offer her a job anytime she wanted it. She did not accept.”
“So we find her. You find her.”
Salomon sighed. “What clues can you give me? Her husband, perhaps? Isn’t he an artist?”
“I suppose you could call him that. Look, Jake, don’t hold this against Eunice—but I would call him a gigolo. But I’m old-fashioned. I had to get a report when she married him. He was clean, no reason to lose the best secretary a man ever had just because she chose to marry him. Yes, he was an artist, one who didn’t sell much; she supported him. That was her business; Branca was all right—didn’t use drugs, didn’t even drink. But he wasn’t up to her. Illiterate. Surely I know how common that is today; I’m not prejudiced, I’ve got illiterates right in this house—and only God and Accounting know how many are working for Smith Enterprises. Branca may never have attended a school in which reading is taught. But I can give you one lead—if Eunice is not working as a secretary—easy to check through Social Security—and if they aren’t on the Welfare rolls—she won’t be, he might be—then check model agencies, video, artists, photographers, et cetera. For both of them. For he was as handsome as Eunice was beautiful; the snoopshot with the security report made that plain.”
“Very well, Johann; I’ll get a skiptrace firm on it.”
“Hell, put a regiment of detectives on it!”
“But suppose they dropped out? People do.”
Johann sniffed. “Perhaps he would, I would lay any amount that she never would. But if necessary, I want every Abandoned Area in this city combed.”
“Expensive. You send a private detective into an A.A. and the premium on his life goes sky high.”
“Didn’t you tell me that I have more money than I know what to do with?”
“True. But I don’t relish hiring a man for hazardous work even if he wants the job. But we’re borrowing trouble; it may take nothing more than getting Accounting to dig out that address. Or do a back check on a Social Security number with the customary small bribe. I’ll let you know.”
Salomon stood up to leave. Smith said, “Hold it. Will I see you tomorrow? And will you phone in a report—tell Hedrick or the physician on watch; they won’t let me talk on the phone—phone a report each day? Till you find her?”
“Every day, Johann.”
“Thanks, Jake. You’ll make Eagle Scout yet. Tell nursy she can come out of the comer now. They’re probably waiting to slip me my Mickey Finn—this is the longest they’ve let me stay awake so far.”
Two rooms away Salomon stopped to speak to Dr. Hedrick. The physician looked at him. “Rough,” he stated.
“Quite. Doctor, how long do you expect to keep your patient from using a mirror?”
“Hard to say. Progress has been rapid lately . . . but Smith still has very imperfect control of the new body. Plus tingling and itching and numbness—all to be expected—and imaginary pains. Psychosomatic, rather; they are real to the patient. Counselor, if you expect me to have my patient ready for a competency hearing any time soon, emotional shocks must be delayed as long as possible. That’s my opinion, though of course I am strongly influenced by Dr. Rosenthal’s judgment. Besides imperfect body control, our patient is weak and emotionally extremely unstable.”
“So I am aware.”
“Mr. Salomon, you look as if you needed another tranquilizer. May I?”
Salomon grudged a smile. “Only if it involves grain alcohol.”
Hedrick chuckled. “Will you settle for some bottled in Scotland?”
“Yes! No water. Well, just a touch.”
“I’ll dispense the drug, you add water to taste. I’ll prescribe for myself, too—I also find this case a bit trying. Even though we are making medical history.”
8
Dr. Garcia rubbed Jake Salomon’s arm where he had just injected him. “Now wait three minutes. With a tenth cc. of ‘Tranquille’ in you, you could attend your own hanging in a calm
“So we find her. You find her.”
Salomon sighed. “What clues can you give me? Her husband, perhaps? Isn’t he an artist?”
“I suppose you could call him that. Look, Jake, don’t hold this against Eunice—but I would call him a gigolo. But I’m old-fashioned. I had to get a report when she married him. He was clean, no reason to lose the best secretary a man ever had just because she chose to marry him. Yes, he was an artist, one who didn’t sell much; she supported him. That was her business; Branca was all right—didn’t use drugs, didn’t even drink. But he wasn’t up to her. Illiterate. Surely I know how common that is today; I’m not prejudiced, I’ve got illiterates right in this house—and only God and Accounting know how many are working for Smith Enterprises. Branca may never have attended a school in which reading is taught. But I can give you one lead—if Eunice is not working as a secretary—easy to check through Social Security—and if they aren’t on the Welfare rolls—she won’t be, he might be—then check model agencies, video, artists, photographers, et cetera. For both of them. For he was as handsome as Eunice was beautiful; the snoopshot with the security report made that plain.”
“Very well, Johann; I’ll get a skiptrace firm on it.”
“Hell, put a regiment of detectives on it!”
“But suppose they dropped out? People do.”
Johann sniffed. “Perhaps he would, I would lay any amount that she never would. But if necessary, I want every Abandoned Area in this city combed.”
“Expensive. You send a private detective into an A.A. and the premium on his life goes sky high.”
“Didn’t you tell me that I have more money than I know what to do with?”
“True. But I don’t relish hiring a man for hazardous work even if he wants the job. But we’re borrowing trouble; it may take nothing more than getting Accounting to dig out that address. Or do a back check on a Social Security number with the customary small bribe. I’ll let you know.”
Salomon stood up to leave. Smith said, “Hold it. Will I see you tomorrow? And will you phone in a report—tell Hedrick or the physician on watch; they won’t let me talk on the phone—phone a report each day? Till you find her?”
“Every day, Johann.”
“Thanks, Jake. You’ll make Eagle Scout yet. Tell nursy she can come out of the comer now. They’re probably waiting to slip me my Mickey Finn—this is the longest they’ve let me stay awake so far.”
Two rooms away Salomon stopped to speak to Dr. Hedrick. The physician looked at him. “Rough,” he stated.
“Quite. Doctor, how long do you expect to keep your patient from using a mirror?”
“Hard to say. Progress has been rapid lately . . . but Smith still has very imperfect control of the new body. Plus tingling and itching and numbness—all to be expected—and imaginary pains. Psychosomatic, rather; they are real to the patient. Counselor, if you expect me to have my patient ready for a competency hearing any time soon, emotional shocks must be delayed as long as possible. That’s my opinion, though of course I am strongly influenced by Dr. Rosenthal’s judgment. Besides imperfect body control, our patient is weak and emotionally extremely unstable.”
“So I am aware.”
“Mr. Salomon, you look as if you needed another tranquilizer. May I?”
Salomon grudged a smile. “Only if it involves grain alcohol.”
Hedrick chuckled. “Will you settle for some bottled in Scotland?”
“Yes! No water. Well, just a touch.”
“I’ll dispense the drug, you add water to taste. I’ll prescribe for myself, too—I also find this case a bit trying. Even though we are making medical history.”
8
Dr. Garcia rubbed Jake Salomon’s arm where he had just injected him. “Now wait three minutes. With a tenth cc. of ‘Tranquille’ in you, you could attend your own hanging in a calm
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