Stubb chuckled. “Show him your buzzer, Captain.”
“I will,” Davidson said. He took a badge case from the pocket of his coat and held it out. “Take a good look this time, son.”
“And I didn’t say I was Thirteenth Precinct, I said Proudy was. I said, ‘I’m here to see about Sergeant Proudy, Thirteenth Precinct.’”
Sandy interjected, “That’s the truth, Captain.”
“What does the badge say—Junior G-Man?”
“Actually, it’s ‘International Private Investigator,’” Stubb told him. “Want to see it?”
“I’ll wait. In fact, I won’t have to see it at all, if you’ll tell me what the Gypsy girl’s interest in Proudy is.”
Stubb shrugged. “As far as I know, she hasn’t any.”
Sandy pulled at his sleeve. “You mean Madame Serpentina’s a real Gypsy?”
“That’s right, lady,” Davidson said. “And out on the street, this guy said he was working for her, and she confirmed it when she told him to come in and help her. Now I find him up here asking about Chick.” He glanced at the attendant. “Right, son?”
The attendant nodded.
With a squeeze of Stubb’s arm that said please don’t tell, Sandy lifted herself on her toes and raised her voice to match. “Captain, I’m sure Mr. Stubb meant no harm at all! Why Mr. Stubb is one of the nicest, finest—”
Through the closed door of a room nearby, a voice called, “Mr. Stubb, is that you? Please, please help! It’s Nimo!”
Initial Interview
Dr. Bob pushed open the door of Candy’s room, glanced at her, then looked up and down the hall before stepping in and closing the door.
“How are we today?”
“Strung out. What was that they shot me up on? It felt like I was packed in cottonwool, and now the cottonwool’s going away.”
“Would you like a drink of water?”
“Hell, yes. I’d like a drink of anything.”
He took the cap from a white plastic container, ran in water from the little bowl in the corner, and closed the container with a top from which a flexible plastic tube protruded.
“You’ll have to get used to drinking lying down. It isn’t easy at first. If you’ll turn your head to the side, you’ll find that helps.”
Candy put the tube in her mouth and sucked water until the container made a noise like an empty soda glass.
“Good. I hope you feel better now.”
“My head hurts. What are you writing things down for?”
“My report. I have to put down what you say, especially how you feel. This is your initial interview.”
“My head hurts because of that dope you shot in me. It didn’t hurt when I came in here.”
Dr. Bob nodded. “Have you ever used narcotics?”
“Sure.”
He glanced up. “Did you use them today—the day you came here?”
“Huh uh.”
“Yesterday?”
“No. It’s been a while. I don’t think I’ve even had a toke in a couple weeks.”
“Marijuana. What else?”
“Oh, you know. Uppers to try to get skinny. Smack a few times. Coke.”
“You used heroin?”
“Yeah, I had this friend that used to give me some. I just snorted it. I figured I’d let myself get a little habit and drop some weight, then I’d go to a clinic and kick it. Only I never really got to like it that much. A doc I knew told me I lacked the addictive personality. What I want to know is if I do, how come I eat so much and get crocked every time somebody opens a bottle? Is that different?”
“Usually. What’s the name of your doctor?”
“I can’t tell you that.” Candy sounded offended. “You know, professional ethics.”
“I don’t think you understand. When you see your physician, professional ethics prevent him from revealing what passed between you. You, on the other hand, are completely free to tell a third party—certainly another physician—whatever you like.”
“I don’t think
