her chair away from the table and getting to her feet.
Ybarra blinked, surprised by her hostility.
She said, 'Drugs and electric shock — that's part of what her goddamned father was doing to her the past six years.'
'Well, of course, we wouldn't be using the same drugs or the same kind of electric shock, and our intentions would be different from—'
'Yeah, sure, but how the hell is Melanie supposed to know what your intentions are? I know there are cases where barbiturates and even electroconvulsive therapy achieve desirable results, but they're not right for my daughter. She needs to regain her confidence, her feeling of self-worth. She needs freedom from fear and pain. She needs stability. She needs ... to be loved.'
Ybarra shrugged. 'Well, you won't be endangering her health by taking her home today, so there's no way I can prevent you from walking out of here with her.'
'Exactly,' Laura said.
* * *
After the morgue wagon had gone, while the SID technicians were sweeping the parking lot around the Volvo, Kerry Bums, a uniformed patrolman, approached Dan Haldane. 'A call came through from East Valley, message from Captain Mondale.'
'Ah, the esteemed and glorious captain.'
'He wants to see you right away.'
'Does he miss me?' Dan asked.
'Didn't say why.'
'I'll bet he misses me.'
'You and Mondale got a thing for each other?'
'Definitely not. Maybe Ross is gay, but I'm straight.'
'You know what I mean. You got a grudge or something?'
'It's that obvious, huh?' Dan asked facetiously.
'Is it obvious that dogs don't like cats?'
'Let's just say, if I was burning to death and Ross Mondale had the only bucket of water in ten miles, I'd prefer to extinguish the fire with my own spit.'
'That's clear enough. You gonna go over to East Valley?'
'He ordered me to, didn't he?'
'But are you gonna go? I gotta call back and confirm.'
'Sure.'
'He wants you right away.'
'Sure.'
'I'll call back and confirm you're on your way.'
'Absolutely,' Dan said.
Kerry headed back to his patrol car, and Dan got into his unmarked department sedan. He drove out of the hospital parking lot, turned into the busy street, and headed downtown, in the opposite direction from East Valley and Ross Mondale.
* * *
Before talking to Dr. Ybarra, Laura had called the security service that Dan Haldane had recommended. By the time she had spoken to Ybarra, had dressed Melanie in jeans and a blue-checkered blouse and sneakers, and had signed the necessary release forms, the agent from California Paladin had arrived.
His name was Earl Benton, and he looked like a big old farm boy who had somehow awakened in the wrong house and had been forced to clothe himself in the contents of a banker's closet. His blond-brown hair was combed straight back from his temples, fashionably razor-cut — by a stylist, not a barber — but it didn't look quite right on him; his blocky face and plain features would probably have been better served by a shaggy, windblown, natural look. His seventeen-inch neck seemed about to pop the collar button on his Yves St. Laurent shirt, and he looked awkward and slightly uncomfortable in his three-piece gray suit. His huge, thick-fingered hands would never be graceful, but the fingernails were professionally manicured.
Laura could tell at a glance that Earl was one of those tens of thousands who came to Los Angeles every year with the hope of moving up in life, which he'd probably already done. He would most likely climb higher too, once he wore off some rough edges and learned to feel at home in his designer clothes. She liked him. He had a nice, wide smile and easy manner, yet he was watchful, alert, intelligent. She met him in the corridor, outside Melanie's room, and after
Ybarra blinked, surprised by her hostility.
She said, 'Drugs and electric shock — that's part of what her goddamned father was doing to her the past six years.'
'Well, of course, we wouldn't be using the same drugs or the same kind of electric shock, and our intentions would be different from—'
'Yeah, sure, but how the hell is Melanie supposed to know what your intentions are? I know there are cases where barbiturates and even electroconvulsive therapy achieve desirable results, but they're not right for my daughter. She needs to regain her confidence, her feeling of self-worth. She needs freedom from fear and pain. She needs stability. She needs ... to be loved.'
Ybarra shrugged. 'Well, you won't be endangering her health by taking her home today, so there's no way I can prevent you from walking out of here with her.'
'Exactly,' Laura said.
* * *
After the morgue wagon had gone, while the SID technicians were sweeping the parking lot around the Volvo, Kerry Bums, a uniformed patrolman, approached Dan Haldane. 'A call came through from East Valley, message from Captain Mondale.'
'Ah, the esteemed and glorious captain.'
'He wants to see you right away.'
'Does he miss me?' Dan asked.
'Didn't say why.'
'I'll bet he misses me.'
'You and Mondale got a thing for each other?'
'Definitely not. Maybe Ross is gay, but I'm straight.'
'You know what I mean. You got a grudge or something?'
'It's that obvious, huh?' Dan asked facetiously.
'Is it obvious that dogs don't like cats?'
'Let's just say, if I was burning to death and Ross Mondale had the only bucket of water in ten miles, I'd prefer to extinguish the fire with my own spit.'
'That's clear enough. You gonna go over to East Valley?'
'He ordered me to, didn't he?'
'But are you gonna go? I gotta call back and confirm.'
'Sure.'
'He wants you right away.'
'Sure.'
'I'll call back and confirm you're on your way.'
'Absolutely,' Dan said.
Kerry headed back to his patrol car, and Dan got into his unmarked department sedan. He drove out of the hospital parking lot, turned into the busy street, and headed downtown, in the opposite direction from East Valley and Ross Mondale.
* * *
Before talking to Dr. Ybarra, Laura had called the security service that Dan Haldane had recommended. By the time she had spoken to Ybarra, had dressed Melanie in jeans and a blue-checkered blouse and sneakers, and had signed the necessary release forms, the agent from California Paladin had arrived.
His name was Earl Benton, and he looked like a big old farm boy who had somehow awakened in the wrong house and had been forced to clothe himself in the contents of a banker's closet. His blond-brown hair was combed straight back from his temples, fashionably razor-cut — by a stylist, not a barber — but it didn't look quite right on him; his blocky face and plain features would probably have been better served by a shaggy, windblown, natural look. His seventeen-inch neck seemed about to pop the collar button on his Yves St. Laurent shirt, and he looked awkward and slightly uncomfortable in his three-piece gray suit. His huge, thick-fingered hands would never be graceful, but the fingernails were professionally manicured.
Laura could tell at a glance that Earl was one of those tens of thousands who came to Los Angeles every year with the hope of moving up in life, which he'd probably already done. He would most likely climb higher too, once he wore off some rough edges and learned to feel at home in his designer clothes. She liked him. He had a nice, wide smile and easy manner, yet he was watchful, alert, intelligent. She met him in the corridor, outside Melanie's room, and after
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