“What'd she owe him for?”

“Maybe he did it for free, who knows?”

“A trade?”

Barnaby shrugged.

“What did he look like?” said Milo.

“Nothing special. Thirty-five, forty. Short. But big here.” Touching a shoulder. “Like a gym rat. Short hair, almost skinned, kind of jap eyes. Good threads- suit, tie, the works.”

“And the other one?”

“What other one?”

“You said there was another guy.”

“Yeah, but he was old, no big deal. Sick-looking- yellow skin, in a wheelchair. The doctor was pushing him around. Maybe he was a big-bucks patient having a last fling. You see that all the time in Vegas. Totally fucked- up people, paraplegics, people on air tanks, losers with no legs. Getting pushed around the casino with cups full of chips. Like a last fling, you know?”

“What else did Mandy say about them?”

“She didn't say nothing at all about the old guy.”

“And the doctor?”

“Just that he fixed her.”

“And she owed him.”

“Yeah. Is he some wacko?”

“No,” said Milo. “He's a hero.”

Barnaby looked confused.

Milo said, “Anything else you can think of?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Yeah. You're welcome.”

“The address on Vista Chino your current one?”

“Yeah.”

“What's the address of the place you're leasing?”

“What's the diff, you got me busted, I can't take it now.”

“Just in case.”

Barnaby recited some numbers and a street. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he started to walk off.

“Want me to talk to Giovanne?” said Milo.

“It won't do any good.”

“Suit yourself.”

Barnaby stopped. “Hey, you wanna do it, fine. You wanna feel like a hero, too, fine.”

30

We played five hands of losing blackjack, thanked the pit boss, got back on the highway, and raced through the desert. A gray moon sat low in the sky and the sand looked like snow.

“Old man in a wheelchair,” I said. “Maybe Big Micky Kruvinski?”

Milo shifted his bulk in the driver's seat and rolled his neck. “Or maybe he was a rich patient. Getting his ashes hauled, bill it to Medi-Cal as physical therapy. Lord only knows what kinds of things Cruvic does for a buck.”

“The main thing: Cruvic knew Mandy.”

“Bastard. Gotta find a way to get into his records. Barone's an expert on building paper walls and all we have against Cruvic so far is suspicion, no grounds for a warrant.”

“Did you ask Barnaby about dope because you think there might be a dope angle?”

“I asked him because he's still a user- did you see all that sweat, those eyes? I meant what I said about bad guys.”

“Hope and cocaine? No evidence she ever used.”

“No evidence on Hope, period.”

“Casey Locking might be able to provide some,” I said. “He has some connection to Cruvic. I keep thinking about the time we talked on campus, his taking the law-and-order line. Which is standard psychopath behavior- the rules apply to everyone but me. Maybe I can learn something about him from Hope's other student- the one in London. I'll try her again.”

He pushed the Porsche over ninety. “It's weird, Alex. The case starts out all high-tone- professors, the high-IQ crowd, but now we're back on the usual terrain: dopers, dealers, hookers, characters.”

“Hope's little boxes,” I said.

He thought about that for a mile or two, finally said, “Yeah. But which box had the rattlesnake?”

We stopped for coffee at an all-night diner in Ontario and were back in L.A. just before 2:00 A.M. Another note had been added to the scrap on the dining-room table:

Talk about your ships in the night!

Wake me if you want.

Your pen pal. R.

Despite four cups of decaf my throat was dry from the desert air and I poured myself an iced soda water and sat drinking in the kitchen. Then I realized it was morning in England and went to the library to find Mary Ann Gonsalvez's number.

This time she answered, in a soft, curious voice. “Hello?”

I told her who I was.

“Yes. I got your messages.” No emotion.

“Do you have time to talk about Professor Devane?”

“I suppose- it's so terrible. Have they any idea who did it?”

“No.”

“Terrible,” she repeated. “I didn't find out until a week after, when the department notified me by fax. I couldn't believe it. But… I don't know how I can help.”

“We're trying to learn as much as possible about Professor Devane,” I said. “The kind of person she was. Her relationships.”

“That's why you're involved, Dr. Delaware?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting… new uses for our field. I'm sorry I didn't call back, but I just didn't think I had anything to say. She was a fine advisor for me.”

Dropping pitch on the last two words.

“For you but not for someone else?” I said.

Another pause. “What I meant was her style suited mine. Hands-off, she had her own life. She did help get me funding for my year in England.”

“Hands-off, how?”

“She let me do my own thing. I'm kind of compulsive, so it worked out.”

“A self-starter.”

She laughed. “That's a nicer way to put it.”

“So someone who needed more guidance might find her style difficult?”

“I suppose so, but that would just be speculation.”

“What about Casey Locking? Is he a self-starter?”

“I don't know Casey.” Tension in her voice.

“Not at all?”

“Not well. You're an alumnus, Dr. Delaware, you know how the program operates: three years of coursework, quals, then on to dissertation research. Some students know what they want, hook up with an advisor right away. I didn't. Between my job, my daughter, and classes, I was in a pretty severe time crunch.”

“How old's your daughter?”

“Three. I just sent her off to day care. They have excellent day care here.”

“Better than L.A.?”

“Better than I found in L.A. I wanted someplace that would provide some nurturance, do more than warehousing. Anyway, I was crunched, needed to finish, so you can see why there wasn't much time to socialize with Casey or anyone else.”

“Did you have any contact with him?”

“Minimal. He- our paths were different.”

“In what way?”

“I'm interested in clinical work. He didn't seem to care about that at all.”

“Pure research?”

“I guess so.”

“He's a little different,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“The black leather.”

“Yes,” she said. “He does try to project an image.”

“So even though the two of you were Professor Devane's only students, you had little to do with each other.”

“Correct.”

“Do you know anything about his research?”

“Something about self-control. Animal studies, I think.”

“Was Professor Devane hands-off with him, too?”

“Well,” she said, “they published together, so they must have shared some common ground. Why? Is Casey… implicated somehow?”

“Would it surprise you if he was?”

“Of course it would. The thought of anyone I know doing something like that would be surprising. Dr. Delaware, I have to say this conversation is making me uncomfortable. I can't even know for sure you're really who you say you are.”

“If you'd like, I can give you the number of the police detective assigned to the case.”

“No, that's all right. I have nothing more to say anyway.”

“But discussing Casey made you uncomfortable.”

She gave a small, soft laugh. “That sounds like a therapeutic comment, Dr. Delaware.”

“Is it an accurate comment?”

“Discussing anyone makes me uncomfortable. I don't like to gossip.”

“So it's nothing to do with Casey, specifically?”

“He- I have some feelings about him but they're really not relevant.”

“You don't like him?”

“I'd rather not,” she said, a bit louder.