facilities are moneymaking rackets, though some are. It’s really the nature of the beast that we stalk: Addiction isn’t a sin nor is it simply a set of bad habits, though bad habits inevitably follow addiction. The crux of the problem is that when people get hooked on a narcotic substance, their brain chemistry changes. We can detoxify addicts during acute phases and we can teach them to reverse destructive patterns of behavior if they’re sufficiently motivated. But I’ve yet to see anyone claiming to undo the basic addictive biology.”
Milo blinked. Clicked his tongue. A signal I’d never seen before but decoding was easy.
I said, “Sounds like a chronic disease.”
“Precisely, chronic care is the best-fit model,” said Beth Manlow.
“And this relates to Steve Muhrmann because—”
“I gave you that little speech because I need you to be realistic about what I can tell you. We are one of the best facilities in the country but we do not turn a profit, nor do we aim to. Awakenings was started by a man who lost two children to addiction and sought to prevent the same tragedy in other people’s families. Solon Wechsman passed away five years ago and left an endowment that funds this place, but only partially. I was hired after he died and a bit of financial freedom allows me the luxury of brutal self-appraisal. Our success rate—accurately determined—is thirty-six percent. It may not sound like much but I think it’s pretty good. It’s like being an oncologist—a cancer specialist. If you’ve allowed someone several constructive years, you’ve accomplished something important.”
“You’re saying Steve Muhrmann was one of the sixty-four percent.”
“I can’t talk about him or any other patient specifically. But I won’t tell you you’re wrong.”
“Did he create special problems when he was here?”
She shook her head. “I can’t get into details.”
“Can you say what he came to you for?”
“All I’m going to tell you is that for the most part patients come to us volitionally. But a few are sent to us.”
I said, “Muhrmann had a couple of DUIs and the court imposed treatment.”
“In a perfect world,” said Beth Manlow, “everyone would have sufficient insight to know when their engines needed a tune-up. In our world, some cars need to be towed in.”
“Have you found any difference between mandated patients and those who come on their own?”
“My preliminary data say there is a difference.”
“Court-appointed patients are more problematic.”
“Let’s just say they’re less focused on long-term solutions.”
“Clean me up, sign a paper, send me home.”
She shrugged.
I said, “Did Muhrmann show any tendencies to violence?”
“I’m not going to answer that,” she said. “But don’t interpret my reticence as a yes.”
“Was there anything about him you found troublesome in terms of aggression?”
“I can’t tell you that, either,” she said.
“Maybe you just did.”
“I wouldn’t assume anything. Now, if there’s nothing more, I need to lead a group in—”
I said, “Constance Longellos.”
Manlow smoothed her thick hair. Stood, straightened a diploma that had been hanging straight. “I really do need to get going, the group’s waiting. It’s not a bad thing for addicts to learn to delay gratification, but no sense pushing it.”
As she headed for the door, I said, “Ms. Longellos served as a reference for Mr. Muhrmann, so he could rent a house. Like Muhrmann, she was convicted of drunk driving. That could be grounds for rapport.”
Manlow tapped the door frame.
Milo said, “The girl on TV was seen with Muhrmann hours before she ended up with her face blown off.”
Manlow’s knuckles blanched. “Gory details are supposed to shock me into an ethical lapse? I’m a physician, that kind of thing doesn’t bother me.”
“Does it bother you that a former patient you were unable to help may have gone on to commit murder?”
Manlow’s pale face colored at the peripheries, hairline, jaw points, and cheekbones reddening like an oxidizing apple filmed in time-lapse.
One of her beepers went off. The one without the tape. Snatching it from her waistband, she read the number. “I need to go right now. I’m going to buzz you out and I suggest that a return visit will not be useful for anyone.”
ilo stopped to stare at the ranch houses before slipping into the passenger seat. “Place calls itself Awakenings but Manlow admitted most of the patients go back to sleep. Including Steve-o. The way she got squirrelly about Longellos tells me there was a hookup. And that Muhrmann was a problem child. So what constitutes a problem in a place like this?”
“Chronic noncompliance,” I said. “Or consorting with another patient. In this case an older woman with problems of her own.”
“Consorting,” he said. “Love your knack for the genteel. Yeah, maybe he
“Maybe he wasn’t when he was here. One good thing, we’re developing a time line: Longellos and Muhrmann get busted around the same time, Muhrmann’s out for a year or so when he uses her as a reference for the house on Russell. By that time, he and Mystery are hanging out, maybe to shoot a porno. He has eleven grand in cash but comes to his mother eight months ago for more money. She gives him two, which he probably uses for dope, because once his upfront rent’s paid off, he stops paying. Whatever his relationship with Connie Longellos, he kept seeing Mystery. Maybe for sex, maybe for business, maybe for both. Which could tie in with that scene I saw at the Fauborg: some sort of fantasy game involving the two of them and a third party.”
“Mystery’s hot date,” he said. “We’ve been assuming a man, but what if this Connie was part of the threesome? That could explain two weapons when the time came for Mystery to go. A woman might not have enough shooting experience to do it on her own.”
“But she might get a charge out of being part of a firing squad.”
He thought about that. “Sick. Okay, Thai time, but make a stop first.”
“Where?”
“I see it, I’ll tell you.”
We’d traveled half a mile on Colorado when Milo said, “Here.”
Twenty-four-hour photocopy place. Dime-a-page faxing.
He phoned Brandon Caspar at Zephyr Properties, told him to be on standby, then slipped the drawing of Mystery into a machine.
Moments later, Brandon called back.
Milo said, “Probably? You’re not positive?” A beat. “No one’s asking you to place a bet, Brandon, just go with your gut … no, we’re not even close to charging anyone with anything so don’t worry about going to court … yes, I do remember Brigitte Bardot … yes, I can see the resemblance but what I want to know is … okay, I’ll settle for most probably.”
Clicking off, he said, “Unless you’re starving, forget Thai.”
“Lost your appetite?”
“More like putting it on hold. I was hoping the kid would give me a positive I.D. and I could get Muhrmann’s face on the news.” He snatched the drawing out of the fax machine.
Back in the car, he said, “What the hell, nothing ventured.”
