'Well, at least we've got outside corroboration of the seizures.
Kid's definitely grand mal.'
'So now everyone knows Cindy's not nuts.'
'What do you mean?'
'Yesterday she talked to me about people thinking she was crazy.'
'She actually said that?'
'Sure did. The context was her being the only one who saw Cassie get sick, the way Cassie would recover as soon as she got to the hospital.
As if her credibility was suspect. It could have been frustration, but
maybe she knows she's under suspicion and was bringing it up to test my reaction. Or just to play games.'
'How did you react?'
'Calm and reassuring, I hope.'
'Hmm,' she said, frowning. 'One day she's worrying about her credibility; then all of a sudden we've got something organic to work with?'
'The timing is awfully cute,' I said. 'Who else besides Cindy was with Cassie last night?'
'No one. Not constantly. You think she slipped her something?'
'Or pinched her nose. Or squeezed her neck-carotid sinus pressure.
Both came up when I was scanning the Munchausen literature and I'm sure there are a few more tricks that haven't been documented yet.'
'Tricks a respiratory tech might know... Damn. So how in blazes do you detect something like that?'
She pulled her stethoscope from around her neck. Looped it around one hand and unwrapped it. Facing the wall, she pressed her forehead to it and closed her eyes.
Are you going to put her on anything?' I said. 'Dilantin or phenobarb?'
'I can't. Because if she doesn't have a bona fide disorder, meds can do more harm than good.'
'Won't they suspect something if you don't medicate her?'
'Maybe... I'll just tell them the truth. The E.E.G tracings are inconclusive and I want to find the exact cause for the seizures before I dose her up. Bogner'll back me up on that-he's mad because he can't figure it out.'
The teak doors swung open and George Plumb shot through, jaw leading, white coat flapping. He held the door for a man in his late sixties wearing a navy-blue pin-stripe suit. The man was much shorter than Plumb-five six or seven-stocky and bald, with a rapid, bowlegged walk and a malleable-looking face that appeared to have taken plenty of direct hits: broken nose, off-center chin, grizzled eyebrows, small eyes set in a sunburst pucker of wrinkles. He wore steel-rimmed eyeglasses, a white shirt with a spread collat, and a powder-blue silk tie fastened in a wide Windsor. His wingtips gleamed.
The two of them came straight to us. The short man looked busy even when standing still.
'Dr. Eves,' said Plumb. And Dr.... Delaware, was it?'
I nodded.
The short man seemed to be opting out of the introductions. He was looking around the ward-that same measuring appraisal Plumb had conducted two days ago.
Plumb said, 'How's our little girl doing, Dr. Eves?'
'Resting,' said Stephanie, focusing on the short man. 'Good morning, Mr. Jones.'
