Dr. Death (11 page)

"Actually, I was raised Catholic, ma'am."

"So was I," said Zoghbie. "Down on my knees confessing my sins. What rubbish. The pity for both of us. Candles and guilt and bullshit spewed by impotent old men in funny hats— yes, I'd definitely look for a Catholic. Or a born-again Christian. Anyone fundamentalist for that matter. Orthodox Jews are just as bad, but they don't seem as predisposed to violence as the Catholics, probably because there's not enough of them to get cocky. Fanatics are all cut out of the same mold: God's on my side, I can do whatever the fuck I please. As if the Pope or Imam Whatever is going to be around when your loved one is writhing in agony and choking on their own vomit. The whole right-to-life thing is obscene. Life's sacred but it's okay to set off bombs at abortion clinics, pick off doctors. Eldon was made an example of. Look for a religious fanatic."

She smiled. It didn't fit the diatribe. Her eyes were dry again.

"Talk about sin," she said. "Hypocrisy's the worst sin. Why the hell can't we get past the bullshit they feed us in childhood and learn to think independently?"

"Conditioning," I said.

"That's for lower animals. We're supposed to be better."

Milo pulled out his pad. "Do you know of any actual threats against Dr. Mate?"

The specificity of the question— the police routine— seemed to bore her. "If there were, Eldon never told me."

"What about his attorney, Roy Haiselden. Do you know him, as well?"

"Roy and I have met."

"Any idea where he is, ma'am? Can't seem to locate him."

"Roy's all over the place," she said. "He owns laundromats up and down the state."

"Laundromats?"

"Coin-ops in strip malls. That's how he makes his money. What he does for Eldon doesn't pay the bills. It basically killed the rest of his law practice."

"Have you known him and Dr. Mate for a long time?"

"I've known Eldon for five years, Roy a little less."

"Any reason Mr. Haiselden wouldn't return our calls?"

"You'd have to ask him that."

Milo smiled. "Five years. How'd you get to know Dr. Mate?"

"I'd been following his career for a while." Her turn to smile. "Hearing about him was like a giant lightbulb going on: someone was finally shaking things up, doing what needed to be done. I wrote him a letter. I guess you could call it a fan letter, though that sounds so adolescent. I told him how much I admired his courage. I'd been working with a humanist group, had retired from my job— got retired, actually. I decided to find some meaning in all of it."

"You were fired because of your views?" I said.

Her shoulders shifted toward me. "Big surprise?" she snapped. "I was working in a hospital and had the nerve to talk about things that needed talking about. That chafed the hides of the assholes in charge."

"Which hospital?"

"Pasadena Mercy."

Catholic hospital.

She said, "Leaving that dump was the best thing that ever happened to me. I founded the Socrates Club, kept up with the SHI— my first group. We were having a convention in San Francisco and Eldon had just won another victory in court, so I thought, Who better to deliver the keynote? He answered my invitation with a charming note, accepting." Blink. "After that, Eldon and I began to see each other— socially but not sexually, since you're obviously going to ask. Life of the mind; I'd have him over for dinner, we'd discuss things, I'd cook for him. Probably the only decent meals he had."

"Dr. Mate didn't care about food?" said Milo.

"Like most geniuses, Eldon tended to ignore his personal needs. I'm a great cook, felt it was the least I could do for a mentor."

"A mentor," said Milo. "He was training you?"

"A philosophical guide!" She jabbed a finger at us. "Stop wasting your time with me and catch this fuckhead."

Milo sat back, sank in, surrendered to gravity. "So the two of you became friends. You seem to be the only female friend he had—"

"He wasn't
gay,
if that's what you're getting at. Just
choosy.
He was married and divorced a long time ago. Not an edifying experience."

"Why not?"

"Eldon didn't say. I could see he didn't want to talk about it and I respected his wishes. Now, is there anything else?"

"Let's talk about the weekend Dr. Mate was murdered. You—"

"Rented the van? Yes, I did. I'd done it before because when Eldon showed up at the rental company, sometimes there were troubles."

"They didn't want to rent to him."

Zoghbie nodded.

"So," said Milo, "the night he was murdered, Dr. Mate was planning to help another traveler."

"I assume."

"He didn't tell you who?"

"Of course not. Eldon never discussed his clinical activities. He called and said, 'Alice, I'll be needing a van tomorrow.' "

"Why didn't he discuss his work?" said Milo.

"Ethics, Detective," Zoghbie said with exaggerated patience. "Patient confidentiality. He was a doctor."

The phone rang, distant as the clock chime.

"Better get that," she said, standing. "Could be the press."

"They've been in touch?"

"No, but they might be, once they find out I'm back."

"How would they know that, ma'am?"

"Please," she said. "Don't be naïve. They have their ways." She dance-walked through the dining room and out of sight.

Milo rubbed his face and turned to me. "Think Mate was boffing her?"

"She did take the time to mention that their relationship was social but not sexual. Because we were obviously going to ask. So maybe."

Alice Zoghbie returned, looking grim.

"The press?" said Milo.

"A nuisance call— my accountant. The IRS wants to audit me— big surprise, huh? I've got to go gather my tax records, so if there's nothing else . . ." She pointed to the door.

We stood.

"You climb mountains for fun?" said Milo.

"I hike, Detective. Long-distance walks on the lower slopes, no pitons or any of that stuff." She gave Milo's gut a long appraisal. "Stop moving and you might as well die."

That reminded me of something Richard Doss had told me six months ago:

I'll rest when I'm dead.

Milo said, "Did Dr. Mate stay active?"

"Mentally, only. Never could get him to exercise. But what does that have to do with—"

"So you have no idea who Dr. Mate was going to help the weekend he died?"

"No. I told you, we never discussed patient issues."

"The reason I'm asking is—"

"You think a traveler killed him? That's absurd."

"Why, ma'am?"

"These are sick people we're talking about, Detective. Weak people, quadriplegics, Lou Gehrig's disease, terminal cancer. How could they have the strength? And why would they? Now, please."

Her foot tapped. She looked jumpy. I supposed an audit could do that to you.

"Just a few more details," said Milo. "Why'd you choose the Avis in Tarzana? Far from here and from Dr. Mate's place."

"That was the
point
, Detective."

"What was?"

"Covering our tracks. Just in case someone got suspicious and refused to rent to us. That's also why I chose Avis. We alternated. Last time was Hertz; before that, Budget."

She hurried to the door, opened it, stood tapping her foot. "Forget about it being a traveler. None of Eldon's people would hurt him. Most of the time they required help just to get over to the travel site—"

"Help from who?"

Long silence. She smiled, folded her arms. "No. We're not going there."

"Other people have been involved?" said Milo. "Dr. Mate had assistants?"

"Unh-unh, no way. Couldn't tell you even if I wanted to, because I don't know. Didn't want to know."

"Because Dr. Mate never discussed clinical details with you."

"Now please leave."

"Let's say Dr. Mate did have confederates—"

"Say whatever you please."

"What makes you so sure one of them couldn't have turned on him?"

"Because why
would
they?" She laughed. Harshly. Too loudly. "I can't get you to see: Eldon was brilliant. He wouldn't have trusted just anyone." She put a foot out onto her front porch, jabbed a manicured fingernail. "Look. For. A. Fanatic."

"What about a fanatic passing himself off as a confederate?"

"Oh please." Another loud laugh. Zoghbie's hands flew upward, fingers fluttering. She dropped them quickly. A series of clumsy movements, at odds with the dancer's grace. "I can't answer any more stupid questions! This is a very hard
time
for me!"

The tears returned. No more symmetrical trickle. A gush.

This time she wiped them hastily.

She slammed the door behind us.

8

BACK IN THE unmarked, Milo looked up at the vanilla cottage. "What a harpy."

"Her attitude changed after that 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 laundromats . . . yeah, as in clean clothes. Check that out. If that doesn't lead anywhere, bug his neighbors, be a pest— What's that? Which one?" Tiny smile. "Interesting . . . yeah, I know the name. I definitely know the name."