Zuckerman spun and stormed up the hall. We followed her past several examining rooms. In more than one I spotted a sheet-covered woman with her knees in the full upright and locked position. I did not envy the women their delay in the stirrups.
Zuckerman led us past an office door bearing her name to a room containing chairs and a TV-VCR setup. I imagined the instructional videos.
Galiano wasted no time.
“You were Patricia Eduardo’s supervisor at the Hospital Centro Medico.”
“I was.”
“Is there a reason you failed to mention that when we spoke?”
“You were inquiring about patients.”
“Let me understand you, Doctor. I came here asking about three women. One of those three women was under your charge at another facility, and you failed to point that out?”
“It is a common name. I was busy. I didn’t make the connection.”
“I see.” His tone indicated that he did not. “All right. Let’s talk about her now.”
“Patricia Eduardo was one of many girls under my supervision. I know nothing of their activities outside the hospital.”
“You never ask about their private lives?”
“That would be improper.”
“Uh huh. You and Patricia were observed arguing shortly before her disappearance.”
“The girls do not always perform up to my expectations.”
“Was that the case with Patricia?”
She hesitated a beat. “No.”
“What is it you two fought about?”
“Fought.” She blew air through her lips. “I would hardly call it a fight. Miss Eduardo disagreed with advice I was offering.”
“Advice?”
“Medical advice.”
“As a disinterested supervisor?”
“As a doctor.”
“So Patricia
Zuckerman realized her mistake right away.
“She might have visited this clinic once.”
“Why?”
“I can’t remember the complaint of every woman who comes to see me.”
“Patricia was not every woman. She was someone you worked with every day.”
Zuckerman did not reply.
“She was not listed in your records here.”
“That happens.”
“Tell us about her.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Patient confidentiality.”
“Yes.”
“This is a murder investigation. Fuck patient confidentiality.”
Zuckerman stiffened, and a mole on her cheek appeared to expand.
“We do it here, or we do it at headquarters.” Galiano.
Zuckerman pointed at me. “This woman is not official.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “You should not compromise your oath. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
Before anyone could object, I left the room. The hall was deserted. Moving quietly, I hurried to Zuckerman’s office, slipped in, and closed the door.
Morning sun slanted through half-open blinds, casting neat lines across the desk and stippling it with color around a small crystal clock. Its ticking, soft and rapid like a hummingbird’s heart, was the only sound breaking the silence.
Bookshelves wrapped around two walls. Filing cabinets filled a third. All were government-issue gray.
