"I'm here for you, Alex, if you need me."

"I always need you. But not to get involved in crap like this."

"Whatever you need me for, I'm here."

I rose out of the chair and drew her to me, kissing her neck, her ears, her eyes. She threw back her head and put my lips on the warm pulse at the base of her throat.

"Let's get into bed and snuggle," she said.

I turned on the radio and tuned it to KKGO. Sonny Rollins was extracting a liquid sonata from his horn. I switched on a dim light and drew back the covers.

The second surprise of the evening lay there, a plain white envelope, business - size, unmarked and partially covered by the pillow.

"Was this here when you arrived?"

She'd taken off her robe. Now she held it to her breasts, seeking cover, as if the envelope were a living, breathing intruder.

"Could have been. I didn't go in the bedroom."

I slit it open with my thumbnail and took out the single sheet of white paper folded inside. The page was devoid of date, address or any distinguishing logo. Just a white rectangle filled with lines of handwriting that slanted pessimistically downward. The penmanship, cramped and spidery, was familiar. I sat down on the edge of the bed and read.

Dear Doctor:

Here's hoping you sleep in your own bed in the near future so you have the opportunity to read this. I took the liberty of jimmying your rear door to get in and deliver this - you should get a better lock, by the way.

This afternoon I was relieved of my duties in the H - G case. El Capitan feels the case would benefit by the infusion of fresh blood - the tasteless choice of words was his, not mine. I have my doubts about his motivation, but I haven't exactly set any new detection records so I was in no position to debate it with him.

I must have looked pretty shattered by it, cause he got suddenly empathetic and suggested I take some R and R. In fact, he was very well - versed in the details of my personnel file, knew that I'd accrued lots of vacation time and strongly urged me to use some of it.

At first I wasn't overjoyed at the idea, but I've since come to view it as an excellent one. I've found my place in the sun. A quaint little watering hole named Ahuacatlan, just north of Guadalajara. Some preliminary checking via long distance reveals that said burg is extremely well - suited for someone of my recreational interests. Hunting and fishing, in particular.

I expect to be gone for two or three days.

Phone contact is tenuous and undesirable - the natives cherish privacy. Will call when I get back. Regards to Stradivarius (Stadivariette?) and stay out of trouble.

All the best, Milo

I gave it to Robin to read. She finished it and handed it back.

"What's he saying - that he was kicked off the case?"

"Yes. Probably because of outside pressure. But he's going to Mexico to look into McCaffrey's background. Apparently when he called down there he got enough over the phone to make him want to pursue it."

"He's going behind his captain's back."

"He must feel it's worth it." Milo was a brave man but no martyr. He wanted his pension as much as the next guy.

"You were right then. About La Casa." She got under the covers and drew them up to her chin. She shivered, not from the cold.

"Yes." Never had being right seemed of such meager solace.

The music from the radio peeked around corners and took an unexpected pirouette. A drummer had joined Rollins, and he slapped out a tropical tattoo on his tom - toms… I could think only of cannibals and snake - encrusted vines. Shrunken heads…

"Hold me."

I got in beside her and kissed her and held her and tried to act calm. But all the while my mind was elsewhere, lost on some frozen piece of tundra, floating out to sea.

19

The entrance lobby of Western Pediatric Medical Center was walled with marble slabs engraved with the names of long - dead benefactors. Inside, the lobby was filled with the injured, the ill and the doomed, all simmering in the endless wait that is as much a part of hospitals as are intravenous needles and bad food.

Mothers clutched bundles to their breasts, wails escaping from within the layers of the blanket. Fathers chewed their nails, grappled with insurance forms and tried not to think about the loss of masculinity resulting from encounters with bureaucracy. Toddlers raced about, placing their hands on the marble, withdrawing them quickly at the cold and leaving behind grimy mementoes. A loudspeaker called out names and the chosen plodded to the admissions desk. A blue - haired lady in the green - and - white - striped uniform of a hospital volunteer sat behind the information counter, as baffled as those she was mandated to assist.

In a far corner of the lobby, children and grownups sat on plastic chairs and watched television. The TV was tuned to a serial that took place in a hospital. The doctors and nurses on the screen wore spotless white, had coiffed hair, perfect faces, and teeth that radiated a mucoid sparkle as they conversed in slow, low, earnest tones about love, hate, anguish and death.

The doctors and nurses who elbowed their way through the throng in the lobby were altogether more human - rumpled, harried, sleepy - eyed. Those entering rushed, responding to beepers and emergency phone calls. Those exiting did so with the alacrity of escaping prisoners, fearing last - minute calls back to the wards.

I wore my white coat and hospital badge and carried my briefcase as the automatic doors allowed me through and the sixtyish, red - nosed guard nodded as I passed:

"Morning, Doctor."

I rode the elevator to the basement along with a despondent black couple in their thirties and their son, a withered, gray - skinned nine - year - old in a wheelchair. At the mezzanine we were joined by a lab tech, a fat girl carrying a basket of syringes, needles, rubber tubing and glass cylinders full of the ruby syrup of life. The parents of the boy in the wheelchair looked longingly at the blood; the child turned his head to the wall.

The ride ended with a bump. We were disgorged into a dingy yellow corridor. The other passengers turned right, toward the lab. I went the other way, came to a door marked "Medical Records," opened it and went in.

Nothing had changed since I'd left. I had to turn sideways to get through the narrow aisle carved into the floor - to - ceiling stacks of charts. No computer here, no high - tech attempt at organizing the tens of thousands of dog - eared manila files into a coherent system. Hospitals are conservative institutions, and Western Pediatric was the most stodgy of hospitals, welcoming progress the way a dog welcomes the mange.

At the end of the aisle was an unadorned gray wall. Just in front of it sat a sleepy - looking Filipino girl, reading a glamor magazine.

"May I help you?"

"Yes. I'm Dr. Delaware. I need to get hold of a chart of a patient of mine."

"You could have your secretary call us, Doctor, and we'd send it to you."

Sure. In two weeks.

"I appreciate that, but I need to look at it right now and my secretary's not here yet."

"What's the patient's name?"

"Adams. Brian Adams." The room was divided alphabetically. I picked a name that would take her to the far end of the A - K section.

"If you'll just fill out this form, I'll get it right for you."

I filled out the form, falsifying with ease. She didn't bother to look at it and dropped it into a metal file box When she was gone, hidden between the stacks, I went to the L - Z side of the room, searched among the Us and found what I was looking for. I slipped it into my briefcase and returned.

She came back minutes later.

"I've got three Brian Adamses, here, Doctor. Which one is it?"