'Hi, it's Dr. Delaware.'
'Oh... what can I do for you?'
'How's everything?'
Are you in Cassies room?'
'No out here.'
At the desk?'
'Yes.'
How's Cassie ~~~~g~~~ 'Sleeping?'
'Uh-huh.'
'What about Cindy?'
'Her too.'
'Busy day for everyone, huh?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Has Dr. Eves been by recently?'
Around eight-you want the exact time?'
'No, thanks. Anything new, in terms of the hypoglycemia?'
'You'd have to ask Dr. Eves that.'
'No new seizures?'
'Nope.'
All right,' I said. 'Tell Cindy I called. I'll be by tomorrow.'
She hung up. Despite her hostility, I felt a strange-almost corrupt-sense of power. Because I knew about her unhappy past and she was unaware of it. Then I realized that what I knew put me no closer to the truth.
Far afield, Milo said.
I sat there, feeling the power diminish.
The next morning I woke up to clean spring light. I jogged a couple of miles, ignoring the pain in my knees and fixing my thoughts on the evening with Robin.
Afterward I showered, fed the fish, and read the paper while eating breakfast. Nothing more on the Ashmore homicide.
I called Information, trying to match a phone number to the address Milo had given me for Dawn Herbert. None was listed and neither of the two other Herberts residing in Culver City knew any Dawn.
I hung up, not sure it made much of a difference. Even if I located her, what explanation would I use to ask her about Chad's file?
I decided to concentrate on the job I'd been trained to do.
Dressing and clipping my hospital badge to my lapel, I left the house, turned east on Sunset, and headed for Hollywood.
I reached Beverly Hills within minutes and passed Whittier Drive without slowing. Something on the opposite side of the boulevard caught my eye: White Cutlass, coming from the east. It turned onto Whittier and headed up the 900 block.
