phone call," I said. "Maybe it was the IRS. Or she was let down that it wasn't the press. But maybe it was someone who'd worked with Mate, telling her to be discreet."
"Dr. Death had his own little elves, huh?"
"She did everything but confirm their existence. Which leads me to an interesting question: this morning we talked about the killer luring Mate to Mulholland by posing as a traveler. What if he was someone Mate already knew and trusted?"
"Elf goes bad?"
"Elf gets next to Mate because he likes killing people. Then he decides he's finished his apprenticeship. Time to co-opt. It would fit with playing doctor, taking Mate's black bag."
"So I shouldn't start rounding up Catholics and Orthodox Jews, huh? Old Alice would have been an asset to the Third Reich. Too bad her alibi checks out— flights confirmed by the airlines." He punched the dashboard lightly. "A confederate gone bad . . . I've gotta get hold of Haiselden, see what kind of paper he's been stashing."
"What about storage lockers in Mate's name?" I said.
"Nothing, so far. No POBs either. It's like he was covering his tracks all the time— the same kind of crap you get with a vic who's a criminal."
"All part of the intrigue. Plus, he did have enemies."
"Then why wasn't he more careful? She's right about the way he lived. No security at all."
"Monumental ego," I said. "Play God long enough, you can start to believe your own publicity. Mate was out for notoriety right from the beginning. Fooled around on the edge of medical ethics long before he built the machine." I told him about the letter to the pathology journal, Mate's death-side vigils, staring into the faces of dying people.
He said, "Cellular cessation, huh? Goddamn ghoul. Can you imagine being one of those poor patients? Here you are, stuck in the ICU, fading in and out of consciousness, you wake up, see some schmuck in a white coat just sitting there, staring at you. Not doing a damn thing to help, just trying to figure out exactly when you're gonna croak? And how could he look in their eyes if they were that sick?"
"Maybe he lifted the lids and peeked," I said.
"Or used toothpicks to prop them up." He slapped the dash again. "Some childhood he must've had." Another glance at the vanilla house. "An ex-wife. First I've heard of it. Don't want her popping up in the press and making me look like the fool I feel." Smile. "And some of my best sources have been exes. They love to talk."
He got on the cell phone: "Steve, it's me. . . . No, nothing earthshaking. Listen, call County Records and see if you can find any marriage certificate or divorce papers on old Eldon. If not, try other counties . . . Orange, Ventura, Berdoo, try 'em all."
"Before med school, he worked in San Diego," I said.
"Try San Diego first, Steve. Just found out he was based there before he became a doc. . . . Why? Because it might be important . . . What? Hold on." He turned to me: "Where'd Mate go to med school?"
"Guadalajara."
That made him frown. "Mexico, Steve. Forget trying to pry anything out of there."
I said, "He interned in Oakland. Oxford Hills Hospital, seventeen years ago. It's out of business, but there might be some kind of record."
"That's Dr. Delaware," said Milo. "He's been doing some independent research. . . . Yeah, he does that. . . . What? I'll ask him. If none of what I told you pans out, try our buds at Social Security. No one's filed for insurance benefits, but maybe there're some kind of federal payments going out to dependents. . . . I know it's an hour of voice mail and brain death, Steve, but that's the job. If you get nothing with SS, go back to the counties, Kern, Riverside, whatever, just keep working your way through the state. . . . Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . Any callback from Haiselden? Okay, stay on him, too. . . . Leave fifty goddamn messages at his house and his office if you have to. Zoghbie said he runs
"Dr. Death had his own little elves, huh?"
"She did everything but confirm their existence. Which leads me to an interesting question: this morning we talked about the killer luring Mate to Mulholland by posing as a traveler. What if he was someone Mate already knew and trusted?"
"Elf goes bad?"
"Elf gets next to Mate because he likes killing people. Then he decides he's finished his apprenticeship. Time to co-opt. It would fit with playing doctor, taking Mate's black bag."
"So I shouldn't start rounding up Catholics and Orthodox Jews, huh? Old Alice would have been an asset to the Third Reich. Too bad her alibi checks out— flights confirmed by the airlines." He punched the dashboard lightly. "A confederate gone bad . . . I've gotta get hold of Haiselden, see what kind of paper he's been stashing."
"What about storage lockers in Mate's name?" I said.
"Nothing, so far. No POBs either. It's like he was covering his tracks all the time— the same kind of crap you get with a vic who's a criminal."
"All part of the intrigue. Plus, he did have enemies."
"Then why wasn't he more careful? She's right about the way he lived. No security at all."
"Monumental ego," I said. "Play God long enough, you can start to believe your own publicity. Mate was out for notoriety right from the beginning. Fooled around on the edge of medical ethics long before he built the machine." I told him about the letter to the pathology journal, Mate's death-side vigils, staring into the faces of dying people.
He said, "Cellular cessation, huh? Goddamn ghoul. Can you imagine being one of those poor patients? Here you are, stuck in the ICU, fading in and out of consciousness, you wake up, see some schmuck in a white coat just sitting there, staring at you. Not doing a damn thing to help, just trying to figure out exactly when you're gonna croak? And how could he look in their eyes if they were that sick?"
"Maybe he lifted the lids and peeked," I said.
"Or used toothpicks to prop them up." He slapped the dash again. "Some childhood he must've had." Another glance at the vanilla house. "An ex-wife. First I've heard of it. Don't want her popping up in the press and making me look like the fool I feel." Smile. "And some of my best sources have been exes. They love to talk."
He got on the cell phone: "Steve, it's me. . . . No, nothing earthshaking. Listen, call County Records and see if you can find any marriage certificate or divorce papers on old Eldon. If not, try other counties . . . Orange, Ventura, Berdoo, try 'em all."
"Before med school, he worked in San Diego," I said.
"Try San Diego first, Steve. Just found out he was based there before he became a doc. . . . Why? Because it might be important . . . What? Hold on." He turned to me: "Where'd Mate go to med school?"
"Guadalajara."
That made him frown. "Mexico, Steve. Forget trying to pry anything out of there."
I said, "He interned in Oakland. Oxford Hills Hospital, seventeen years ago. It's out of business, but there might be some kind of record."
"That's Dr. Delaware," said Milo. "He's been doing some independent research. . . . Yeah, he does that. . . . What? I'll ask him. If none of what I told you pans out, try our buds at Social Security. No one's filed for insurance benefits, but maybe there're some kind of federal payments going out to dependents. . . . I know it's an hour of voice mail and brain death, Steve, but that's the job. If you get nothing with SS, go back to the counties, Kern, Riverside, whatever, just keep working your way through the state. . . . Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . Any callback from Haiselden? Okay, stay on him, too. . . . Leave fifty goddamn messages at his house and his office if you have to. Zoghbie said he runs
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