“Oh, that. Well, she was never controversial here. Everyone was very satisfied with her work… Not that it's my place to tell you how to do your job, but it seems to me you're barking up a completely wrong tree. Hope's murder had nothing to do with her work for me.”
“I'm sure you're right,” said Milo. “Where'd you meet her?”
“At another health facility.”
“Where?”
“A charity clinic in Santa Monica.”
“Name?”
“The Women's Health Center. I've been active there for a while. Once a year they throw a fund-raiser. Hope and I sat next to each other on the dais and we began talking.”
He stood. His tie had ridden up and he pulled it down. “If you'll excuse me, I've got some ladies out there who want to be mommies.”
“Sure. Thanks, Doctor.” Milo stood, too. Blocking the door. “One more thing. Did Professor Devane keep her patient files here?”
“She had no files of her own. Made notes in mine. That way we could communicate easily. My files are kept strictly confidential, so it wasn't a problem.”
“But she did see patients here.”
“Yes.”
“In this room, by any chance?”
“You know,” said Cruvic, “I believe she may have. I don't assign rooms, the staff does.”
“But she stayed in this wing,” said Milo. “The privacy issue.”
“Exactly.”
“Nice setup for privacy. Location-wise, I mean. Off the beaten path.”
Cruvic's bulky shoulders rose, then fell. “We like it.”
He tried to sight around Milo.
Milo seemed to move aside, then his notepad came out. “This Women's Center, you do fertility work there?”
Cruvic inhaled, forced a smile. “Fertility is rarely an issue for the poor. At the center I donate my time to general women's health care.”
“Does that include abortions?”
“With all due respect, I don't see that that's relevant.”
Milo smiled. “It probably isn't.”
“I'm sure you know I'm not free to discuss any of my cases. Even poor women have a right to confid-”
“Sorry, Doc. I wasn't asking about specific cases, just a general question about what you do there.”
“Why raise the abortion issue at all? What's the point, Detective?”
“Abortion's legal but it's still controversial. And some people express their opposition to it violently. So if you do perform abortions and Professor Devane was involved in that, as well, it might give us another angle.”
“Oh, for God's sake,” said Cruvic. “I support a woman's right to choose and so did Hope, but if anyone would be targeted it would be the person actually performing the procedure.” He tapped his chest. “And I'm obviously here.”
“Obviously,” said Milo. “Once again, I have to ask, Doc.”
“I understand,” said Cruvic, but he didn't look mollified. “I'm sure my opinion doesn't mean much but I think Hope was murdered by some psychotic who hates women and chose her because she'd achieved fame. A nut. Not a patient here or at the Women's Center.”
“On the contrary, Doctor. Your opinion does matter. That's exactly what we need. Opinions of people who knew her.”
Cruvic colored and he touched his tie. “I only knew her professionally. But I think her death represents so much that's wrong with our society.”
“How so, sir?”
“Success and the malignant jealousy it evokes. We adulate talented people, put them on a pedestal, then enjoy knocking them off. Why? Because their success threatens us.”
The cheeks bright red now.
He walked around Milo. Stopped at the door and looked back at us.
“The losers punish the winners, gentlemen. If it keeps going that way, we all lose. Good luck.”
Milo said, “If you think of anything, Doc,” and gave him a business card. The straight version, not the one the detectives pass among themselves that reads ROBBERY-HOMICIDE: OUR DAY BEGINS WHEN YOURS ENDS.
Cruvic pocketed it. Charging into the hallway, he unlocked the door to the west wing and was gone.
“Any hypotheses?” said Milo.
“Well,” I said, “he blushed when he said he only knew her professionally, so maybe it was more. And he got a little antsy talking about his billing, so there could have been something funny about that- taking a cut of her fee, kickbacks for referrals, billing for gynecology instead of psychology to up the reimbursement, whatever. The abortion question got his dander up a bit, meaning he probably does them at the center. Maybe here, too, for the high-priced crowd. If so, he wouldn't want it publicized, apart from the controversy. Because a pro-choice fertility patient might find it difficult to submit to the care of someone who also destroys fetuses. But he made a good point about his being the target. And I stick with what I said about a political murderer going public.”
When we got to the exit door, he said, “If he was sleeping with her the consultant thing could have been a way of shunting money to a girlfriend.”
“She didn't need his forty. She made six hundred grand last year.”
“He knew her before the book. Maybe it's been going on for years. And Seacrest found out. I know I'm reaching but we keep talking about that heart-genitals-back thing. Revenge. Some kind of betrayal. Cruvic did get a little passionate talking about her, wouldn't you say?”
“He did. Maybe he's just a passionate guy.”
“Dr. Heelspur. Saying the same thing Seacrest did: “It had nothing to do with me.' ”
“No one wants to be close to murder,” I said.
He frowned and pushed the door to the courtyard. Tight-faced Nurse Anna was at the courtyard table, smoking and reading the paper. She looked up and gave a small wave.
Milo gave her a card, too. She shook her head.
“I only saw Dr. Devane when she came to work.”
“How often was that?”
“It wasn't regular. Every so often.”
“Did she have her own key?”
“Yes.”
“And she always worked out of that room we were just in?”
Nod.
“Nice lady?” said Milo.
Split-second pause. “Yes.”
“Anything you want to tell us about her?”
“No,” she said. “What could there be?”
Milo shrugged.
Returning the gesture, she stubbed out the cigarette, collected her paper, and stood up.
“Break's over, better be getting back. Have a nice day.”
She headed back to the building as we crossed the flagstone. As we opened the big door to the street, she was still watching us.
8
Milo put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it.
“What?” I said.
“Something about Cruvic…” He started the car. “Maybe I've been on the job too long. Know what came into the station this morning? Newborn baby mauled to death by some dogs. Seventeen-year-old unwed momma weeping, tragic accident, right? Then the detectives find out the dogs were in the next-door neighbor's yard, separated by an eight-foot fence. Turns out Momma killed the kid, tossed it over to destroy the evidence.”
“Jesus.”
“No doubt she'll be claiming she was the victim, going on TV, writing a book.” He gave a terrible smile. “So am I excused for negative thinking?”
Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a portable cellular phone and punched numbers. “Sturgis. Anything? Yeah, I'll wait.”
“Mr. Information Highway,” I said, struggling to erase the image of the savaged infant. “Since when does the department issue cell phones?”
“Oh, sure. Department's idea of the information highway is two extra-large tin cans and heavy twine. This here is a hand-me-down from Rick, he's got a new one, does all sorts of paging tricks. I don't like going through the department radio without a tactical band, and pay phones are a hassle. But so is applying for reimbursement, so I write off the calls to Blue.”
Blue Investigations was his evening moonlight: after-hours surveillance jobs, mostly nailing insurance scammers. Mostly he hated it. Lately he'd been turning down referrals.