'Hey, with your fees, I figured anything I could do myself would be a bargain.'
He grunted. 'Knowing me is a bargain. Pneumonia, huh? So what're you saying? Her lungs clog, it messes her plans up, so she fucks up her kids' lungs-whatchacallit, projecting?'
'Something like that. On top of that, she was trained in respiratory therapy.'
'Then why would she move away from respiratory stuff? Why the stomach problems and the seizures?'
'I don't know, but the facts remain: Lung sickness disrupted her life.
And/or gave her a lot of attention.'
'So she passed it on to the kids in order to get more attention for herselst Or got mad at being sick and took it out on the kids?'
'Either. Neither. Both. I don't know. Maybe I'm just blowing air-no pun intended.'
'That comment about being nuts. You think she suspects she 5 under watch?'
'It's possible. Or maybe she was just playing around with me.
She's on edge, but who wouldn't be, with a child constantly sick?
That's the problem with this whole case-anything I see can be explained several different ways. What does stick in my mind is the way she blushed and fiddled with her hair when she talked about the army. I'm wondering if the pneumonia story could be a cover for a psychiatric discharge or something else she doesn't want coming out.
I'm hoping the army can confirm it, one way or the other.'
'When's the army gonna call you back?'
'The guy I spoke to didn't commit himself. Said their health records that far back aren't computerized. Would health data be included in the military data banks Charlie's hacked into?'
'Don't know, but I'll ask him.'
'Thanks.'
'How's the baby doing?'
'Full recovery. No neurological problems that would have caused her to seize. Stephanie wants to watch her for a day or two.
Mom says she wouldn't mind going home, but makes no effort to push it-Miss Compliant, doctor knows all. She's also claiming Cassie's talking more since I met her. She's certain it's something I did.'
'The old kiss-up?'
'Munchausen moms are notorious for it-the staff generally loves them.'
'Well,' he said, 'enjoy it while it lasts. You dig up some dirt on this lady, she's not gonna be kissing you anywhere.'
After he hung up, I took the mail, the morning paper, and a month's worth of bills to a deli in West L.A. The place was nearly fullold people hunched over soup, young families with small children, two uniformed policemen at the rear joshing with the owner, mountainous sandwiches sharing table space with their walkietalkies.
I sat at the corner table at the front, to the left of the counter, and had smoked turkey on onion roll, cole slaw, and Dr. Brown's CelRay soda.
Good stuff, but hospital thoughts intruded on my digestion.
At 9:00 P.M. I decided to go back to the hospital for an unscheduled visit. See how Mrs. Charles Lyman Jones the Third reacted to that.
Black night; the shadows on Sunset seemed to be moving in slow motion and the boulevard turned spooky nearer to the good side of town. After a few miles of hollow eyes, Thorazine shuffles, and scary motels, Western Peds's child-shaped logo and brightly lit Emergency Room arrow signaled a welcome outpost.
