'
'If a hospital wanted to convert to computerized search and had a limited budget, could it go beyond that?'
'Sure. Way beyond. There are tons of new software programs.
Even an office practitioner could go beyond that.'
'Ever hear of a company called BIO-DAT?'
'No, can't say that I have, but that doesn't mean anything. I'm no computer person. For me it's just a tool. Why? What do they do?'
'They're computerizing the library at Western Pediatric Hospital.
Converting reference cards to Melvyl and Orion. Supposed to be a three-week job but they've been at it for three months.'
'Is it a huge library?'
'No, quite a small one, actually.'
'If all they're doing is probe and search, with a print-scanner It could be done in a couple of days.'
'What if they don't have a scanner?'
'Then they're Stone Age. That would mean hand-transfer. Actually typing in each reference. But why would you hire a company with such a primitive setup when- Ah, it's finished.'
A thick sheaf of papers filled the bin.
'Presto-gizmo, all the gain, none of the pain,' she said. 'One day they'll probably be able to program the stapling.'
I thanked her, wished her well, and drove home with the fat bundle of documents on the passenger seat. After checking in with my service, going through the mail, and feeding the fish-the koi who'd survived infancy were thriving-I gulped down half a roast beef sandwich left over from last night's supper, swigged a beer, and started in on my homework.
People who proxied their kid.
Three hours later, I felt scummy. Even the dry prose of medical journals had failed to dim the horror.
Devil's waltz. Poisoning by salt, sugar, alcohol, narcotics, expectorants, laxatives, emetics, even feces and pus used to' create 'bacteriologically battered babies.'
Infants and toddlers subjected to a staggering list of torments that brought to mind Nazi 'experiments.' Case after case of children in whom a frighteningly wide range of phony diseases had been induced-virtually every pathology, it seemed, could be faked.
Mothers most frequently the culprits.
Daughters, almost always the victims.
The criminal profile: model mommy, often charming and personable, with a background in medicine or a paramedical field.
Unusual calmness in the face of disaster-blunted affect masquerading as good coping. A hovering, protective nature-one specialist even warned doctors to look out for 'overly caring' mothers.'
Whatever that meant.
I remembered how Cindy Jones's tears had dried the moment Cassie had awakened. How she'd taken
