Survival of the Fittest by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

breathless.
    “Rushed?” I said.
    “Busy. We just had a patient infarct in the middle of an angio. Big artery the cardiologist hadn’t known about, he’s Roto-Rootering one and the other jams up. But he’s okay, the patient, things have quieted down. The reason I called is, right after our session I went over to Nolan’s apartment, all motivated to go through his stuff, maybe find something.” She paused and I could hear her inhale and blow it out. “I went to the garage first and it was fine but someone broke into the place, Dr. Delaware. It was a wreck. They took his stereo and his TV, his microwave, all his flatware, a couple of lamps, pictures off the walls. Probably some clothes, too. Someone must have come with a truck and loaded up.”
    “Oh, boy,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
    “Lowlifes.” Her voice shook. “Scumbags.”
    “No one saw anything?”
    “They probably did it at night. It’s a duplex, just Nolan and the landlord and she’s a dentist, out of town at a convention. I called the police and they said it would take at least an hour to get there. I had to be at work by three, so I gave my number and left. What can they do, anyway? Write a report and file it? The damage is already done. Even if the bastards come back, there’s nothing to take except .   .   . Nolan’s car—God, why didn’t I think of that! His Fiero. In the garage. Either they didn’t see it or they didn’t have time and are coming back—God, I’ve got to go back there, get someone to take me so I can drive the Fiero over to my place .   .   . so many things to handle, the lawyer just called me about the final papers .   .   . robbing a cop. This damn city .   .   . his rent is paid up for the month but eventually I’m going to have to clean everything up and .   .   . go back there   .   .   .”
    “Would you like me to go with you?”
    “You’d do that?”
    “Sure.”
    “That’s so nice, but no, I couldn’t.”
    “It’s okay, Helena. I don’t mind.”
    “I just—you’re serious?”
    “Where’s the apartment?”
    “Mid-Wilshire. Sycamore near Beverly. I can’t leave right now, too many iffy patients. Maybe midshift, if we’re staffed enough. If they take the damn car before then, fine.”
    “Tonight, then.”
    “I can’t impose on you to come out late, Dr. Delaware—”
    “It’s no problem, Helena. I’m a night person.”
    “I’m not sure exactly when I’ll be free.”
    “Call me when you are. If I’m free, I’ll meet you there. If not, you’re on your own. Okay?”
    She laughed softly. “Okay. Thanks so much. I really didn’t want to go alone.”
    “Have a minute?” I said.
    “Unless someone else starts dying.”
    “I spoke with Dr. Lehmann.”
    “What’d he say?”
    “As we expected, nothing, because of confidentiality. But he did agree to reread Nolan’s file and if he comes up with something he feels comfortable discussing, he’ll meet with me.”
    Silence.
    “That is, if you want me to, Helena.”
    “Sure,” she said. “Sure, that’s fine. I started, might as well finish.”

Chapter
    13
     
     
     
    Milo chomped a dead cigarillo and carried the consulate crank letters in an oversized, unlabeled white envelope.
    “A year’s worth,” he said, remaining out on the terrace.
    “What do they do with the old ones?”
    “Don’t know. This is what Carmeli gave me. Or rather, his secretary. Still haven’t gotten past the hall, yet. Thanks, Alex. Back to the phones.”
    “No luck yet?”
    “Lots of callbacks pending. Hooks has started to work on Montez. So far, the guy’s clean. Totally. Just to be careful I double-checked the offender files. Nothing. See you.”
    He patted my shoulder and turned to leave.
    “Milo, are you aware of any scandals brewing in the department? West L.A. or Hollywood, specifically?”
    He stopped short. “No. Why?”
    “Can’t say.”
    “Oh,” he said. “The Dahl kid. Someone bad-mouthed him? Do